Young wolfstar headcanons why of course I do own quite a few-
At first, they don't even act as a couple because what are they even supposed to do? and instead just spend a lot more time together trying to understand what the next steps are when starting a relationship
Remus's love language is words of affirmation so he starts slipping Sirius little compliments on bits of parchment in the middle of class before looking away to not witness his reaction, ears burning
Sirius, of course, absolutely adores said compliments and one day kisses Remus's cheek behind a library shelf as a thanks
(again, Remus goes red from head to tea and gets heart - star? - eyes; if you've read The Diary of Anne Frank, think of her cheek kiss with Peter)
They do end up considering that one time their first kiss^ (though it wasn't really a kiss)
They think the most romantic/mischievous thing they do together is holding hands secretly under the table at mealtimes
They're both scared of telling others, especially Sirius who's scared it'll get back to his parents
Peter kinda suspects it already since Remus gets easily flustered around Sirius now, and to be frank, he did get subjected for a week to the arsenal of Remus's cheesy pick up lines while he prepared to "confess to his crush"
James finds out wayyyyy later from Euphemia after she explains to him that his friends might not like girls the way James or Peter do
He is very much Shook™ at first but ultimately just cheers them on whenever he finds them all cute together
Sirius is still under Walburga and Orion's influence for a while after they get together so when he returns from holidays all quiet and hollow looking Remus instantly gets worried and climbs into his bed after nightfall to check if he's alright
Sirius is still partially dressed in day clothes and close to tears because he can't move his arms enough to lift his shirt over his head because his mother mauled his back with stinging hexes after he broke something
Remus gently helps him even if Sirius starts crying from pain midway and lends him a sweater because his skin is very very cold and almost raw and Hope taught him that wool sweaters keep heat longer (and he finds them very comforting, as a bonus)
Sirius is very embarrassed about the whole thing because ive just made a fool of myself in front of my boyfriend :( but after he stops crying he asks Remus if he could stay the night because he's not sure he'll find any good position to sleep in with his mangled back and he doesn't want to be alone
Remus just nods and wraps his arms around him before they both cuddle to sleep, Sirius's back pressed to Remus's chest to cushion his bruises
And Remus, although he wakes up many times to calm Sirius down from nightmares and even a bout of nausea he rushed him to the bathroom for, he surprisingly sleeps very very well next to Sirius
Remus is all hugs and cuddles and sneaking away to hold hands and talk while Sirius is all forehead kisses, falling asleep next to each other and sharing secrets in the dark
After the other marauders find out he's a werewolf, Sirius spends nearly every early morning after the full moon in the infirmary reading fairytales aloud to a sleeping Remus or (later on) crocheting him a new sweater
After a bad moon, he asks a bit timidly if he can get in bed next to him and Remus nods tiredly before snuggling in close, Sirius gently rubbing his back to get the knots out (it becomes tradition afterwards)
Overall they're both very domestic but quite reluctant to take things faster and farther because they're scared they might lose that dreamlike state their relationship is in right now
Their first kiss happens very VERY late and quite solemnly sometime in fourth year when they're both drunk and have been chatting nonsensically for hours, tangled up in one of their beds with the curtains drawn, and Sirius mumbles sleepily that he genuinely thinks he could spend the rest of my life with you, Moony
Remus just tilts his head and, at first, presses a gentle kiss to his forehead that lasts a long time
Sirius wraps his arms around his neck and raises his head a little to softly peck him on the lips before leaning back
And for a few minutes they just stare at each other and Sirius tucks his face in Remus's chest, Remus lets his chin rest on Sirius's head and his arms wrap a little tighter around him until they're both asleep, safe and sound
(Though Remus won't admit it, he did answer Sirius's statement with a little me too, Pads, me too when he though Sirius had fallen asleep)
im going to start sobbing 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 tiny baby black brothers are so 😭😭😭😭😭😭 fucking 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 cute 😭😭😭😭😭 i want to squeeze them 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 and put them 😭😭😭😭😭in my 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 fucking 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 pocket
Regulus who runs into Sirius at a bar after he leaves too and Sirius doesn’t even recognize him because he is DECORATED, Pandora did his makeup with egregious amounts of glitter, Barty tattoos Regulus when they’re both bored, Evan dresses Regulus up because Regulus always liked his style but couldn’t wear it while in “the noble and most ancient house of black”, and Dorcas did his hair up with little silver charms and Sirius is literally gobsmacked because that boy looks like Reggie but Reggie can’t look cooler than me
Dorcas: Who else is hiding in the laundry room trying to listen to Regulus and James’s convo?
Pandora: Me. I’m in the laundry basket.
Barty: I’m in the washing machine.
Evan: I’m in the closet.
Pandora: We accept you Evan.
Evan: No I’m literally in the closet.
Pandora: Love is love.
Sirius Black was having the sort of day that should have been illegal to waste.
He was off college.
Properly off, not skipping, not “accidentally” sleeping through three alarms and deciding fate had spoken, not texting James at eleven in the morning with a lie so transparent it could have been sold as glass. Actually off. Timetable clear. Attendance safe. No guilt. No lecturers. No grim little seminar room smelling of old coffee and damp coats. No group project where Sirius did ninety percent of the talking and somehow still got accused of being distracting.
A miracle.
A blessing.
A divine intervention.
Naturally, he had used it to rot on his sofa in his flat like a Victorian widow with better hair.
The flat was small, warm, and messy in a way Sirius insisted was artistic rather than concerning. There were socks on the arm of the sofa, a mug on the windowsill, another mug on the floor that he was pretending not to see, and a pile of laundry on the chair that had stopped being a pile and become, spiritually, furniture.
Sirius lay across the sofa with his head hanging off the edge, one leg over the backrest, the other draped dramatically across three cushions. His phone rested on his chest. His hair fell toward the floor in black waves, brushing the rug every time he breathed too hard.
The television was on, but Sirius was not watching it. Some afternoon show was playing too loudly, full of bright music and people pretending to care about kitchen renovations.
Sirius cared about nothing.
Sirius cared about everything.
Sirius was, at that moment, experiencing a feeling.
It had started innocently enough. He had woken up late, stretched like a cat, made toast, burned the toast, eaten the toast anyway because he was brave, and then collapsed on the sofa with the intention of doing absolutely nothing until Remus came over later.
Perfect.
Then he had seen a photo.
Not even a photo sent to him. Not even something dramatic. Just an old picture buried in his phone, dragged up by some stupid memories thing that thought it was helpful.
Regulus, maybe thirteen, sitting at the kitchen table with a bowl of cereal in front of him and a blank expression so severe he looked like he was about to deliver a formal complaint to the cereal. Sirius was beside him, seventeen and grinning, holding two spoons up behind Regulus’s head like rabbit ears.
Regulus had not noticed.
Or had noticed and chosen not to dignify it.
Either way, it had made Sirius laugh.
Then, for no reason whatsoever, it had made his throat tighten.
He stared at the photo for longer than he meant to.
Regulus was in year eleven now.
Year eleven.
That was practically elderly.
That was GCSEs and hoodies and weird little revision cards and acting like adults were stupid while secretly not knowing how to book a dentist appointment. It was being sixteen and pretending to be ancient because fifteen-year-olds seemed young and thirteen-year-olds seemed like toddlers and anyone under twelve seemed fictional.
Sirius rolled over onto his front and groaned into a cushion.
“My baby brother is growing up,” he said aloud to the empty flat.
The flat, being wise, did not answer.
Sirius lifted his head.
“He’s probably taller.”
He considered this.
“No. No, absolutely not. That would be insulting.”
He dropped his face back into the cushion.
The thing was, Sirius didn’t really know Regulus anymore.
Not properly.
He knew facts. Surface things. School year. Exams. He knew Regulus liked keeping to himself, because Regulus had always liked keeping to himself. He knew Regulus had the kind of face that made adults say, “He’s very mature for his age,” when really he was just quiet and mildly terrifying. He knew Regulus could go an entire meal saying nothing and somehow still make everyone feel judged.
But knowing facts was not the same as knowing a person.
He didn’t know what music Regulus listened to. He didn’t know what he did after school. He didn’t know whether he still picked the onions out of things. He didn’t know if Regulus had friends. He didn’t know if Regulus was happy.
That one sat badly.
That one had teeth.
Sirius rolled onto his back again and stared at the ceiling.
“I’m a terrible brother.”
The television continued yelling about laminate flooring.
“I am. I’m horrible. I’m emotionally unavailable. I’m basically a ghost with cheekbones.”
He grabbed his phone and opened his messages.
There were too many chats. Too many names. Too many little bubbles of chaos. James had sent him eleven messages before ten in the morning, most of them consisting of thoughts that should never have been released into society. Peter had sent a picture of a sandwich. Remus had sent a message at half nine saying:
Remus:
Don’t forget to eat something that isn’t just toast.
Sirius frowned at the screen.
He looked at the burned toast crust sitting on a plate on the coffee table.
“I hate being known.”
He clicked Remus’s name because obviously he did. Remus was his boyfriend. Remus was safe. Remus could handle Sirius at full dramatic capacity. Remus had voluntarily chosen this and therefore had only himself to blame.
Sirius typed.
Sirius:
i love you
He stared at it.
Too simple.
He deleted it.
Typed again.
Sirius:
i love you btw
No. Too casual. Too cowardly. Where was the theatre? Where was the blood? Where was the gentle ache of devotion?
He deleted it again.
Then he typed:
Sirius:
i love you
He paused.
“Minimalism,” he told the room, nodding gravely. “Very chic.”
He hit send.
Then he tossed the phone onto his chest and flung an arm over his eyes.
It was good to be in love. Slightly humiliating, yes, but mostly good. Remus would reply something dry and fond. Something like, “Are you dying?” or “What did you do?” or, if Sirius was especially blessed, “I love you too, you idiot.”
Sirius smiled to himself.
A minute passed.
Then his phone buzzed.
Sirius snatched it up with the speed of a starving man hearing a crisp packet open.
He expected Remus.
He expected fond mockery.
He expected boyfriend rights.
What he got was:
Regulus:
i love you too?
Sirius stopped breathing.
The television cheered about a kitchen island.
Sirius stared.
His hand went cold around the phone.
No.
No, no, no.
Absolutely not.
He looked at the name again.
Regulus.
Not Remus.
Regulus.
His baby brother Regulus, who was in year eleven, probably at school, probably somewhere deeply inconvenient like maths or English or whatever children did in buildings these days.
Sirius sat upright so fast his head spun.
“No.”
The phone remained cruelly unchanged.
“No, that says Remus.”
It did not.
“It says Remus in spirit.”
It did not.
Sirius tapped the top of the chat as if the screen might apologise and rearrange the letters.
Regulus Black.
His contact photo was blank because Sirius apparently couldn’t even be normal enough to have a proper picture of his own brother saved. There was just a grey circle with an R in it. Cold. Accusing. Minimalist in the wrong direction.
Sirius made a noise somewhere between a gasp and a dying kettle.
He had texted Regulus.
He had texted his little brother “i love you.”
And Regulus had replied.
Regulus had replied, “i love you too?”
With a question mark.
The question mark was the worst part.
The question mark was a knife.
Sirius stood up. Then sat down. Then stood up again. Then turned in a circle.
“Oh my God.”
He pressed the phone to his chest.
“Oh my God, he said it back.”
He looked around wildly, as if someone might be there to witness him becoming a better person against his will.
“He said it back.”
His eyes immediately filled with tears.
This was, frankly, rude of his body. He had not approved this emotional escalation. He was a man of drama, yes, but he usually liked to choose his stage lighting.
He sniffed.
“No. No crying. This is fine. This is normal. People text their siblings. People love their siblings. People are normal about it.”
His phone buzzed again.
Sirius nearly threw it.
He looked down.
Regulus:
was that meant for remus
Sirius made a strangled sound.
Regulus knew.
Of course Regulus knew. Regulus was quiet, not stupid. Regulus had been born with the unsettling energy of a courtroom stenographer. He missed nothing. He collected details. He probably had Sirius’s entire personality filed somewhere under “loud, unstable, avoid before breakfast.”
Sirius typed.
Sirius:
no
He stared at it.
That was a lie.
A bad lie.
A criminally bad lie.
He deleted it.
Typed again.
Sirius:
maybe
Deleted.
Typed.
Sirius:
i can explain
Deleted.
Typed.
Sirius:
tragically your name and remus’s name are near each other in my phone and my thumb has betrayed me
He hovered over send.
Too much.
Too honest.
Too thumb-focused.
He hit send anyway.
Then immediately followed it with:
Sirius:
BUT
i do love you
obviously
because you are my brother
my tiny gloomy little brother
not tiny in a patronising way
emotionally tiny
no wait
that’s worse
forget i said that
The typing bubble appeared.
Sirius clutched the phone in both hands.
He whispered, “Please don’t hate me.”
The typing bubble vanished.
Then appeared again.
Then vanished.
Sirius nearly collapsed.
“Regulus Black, if you leave me on read after saying you love me, I will pass away in this flat and then you’ll feel awful.”
The phone buzzed.
Regulus:
are you having a stroke
Sirius laughed once, sharply, wetly, with far too much emotion behind it.
Sirius:
potentially
Regulus:
at least sit down
Sirius looked down and realised he was standing in the middle of the living room with one sock on and the other foot bare.
Sirius:
i am sitting
He sat down quickly.
Regulus:
that was too delayed to be true
Sirius pressed the phone against his forehead.
“He knows me,” he said, voice breaking. “He knows me and he hates me.”
The phone buzzed.
Regulus:
i don’t hate you
Sirius froze.
He stared at the message.
Then, because he was Sirius, because his emotions were large and badly house-trained, because being loved by quiet people felt somehow louder than being shouted at, he burst into actual tears.
Sirius:
I’M CRYING
Regulus:
why
Sirius:
YOU SAID YOU DON’T HATE ME
Regulus:
dramatic
Sirius:
i am your brother
Regulus:
unfortunately
Sirius choked on a laugh.
Sirius:
SEE
Sirius:
you love me
Regulus:
i already said that
Sirius stared at the screen.
Then buried his face in the sofa cushion and made a long, wounded sound.
Regulus had said it.
He had said it back, accidentally or not. He had said “i love you too?” and then, when given the perfect opportunity to retreat behind sarcasm and emotional barbed wire, he had not taken it. He had stayed. He was still texting.
Sirius’s chest hurt in the strangest, softest way.
His phone buzzed.
Regulus:
don’t make it weird
Sirius lifted his head.
Too late.
It was already weird. It had been weird the second Sirius’s thumb committed treason. It had become weirder the moment Regulus responded like a person receiving a suspicious parcel but choosing to accept delivery anyway.
Sirius:
i would never make anything weird
Regulus:
you once cried because remus bought you soup
Sirius:
that was romantic
Regulus:
it was tomato soup
Sirius:
he remembered i like tomato soup
Regulus:
everyone likes tomato soup
Sirius:
not everyone
Regulus:
who doesn’t
Sirius paused.
He did not know.
Sirius:
criminals
Regulus:
sure
Sirius laughed again, softer this time.
He leaned back against the sofa, phone held close, eyes still stinging. His flat seemed different suddenly. Less empty. Still messy, still warm, still badly in need of someone responsible to confiscate half the mugs, but different.
Regulus was at the other end of the line.
That was all.
A little grey bubble. A contact name. A brother who answered.
Sirius wiped his face with his sleeve.
Sirius:
are you at school
Regulus:
obviously
Sirius:
should you be texting
Regulus:
should you be crying on a sofa
Sirius grinned.
Sirius:
fair
what lesson
Regulus:
english
Sirius:
oh good so this is basically educational
Regulus:
how
Sirius:
themes of love
Regulus:
no
Sirius:
family
Regulus:
no
Sirius:
tragic heroes
Regulus:
you are not a tragic hero
Sirius:
i am misunderstood
Regulus:
you texted the wrong person
Sirius:
by fate
Regulus:
by incompetence
Sirius laughed so hard he dropped his phone on his chest.
For a moment, he just lay there smiling at the ceiling.
He could hear Regulus’s voice in his head perfectly. Flat. Dry. Unimpressed. Not cruel. That was the thing Sirius kept noticing, and maybe that was the thing that made his eyes sting all over again. Regulus was not cruel. Not really. He could be sharp, yes. Blunt. Difficult to read. He had a way of making silence feel like a full paragraph.
But he was still here.
Sirius picked up the phone again.
Sirius:
you’re funny
Regulus:
yes
Sirius:
cocky
Regulus:
accurate
Sirius:
what are you doing in english
Regulus:
coursework
Sirius:
disgusting
Regulus:
yes
Sirius:
do you need help
There was a pause.
Not a long one.
But Sirius felt it.
The typing bubble appeared, vanished, appeared again.
Regulus:
no
Sirius’s heart dipped before he could tell it not to.
Then another message came through.
Regulus:
but you can read it later if you want
Sirius sat up again.
This time slowly.
Carefully.
Like sudden movement might scare the message away.
Sirius:
i want
Regulus:
don’t be annoying about it
Sirius:
impossible
Regulus:
then don’t read it
Sirius:
i will be the least annoying i have ever been in my life
Regulus:
low bar
Sirius:
hurtful
Regulus:
true
Sirius bit his lip, smiling helplessly.
He had not known Regulus would offer him that. Something from school. Something he had written, or was writing, or was supposed to be writing while texting his disaster older brother instead. Sirius felt suddenly greedy for tiny details. Hungry for scraps of his brother’s life.
Not in a sad way.
Not really.
More like finding a door he had assumed was locked and realising it had only ever needed a gentle shove.
Sirius:
send it when you’re done
Regulus:
maybe
Sirius:
REGULUS
Regulus:
don’t shout in english
Sirius:
sorry
Regulus:
liar
Sirius:
yeah
Sirius looked at the old photo again, still open behind the chat when he swiped back for a second.
Regulus at thirteen. Blank-faced. Cereal. Rabbit ears.
He wondered what Regulus looked like right now. Probably older. Probably tired. Probably wearing his uniform like it personally offended him. Probably sitting in class with his phone hidden under the desk, face completely neutral while insulting Sirius with perfect timing.
The thought made Sirius ache.
It also made him laugh.
His phone buzzed again.
Regulus:
why did you send it anyway
Sirius frowned gently.
Sirius:
send what
Regulus:
the i love you text
Sirius:
oh
He stared at the screen.
He could make a joke. It would be easy. He was good at easy. He could say Remus had bewitched him with soup. He could say he was bored. He could say his thumb was haunted. All technically useful lines.
But Regulus had asked.
And Regulus did not ask things he did not care to hear the answer to.
Sirius swallowed.
Sirius:
because i miss people when i’m off and doing nothing
and i’m dramatic
and i was thinking about you actually
The typing bubble appeared almost immediately.
Regulus:
me?
Sirius:
yeah
Regulus:
why
Sirius let out a breath.
Because he had seen an old photo.
Because Regulus was in year eleven and Sirius didn’t know how that had happened.
Because Regulus had been small once, and Sirius had been there, and then somehow Sirius had stopped being there as much as he should have been.
Because sometimes missing someone did not arrive politely. Sometimes it crawled up through a photo and sat on your chest until you texted the wrong name and ruined your own afternoon in the best way possible.
He typed.
Sirius:
found an old photo of us
you were eating cereal and looking like it had personally wronged you
Regulus:
cereal often does
Sirius:
i was doing bunny ears behind your head
Regulus:
i know
Sirius blinked.
Sirius:
you knew?
Regulus:
yes
Sirius:
you didn’t react
Regulus:
that was the point
Sirius barked a laugh.
Sirius:
evil
Regulus:
efficient
Sirius:
i thought i was so sneaky
Regulus:
you have never been sneaky
Sirius:
i am incredibly sneaky
Regulus:
you hum when you walk into rooms
Sirius froze.
He did.
He absolutely did.
He had never noticed.
Sirius:
i do not
Regulus:
yes you do
Sirius:
what do i hum
Regulus:
anything
badly
Sirius threw himself sideways across the sofa.
“My own blood,” he said, devastated. “My own little brother has chosen violence.”
It should have felt awkward. Maybe it was awkward, technically. Maybe they were both just choosing to ignore it. But there was something pleasant tucked beneath the insults, something familiar that Sirius had forgotten how to hold.
Regulus knew things.
Regulus knew he hummed. Regulus knew he cried over soup. Regulus knew he was not sitting when he claimed to be sitting. Regulus knew his “i love you” text was probably meant for Remus.
Sirius had thought he didn’t know his little brother.
Maybe he didn’t, not enough.
But maybe Regulus knew him anyway.
The unfairness of that made Sirius’s throat tighten again.
Sirius:
i’m going to be normal now
Regulus:
unlikely
Sirius:
i’m going to ask a normal brother question
Regulus:
go on
Sirius sat up with great seriousness.
Sirius:
have you eaten lunch
The reply came instantly.
Regulus:
hypocrite
Sirius looked at the toast crust.
Sirius:
that’s not an answer
Regulus:
neither is whatever you did today
Sirius:
i had toast
Regulus:
burnt toast?
Sirius narrowed his eyes at the phone.
Sirius:
no
Regulus:
liar
Sirius:
how do you know these things
Regulus:
because you are predictable
Sirius:
i am mysterious
Regulus:
you are wearing one sock right now
Sirius looked down at his feet.
One sock.
One bare foot.
He stared.
Then slowly lifted the phone closer to his face.
Sirius:
are you in my walls
Regulus:
no
Sirius:
that’s exactly what someone in my walls would say
Regulus:
eat something that isn’t toast
Sirius stopped.
It was almost the same as Remus’s message.
Not word for word. Not quite. But close enough that the warmth hit him sideways.
Sirius:
you care about me
Regulus:
unfortunately
Sirius’s eyes filled again.
Sirius:
DON’T DO THAT
Regulus:
do what
Sirius:
BE NICE IN A MEAN WAY
Regulus:
stop crying
Sirius:
I’M NOT
Regulus:
you are
Sirius:
YOU DON’T KNOW THAT
Regulus:
i know
Sirius sniffed loudly.
Then, because he was weak, because he was sentimental, because he had already made the day weird and might as well build a house there, he opened his camera.
He took a picture of himself lying miserably on the sofa with red eyes, wild hair, one dramatic hand over his heart, and the television glowing behind him.
He sent it.
Sirius:
look what you’ve done
There was a pause.
Then:
Regulus:
you look homeless
Sirius wheezed.
Sirius:
i look vulnerable
Regulus:
you look like you lost a fight with laundry
Sirius:
i did
Regulus:
unsurprising
Sirius:
send proof of life
Regulus:
no
Sirius:
cruel
Regulus:
i’m in school
Sirius:
send a picture of your shoe
Regulus:
why
Sirius:
brotherly bonding
Regulus:
weird
Sirius:
please
A longer pause this time.
Sirius waited, grinning despite himself.
Then a photo arrived.
It was terrible.
Blurry. Dark. Mostly floor. The corner of a black shoe. The leg of a desk. A sliver of someone’s school trousers. No face. No context. Artless and magnificent.
Sirius gasped.
Sirius:
beautiful
stunning
national gallery
Regulus:
delete it
Sirius:
never
Regulus:
sirius
Sirius:
i’m printing it
Regulus:
don’t
Sirius:
framing it
Regulus:
stop
Sirius:
showing remus
Regulus:
absolutely not
Sirius grinned harder.
Remus.
Right.
The actual intended recipient of the first message. His boyfriend. The reason this whole ridiculous miracle had happened. Remus was going to be insufferable when he found out. Quietly insufferable. The worst kind. He would do that soft little smile and pretend not to find it adorable while absolutely finding it adorable.
Sirius opened Remus’s chat.
For one terrifying second, he nearly typed into Regulus’s chat again and had to physically stop himself.
“Focus,” he told his thumb. “You’ve done enough damage today.”
He sent Remus a message.
Sirius:
i accidentally told regulus i love him instead of you and now i’m having an emotional breakdown
Remus replied faster than expected.
Remus:
Good.
Sirius stared.
Sirius:
GOOD????
Remus:
Yes.
Sirius:
I AM SUFFERING
Remus:
You’re bonding.
Sirius:
i’m BLEEDING emotionally
Remus:
Bonding dramatically, then.
Sirius huffed.
Of course Remus would be calm. Remus could be handed a crisis and turn it over like an interesting pebble. Sirius was out here experiencing Shakespeare in loungewear and Remus was giving him emotional bullet points from afar.
Another message from Remus.
Remus:
Tell him again properly.
Sirius’s smile softened.
He looked back at Regulus’s chat.
Regulus had sent another message.
Regulus:
if you show remus my shoe i’m blocking you
Sirius snorted.
Sirius:
too late
Regulus:
sirius
Sirius:
he said it was nice
A pause.
Regulus:
did he actually
Sirius smiled slowly.
There it was.
Tiny. Almost invisible.
But there.
Regulus knew Remus only as Sirius’s boyfriend, probably. The name Sirius talked about too much. The person taking up space in Sirius’s life. Maybe Regulus cared what Remus thought. Maybe not. Maybe he was just suspicious.
Sirius chose kindness, which for him meant only lying a little.
Sirius:
he said good shoe composition
Regulus:
that sounds fake
Sirius:
he’s very intellectual
Regulus:
he’s dating you
Sirius:
which proves he’s brave
Regulus:
or concussed
Sirius cackled.
Sirius:
i’m telling him that
Regulus:
don’t
Sirius:
too late again
Regulus:
i hope your toast burns twice next time
Sirius clutched his chest.
Sirius:
vicious
Regulus:
efficient
Sirius:
you keep saying that
Regulus:
because i am
Sirius looked toward the kitchen.
His stomach growled.
It was, admittedly, getting later. His off day had become an emotional ambush, and somewhere between crying over a question mark and receiving avant-garde shoe photography, he had forgotten to eat anything proper.
Regulus, annoyingly, had a point.
Sirius:
i’m going to make food
Regulus:
good
Sirius:
because my baby brother told me to
Regulus:
don’t call me that
Sirius:
little baby brother
Regulus:
blocked
Sirius:
tiny baby brother
Regulus:
i’m in year eleven
Sirius:
year eleven baby brother
Regulus:
you’re impossible
Sirius:
but loved
A pause.
Sirius’s thumb hovered over the screen.
He expected an insult. A dry correction. A “by Remus, maybe.” Something neat and safe and distant enough to let Regulus off the hook.
Instead:
Regulus:
yes
Sirius stared at it.
One word.
Three letters.
Absolutely devastating.
He leaned back, pressing the phone to his mouth, and took a shaky breath.
“No crying,” he whispered. “Be cool. Be normal. Be a brother.”
His eyes watered immediately.
Sirius:
i’m crying again
Regulus:
i know
Sirius:
HOW
Regulus:
predictable
Sirius laughed through it.
He got up this time properly, still holding the phone, and wandered into the kitchen. The kitchen was barely a kitchen; it was more of a counter with ambitions. He opened the fridge and stared inside like it might reveal the meaning of life.
Milk. Half a packet of cheese. Something in a container he did not trust. Eggs. A sad tomato.
He closed it.
Opened the cupboard.
Pasta.
There we go.
Food.
A meal.
Regulus would be proud. Or less disappointed, which with Regulus was basically applause.
Sirius:
making pasta
Regulus:
don’t burn it
Sirius:
who burns pasta
Regulus:
you could find a way
Sirius:
faithless child
Regulus:
accurate child
Sirius filled a pot with water and set it on the hob. Then he stood there, phone in hand, unwilling to let the conversation go quiet.
Sirius:
when do you finish school
Regulus:
normal time
Sirius:
that means nothing to me
Regulus:
because you’re old
Sirius:
i’m in college
Regulus:
old
Sirius:
i am youth itself
Regulus:
you cried over tomato soup
Sirius:
stop using my love against me
Regulus:
no
The water began to heat.
Sirius leaned against the counter.
Sirius:
what are you doing after school
Again, the pause.
Not huge.
Just enough.
Regulus:
going home
Sirius:
thrilling
Regulus:
yes
Sirius chewed his lip.
He wanted to ask more. Wanted to ask if Regulus wanted to come over. Wanted to ask if he would hate that. Wanted to ask when they had become people who had to ask. But the prompt in his head said do not make it heavy, and the day had already stretched itself open enough.
So he went sideways.
Sirius:
you can send me your coursework later and i’ll make very intelligent comments
Regulus:
no you won’t
Sirius:
i will write “wow” in the margins
Regulus:
exactly
Sirius:
“excellent comma”
Regulus:
don’t touch my commas
Sirius:
protective of punctuation
Regulus:
someone has to be
Sirius:
send it anyway
Regulus:
maybe
Sirius:
maybe means yes in regulus
Regulus:
maybe means maybe
Sirius:
i speak fluent little brother
Regulus:
you barely speak english
Sirius pointed at the phone.
“Rude, but fair.”
Sirius:
rude but fair
Regulus:
don’t narrate
Sirius froze, then looked slowly around the empty kitchen.
Sirius:
stop being in my walls
Regulus:
stop being predictable
The pasta went into the pot.
Some of it missed.
Sirius stared at the small scattering of pasta on the hob.
He did not tell Regulus.
Regulus texted.
Regulus:
you spilled some
Sirius looked at the phone in horror.
Sirius:
WHAT THE FUCK
Regulus:
guessed
Sirius:
ARE YOU SURE
Regulus:
no
Sirius:
i’m moving flats
Regulus:
clean it up first
Sirius obeyed, because apparently his sixteen-year-old brother could command him through a phone screen better than most adults could in person.
By the time the pasta was cooking, Sirius had calmed into something bright and fizzy. Not calm, exactly. Sirius Black did not really do calm. But the huge wave of feeling had settled into a warm tide.
He had texted the wrong person.
Regulus had said it back.
Now they were discussing burnt toast, tomato soup, coursework, pasta, and the haunting possibility that Regulus could see through walls via pure sibling contempt.
It was the best accident Sirius had ever had.
His phone buzzed again.
Regulus:
teacher is looking at me
Sirius:
look studious
Regulus:
i always look studious
Sirius:
smug
Regulus:
accurate
Sirius:
are you getting in trouble
Regulus:
no
Sirius:
good
Regulus:
she thinks i’m taking notes
Sirius grinned.
Sirius:
rebel
Regulus:
obviously
Sirius:
my influence
Regulus:
unfortunately
Sirius stirred the pasta with a fork because he could not find a big pasta spoon.
He glanced at Remus’s chat again. Remus had sent:
Remus:
Proud of you, by the way.
Sirius smiled at the screen, softer than before.
Then, because he had learned absolutely nothing from the first mistake, he nearly replied to Regulus with “I love you too, Moony.”
He caught himself with a gasp.
“No. Absolutely not. Thumb, you are on probation.”
He sent Remus a heart and locked that chat like it was explosive.
Back to Regulus.
Sirius:
remus says hi
Regulus:
why
Sirius:
because he is polite
Regulus:
suspicious
Sirius:
he’s not suspicious
Regulus:
he’s dating you
Sirius:
this again
Regulus:
it remains relevant
Sirius laughed, stirring pasta badly.
Sirius:
he also says proud of me
Regulus:
for making pasta?
Sirius:
probably for not dying emotionally
Regulus:
low bar
Sirius:
everyone keeps saying that to me today
Regulus:
maybe improve
Sirius:
maybe love me as i am
Regulus:
unfortunately
Sirius had to stop stirring again.
That word. Unfortunately.
It was becoming Regulus’s way of saying yes without making it too soft. Without letting it sit bare on the table. He said “unfortunately” like a blanket thrown over something delicate.
Sirius understood that. Maybe not completely, but enough.
He could work with unfortunately.
He could build a bridge out of unfortunately.
The pasta turned out edible. A bit too soft, but edible. He poured it into a bowl, added cheese, burned his fingers on the bowl, swore, and carried it back to the sofa with heroic dignity.
Sirius:
eating
Regulus:
proof
Sirius took a photo of the bowl.
Sent it.
Regulus:
looks sad
Sirius:
it has cheese
Regulus:
still sad
Sirius:
i made it with brotherly love
Regulus:
that explains it
Sirius:
evil child
Regulus:
accurate child
Sirius ate a mouthful and pointed his fork at the screen.
“This is bonding. This is quality bonding.”
Regulus:
lesson is ending
Sirius’s smile faltered.
Already?
That felt unfair. He had only just found the thread. He was not ready to put it down.
Sirius:
okay
Regulus:
don’t sound abandoned through text
Sirius looked offended.
Sirius:
i do not
Regulus:
you do
Sirius:
i am very independent
Regulus:
you texted the wrong person and cried
Sirius:
that was character development
Regulus:
sure
Sirius hesitated.
Then typed carefully.
Sirius:
text me later?
He stared at it.
Too much?
Not enough?
Ridiculous thing to worry over, really. It was his brother. People texted their siblings. People did not turn it into a national referendum on emotional history.
But Sirius had never been good at not turning things into theatre.
The reply came after a few seconds.
Regulus:
maybe
Sirius smiled.
Maybe means yes in Regulus, he thought, but did not type it.
Sirius:
cool
Regulus:
don’t cry over maybe
Sirius:
i would never
Regulus:
liar
Sirius:
yeah
There was another pause.
Then:
Regulus:
love you
Sirius froze with the fork halfway to his mouth.
No question mark this time.
No too.
Just there.
Simple.
Small.
Massive.
Sirius put the fork down very slowly.
His eyes filled instantly.
“Regulus,” he whispered, horrified and delighted and ruined.
He typed back with both thumbs, careful not to hit the wrong chat, careful not to be too much, absolutely being too much anyway because he could no more stop being Sirius than the sun could stop showing off.
Sirius:
love you too
now go learn something
Regulus:
you first
Sirius:
fair
The chat went quiet.
Sirius sat on his sofa, bowl of sad cheesy pasta in his lap, television still babbling to itself, one sock still missing from the story entirely.
After a minute, Remus texted.
Remus:
How did it go?
Sirius looked at Regulus’s last message.
Then at the old photo again.
Then down at his pasta.
He smiled so wide it almost hurt.
Sirius:
i’m never recovering
Remus:
I assumed.
Sirius:
he loves me
Remus:
I know.
Sirius blinked.
Sirius:
you know?
Remus:
Yes.
Sirius:
how does everyone know things before me
Remus:
You’re loud. Not observant.
Sirius huffed, but he was smiling.
Sirius:
rude
Remus:
Accurate.
Sirius threw his head back and laughed.
Accurate.
Unfortunately.
Low bar.
His people were ganging up on him with vocabulary now.
He wiped his eyes one last time, picked up his fork, and ate another mouthful of pasta.
It was overcooked. It was too cheesy. It was exactly the sort of meal Regulus would insult into the ground if he were here, sitting on the other end of the sofa, looking bored, probably stealing none of it but judging all of it.
Sirius hoped, suddenly and fiercely, that one day he would be.
Not dramatically.
Not as some grand repair.
Just there.
A brother on a sofa. A bowl on the coffee table. A television too loud. Remus laughing somewhere nearby. Regulus insulting the pasta. Sirius pretending not to cry about it.
His phone buzzed again.
Sirius grabbed it.
Regulus:
also don’t print the shoe photo
Sirius grinned.
Sirius:
too late
Regulus:
sirius
Sirius:
love you
Regulus:
annoying
Sirius:
say it back
A pause.
Then:
Regulus:
unfortunately
Sirius pressed the phone to his chest and beamed at the ceiling like the flat had just filled with sunlight.
“Unfortunately,” he said softly, laughing to himself. “I’ll take it.”
I love the au where Sirius and Remus actually started dating around second year. Remus, during a petty argument with Sirius after a few weeks of dating, tried to break up with him in a fit of rage but Sirius just scoffed and went “No.” And they’ve been together ever since because Remus didn’t know what to do after that.
Sirius trails his eyes up from the sand they lay on to meet Remus’s gaze.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were failing French?” he asks, brows knitted together.
“I got a B,” Remus deadpans.
Sirius grins, planting his chin on his knuckles.
“Okay, sure, but that’s basically failing for Moony standards.”
Remus returns to his book, disgruntled.
“I don’t have standards,” he mutters.
Sirius huffs, giving him a weak slap on the thigh.
“Excuse you. Boyfriend, right here.”
Remus grins. They grow quiet, listening to the sound of the crashing waves hitting the beach, and just enjoying each other’s company.
Remus loves all of his friends, but there’s something so delightful about having Sirius’s time to himself.
“I’m just saying…” Sirius starts again, dragging out the ‘g’ dramatically. “If you needed help, you could have asked me.”
His face grows pink, and he shrugs.
“Didn’t want to,” he says. His eyes drag along the page, not picking up a single word as Sirius stretches against the sand.
The beach date was Sirius’s idea. At first Remus hated even just the idea, but now… he can see the silver linings very clearly.
“Oh, come on,” Sirius says, sweetly, letting sand fall between his fingers. “You’re always helping me with History.”
“That’s because you’re shit at History,” Remus supplies.
Sirius snorts.
“Not my fault the professor drags on about war heroes for decades. If I wanted to learn about murderers, I would have just stayed with my parents.”
This earns Sirius a dark glare, which he retorts with a blinding grin.
Remus sets down his book, focusing his full attention on his clearly bored boyfriend.
Clicking his tongue, he asks, “Why don’t you give it a go now?”
Sirius shoots bolt upright, blue eyes growing wide with child-like excitement.
“Really?” he asks, brushing the sand off his torso.
Remus nods. “Teach me something, Professor Black.”
Sirius scoots closer, giving Remus a very serious (ha) look.
Clearing his throat, Sirius starts.
“Welcome class—”
“There’s only me—”
“—I’m sorry to say your professor is out sick today, and has asked me to step in. Now, where did you guys leave off?”
He raises his brows, and Remus shrugs.
“Oh, let's just start with the basics, then!”
Remus has to stop himself from grinning, instead masking his amusement with simple engagement.
Sirius fixes his invisible set of glasses (in a very James-like fashion), and all of a sudden, his tone drops, in the way it does when he speaks his native tongue.
“Bonjour les jeunes!”
“I know how to say hello.”
“Oh, oui? Et le salut? Ou d'où êtes-vous?”
Remus shakes his head, giving Sirius a shove.
“This is stupid,” he laughs. “You’re not a teacher, Pads.”
That sets Sirius off, and he begins a tirade in rapid, much more advanced, French that Remus doesn’t understand a word of.
Well, except for maybe putain which he has heard in much different contexts.
Eventually, when Remus has had enough of Sirius’s dramatics, he tilts his head to the side, and leaves a chaste kiss on the other boys’ cheek.
romaincrisis
