Chapter Text
So love me, leave me –
Do what you will!
All things considered, it’s been a proper shit weekend for Sirius.
Neither of them say a word to each other as they get dressed, though this seems to go unnoticed by Peter and James. What’s there to say? As far as Sirius is concerned, Remus has made his position quite clear. The position in question, of course, being some prick with a stupid accent sticking his tongue down his throat.
As if you’ve any right to be jealous, the voice in his head sneers. And Sirius knows that, he swears he does, but he really can’t help it.
When he'd acknowledged the fact that Remus reserves the right to snog whoever he likes, he’d meant it, obviously, but it’d really been more of a theoretical sort of statement. Theoretical, or at the very least, not so soon.
He just would’ve appreciated some form of grace period, is all.
Anyway. It’s fine. At least it clears things up, he thinks. As it turns out, it’s not that Remus doesn’t want to kiss anyone at all, and it’s not that he thinks it’s not smart or not a good idea or too much of a risk. It’s very much, and very clearly, that he doesn’t want to kiss Sirius.
Well, then.
“Well, then.” James squirms his eyebrows suggestively, leaning sideways towards Remus at breakfast, and Pete snickers. That’s another thing, too, actually: James’ immunity to hangovers is ridiculous. As for Sirius, this morning he takes a great new interest in his bacon, though he doesn’t eat it. Just pushes it around on his plate, spears it on his fork and shakes it back off.
“Well?” Remus replies blankly, resting his chin in his hand. He hasn’t looked at Sirius once today. Sirius is trying his very hardest to repay the favour. It isn't going well.
It’s just the principle of it, more than anything. This guy – Sirius reckons he might’ve been in their Transfiguration in the second year, but nothing more than that - this guy is a stranger, basically, and Remus was quite happy to snog him. Hadn’t had a go at him. Sirius closes his eyes and sees it again, and again, and again, Remus' face and that bloke's hands all over him - all over him - and just the two of them.
Besides, they don’t know anything about him. Sirius definitely doesn’t. He could be a tosser, and not the way Sirius is a tosser, like an actual tosser. He certainly looked like one, smirking at him like that. About five minutes after Sirius had walked in on them, the boy had come downstairs, too, looking stupid and smug and quite punchable, like Remus was just some disposable hobby. Some people are just so arrogant.
“Right,” James frowns, casting a disapproving gaze over the three of them. “New rule. If one of us snogs someone, you’re obligated to tell us the story, alright? Like squeezing blood from a sodding stone with you lot. For example, Mister Lupin,” he turns back to Remus, breaking into a grin. “Do you have anything you’d like to disclose?”
Remus tilts his face further into his hand, rubbing it over his eyes. Sirius had forgotten for a moment there, actually, what tomorrow is. He must be feeling like shit right now.
“I honestly don’t know what you’re talking about, James.”
“Pass me the butter, will you?” Sirius grunts at Peter.
“I think you know exactly what I’m talking about, Moony my dear. Sources close to me have informed me that you were missing at one point last night, you see,” James continues. “And then sources even closer informed me that you weren’t missing at all, actually. In fact, I daresay that at least one person at that party knew exactly where you were, hm?”
Two, Sirius thinks angrily. Two people. He’s put too much butter on this toast, now.
“So go on then, who was she? What house?”
Sirius finally glances at Remus, then. Waits for him to explain himself. He does look quite pale today, staring at his hands on the table in front of him.
That’s right. Who was she, Remus?
“Erm,” Remus says. “He was a Ravenclaw.”
Next to him, Sirius feels Peter pause, then nod, like someone's asked him a question. James’ eyebrows only raise, slightly, for a second, before his expression smooths back into a smile.
“Oh,” he says gently. “Alright, mate. Yeah, of course – sorry, didn’t mean to assume, I know you – y’know. Yeah.”
Remus doesn’t reply, so James continues. “Anyway. More importantly: you haven’t told us his name yet.”
At that, Remus looks up. Sirius snatches another sausage from the silver platter in front of him, because he rather needs something to do.
“Ah, yes,” Remus begins, fiddling with his knife. “About that.”
“Eh?” James says. “What d’you mean? You do...you do know his name, don’t you?”
His smiles widens the longer Remus takes to answer.
“Don’t you?”
“I’m sure I...we didn’t, never really got ‘round to, erm...”
“Prefect Lupin!” James sounds both elated and scandalized. Sirius feels him try to exchange a look with him, but he keeps his eyes trained on his plate, so instead James looks at Peter, and they both promptly burst into laughter. Sirius, for one, doesn’t see what’s so fucking funny.
“It’s not like he asked my name either!” Remus replies defensively, but even he’s laughing now. “And I do know it, I just can’t remember it right now. We’ve had a class with him before – in second year, I think, and he’s definitely a Ravenclaw. We just didn’t, erm – didn’t do much talking, I suppose.”
This only delights James further, who cackles and lets out a long low wolf whistle that has Remus burying his face in his hands properly now. “Our very own Moony,” James crows. “You were right the other night, Sirius. Always the ones you least suspect.”
“Are you going to tell him?” Sirius says, suddenly, spurred by the address. For the first time today Remus’ eyes meet his, slightly wide, as though surprised to hear his voice.
“Tell him what?”
“That you’re a werewolf.”
The smiles falter, then, and beside him Sirius hears Peter draw in a short, sharp breath. James shoots him a look, brow furrowing beneath the bridge of his glasses.
“Keep it down Sirius, yeah?” he mutters quietly, voice sobered. Remus is still watching him though, expressionless.
“I don’t see what that’d have to do with him, actually,” he replies, slowly, like he’s choosing his words carefully, which Remus always is.
Sirius leans forward across the table. “I just thought you might, save him figuring it out on his own. Only you went on about how irresponsible it’d be for you to date, didn’t you?” he asks. “I’m just wondering what’s changed your mind so easily. Is it not a risk anymore, then?”
“Sirius...” James mumbles. The warning goes ignored.
“No, it still is, you’re right,” Remus says, holding Sirius’ gaze. He’s infuriatingly calm. “But I’m not dating him, am I? I’m not even sure what his name is. We’ve hardly tried to get to know each other or anything like that. I guess,” he continues, with an exaggerated casualness that isn't him at all, that Sirius knows is for his benefit, “I guess I’m just trying not to take these things so seriously anymore, you know?”
“Do you really have a choice?”
Peter looks wildly between the two of them. James kicks Sirius beneath the table, but Remus doesn’t even blink. Merely tilts his head slightly.
“What do you mean by that, Sirius?”
“Nothing much. It’s more of what you mean, really. Or what you meant on Friday. You were saying you don’t really have the choice of taking things seriously with people, do you? I just mean, what are you going to do when they start asking questions? They probably will, eventually. It’s sort of inevitable.” He’s beginning to lose track of what he’s saying. He can always feel his anger coming, consuming, spilling. Blindingly dark. Warm. He can taste it on his tongue like metal. So just because, he adds, “we certainly did.”
“Sirius, shut it,” James mutters, but Sirius can’t help himself.
“What? I’m not saying that’s what I think, it's not, I’m saying that’s what he said. Because it is what you said Moony, isn’t it? For the best and all that. I’m not making things up?”
“Not at all,” Remus replies. “I did say that. I suppose I don’t have much of a choice, come to think of it. Might as well do whatever then, right? Not as if any of it matters.”
“Oi, don’t be like that Moony,” James begins quickly, finding his voice again. It’s actually quite impressive, how comforting he can sound while simultaneously glaring daggers at Sirius. “That’s not true, we’ll not have that from you. Sirius just—”
“Sirius is just upset that I kissed a bloke before he did, I think you'll find,” Remus interrupts briskly. “Self-deprecating werewolf routine considered, and all. I know how dearly he wanted to solve that particular problem of his, don’t I, Sirius?”
A silence follows, in which they both seem to be waiting for the other one to look away. James’ eyes keep flitting between them, and though his mouth keeps opening to say something – to mediate, presumably – nothing comes out, and he closes it again. Peter’s taking an awfully long time to refill his glass.
“I’m full,” Sirius announces, finally. “See you lot later.” He stands, drops his cutlery onto the table with a satisfyingly loud clatter, and walks out of the Great Hall without sparing any of them another glance.
“There’s no need to take that tone with me, young man!” The Fat Lady cries, when he hurls the common room password at her.
“Oh, get fucked.”
Remus doesn’t even give him the courtesy of leaving him alone for a while before he turns up at the dormitory.
“Just leave it, will you? I'm sorry. There. I've apologised,” Sirius calls from where he’s lying on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. He wishes he’d pulled his curtains shut now. His face is still hot.
“S’my room too, I can come in if I want,” Remus replies, though he’s still in the doorway. Sirius doesn’t say anything, and from his peripheral he sees Remus roll his eyes. “Should try locking the door next time.”
Oh, it takes everything Sirius has in him not to set something on fire, then.
“You’re being an arse,” Remus informs him, gracious as ever. “I haven’t done anything wrong.”
Sirius scoffs, keeps his eyes fixed upwards. “Oh, no, you never do anything wrong, never you. Never Moony. Don’t we all fucking know it,” he hisses. It’s true, though, and that makes him even angrier to be honest.
“I can carry on with who I want, you know,” Remus shoots back. "I don't see why it should bother you." The irritation in his voice actually puts Sirius at ease a little. Finally, he thinks. An argument. This is something Sirius can do. He sits up. The door’s been closed, and Remus is standing in front of it.
“And that’s who you want?” says Sirius. “A stranger? Some random bloke whose name you don’t even know?”
“So what if it is? What’s it matter to you?”
“Same as it matters to you, apparently,” Sirius grits out, eyes flicking to the far window. Today is nicer than yesterday had been. Brighter. Bluer. “Doesn’t at all. I just think he’s a prick, is all.”
“And you would know that how, exactly? A minute ago he was a random bloke, I didn’t realize you’d since made his acquaintance.”
“I’d say we both made his acquaintance plenty last night, wouldn’t you? He seemed like a prick. Seemed like he was right up himself.”
“Oh, please,” Remus snorts, rolling his eyes again. “Pot, kettle, Sirius Black.”
“Piss off. I’ve told you I don’t care, anyway, so just drop it. Do what you want.”
“That’s what I’ve been doing, thanks. And if you don’t care, why’d you say all those things you did at breakfast? Just to humiliate me?” Remus asks, prefect-like. Stern. Sirius feels rather like a child being scolded and it’s very quickly wearing thin. Very quickly.
And he doesn’t really have an answer to that, either. Shit.
“I wasn’t trying to humiliate you,” he mumbles uselessly. “I was just...I was just reminding you what you said the other night, s’all. Seemed like you’d forgotten.” It feels stupid even as it’s leaving his mouth. His jealousy writhes around in his stomach, vicious and scaled and heavy, and it proves difficult to ignore.
His answer, it seems, is the wrong one, because Remus doesn’t appear to like it very much at all.
“Reminding me?" he repeats, eyebrows raised. "I was under the impression that you didn’t agree with any of it, Sirius, so which part exactly did you want to remind me of? The fact that I’m – I’m the way that I am? The fact that I’m never going to be able to do much more than last night, much better, ever, over and over again? Never – never going to..to..” Remus’ voice falters, ever so slightly, and it’s sort of dizzying, how quickly the guilt rips through Sirius. But before he can react the falter just dissolves into a laugh, bitter, and Remus starts pacing, the way he always does when he’s irritated.
It’s not usually so bad.
“Christ, cheers, Sirius. Has a habit of slipping my mind, all of that, so thanks for reminding me. God forbid I’d ever be allowed to stop thinking about it, even for a second. Seemed like you’d forgotten. Jesus Christ, where the fuck do you get off?”
“Me?” Sirius cries, stumbling to his feet, stalking towards him, eyes wide. His guilt is quickly forgotten, discarded, left on the bed. “Where do I get off? You’re asking me that? Where do you get off?”
“What are you talking about?”
“You said you wouldn’t date! And you can pretend it didn’t happen, but you called me a tosser, when I – when I...had a right fucking go at me, and all that bullshit about how it wasn’t smart, and the next minute you’re necking the first stranger you clap eyes on!”
“So fucking what? It’s none of your fucking business!” Remus yells back, clutching at his hair in his frustration, like he does. “It’s got nothing to do with you, alright? It’s not your fucking concern! Not everything is the Sirius Show all the time, and I’m not your fucking pet! You don’t get to...for god’s sake, you don’t get to do this, Sirius!”
“Do what?” Sirius steps forward and Remus steps back, backing into the door behind him.
“Complain! You don’t get to complain! You don’t get to be jealous, to act like I’ve wronged you or something, like I owe you something, when you’ve made it very clear that we don’t owe each other anything, that we’re friends, and it’s all...that’s all it is, with you, that’s all you do with people, and that’s fine, but you can’t have it both ways, alright? You don’t now get to complain when I start doing the same thing, when I start treating it as just a kiss—”
“You wouldn’t kiss me,” Sirius interrupts flatly. “You were about to kiss me and you wouldn’t, but you would him? What’s the difference? Why would you kiss him and not me?”
He doesn’t mean to say it, doesn’t plan to say it, and Merlin fuck does he regret it when it comes out. You’ve gone and done it now, his mind snarls. Nice one. The question – questions – hang thick in the silence between them, visible like breath on a cold day, and just as impossible to snatch back.
“What?” Remus says finally, quieter. The space between his eyebrows creases up, and the hand that had been in his hair drops to his side.
“You wouldn’t, said you – uh – you said you didn’t want to kiss me, but you’d kiss him? You don’t even know that other bloke. What’s so great about him, then?” He can feel his cheeks heating up again, so he stares at the corner of the door just behind Remus, above his left shoulder. He swallows. This is easier. He sounds ridiculous, he knows.
“You...that’s the point,” Remus mutters. “That’s the whole point.”
Sirius frowns.
“I don’t know him, Sirius,” Remus continues. “I don’t..it wouldn’t – didn’t matter, if I kissed him. I don’t really give a shit about him and he doesn’t give a shit about me, so why would I care why he wanted to – why he wanted to, erm, to...y'know? It didn’t matter. None of it ever will. That’s the whole point.”
“So what about me, then?”
Remus gives him a tired sort of look. “You’ve always mattered, Sirius.” He almost whispers it, despite it being only them in the room. “For god’s sake, you’ve always mattered.”
Sirius feels slightly nauseous. It’s not a bad feeling, and it’s not a good one either. It just is. Hopefully he isn’t smiling, because he probably shouldn’t do that just yet.
“Then why..” he begins instead. “Why wouldn’t you...I don’t...you said no.”
“You were being an arse then, too,” Remus explains, tugging awkwardly at the cuff of his jumper. “The only reason you even...when you said you just wanted to kiss a boy, it was like I was just the only one available who’d let you get away with it. And that was all it was for you, and it made me feel pathetic and small and...and I’d just had enough, I guess.
“So when that guy started talking to me at the party, I reckoned I better just take what I could get, right? Both of you wanted the same thing, but it didn’t hurt as much coming from him, because I didn’t know him. It wasn’t as insulting. But when you..it felt like you were taking the piss out of me. Out of, erm, how I – how I feel about you, because you knew you could, you knew I’d let you. I’d always let you.
“Before you said it I thought...I thought maybe you actually, but then you told me why, and the rest of it, and I understand that you weren’t completely – weren’t completely sober, and I shouldn’t have...but it was so embarrassing, and I felt so stupid, and you called it a favour, and that was just...I lost my patience with it all. With myself, really.”
Sirius doesn’t think he’s ever heard Remus talk about his feelings for this long in five years of knowing him, and apparently neither does Remus, because as soon as he finishes he seems to realise what he's said, flushes slightly, ducks his head.
“How you feel about me,” Sirius repeats slowly, and is he stating or asking? Who knows? Not Sirius, that’s for fucking sure. He moves closer and Remus swallows, shoves his hands into his pockets and then takes them out again.
“Yes.”
“And how do you feel about me?” Sirius asks. He tries to make his voice steady, casual, but he can’t keep the urgency out completely. Remus sighs. He looks defeated.
“Oh, come on. You’re going to make me say it? You’ve always mattered, Sirius. Surely you know that. I know it, I’ve known it for ages, now – since second year or something daft like that. It was always you. And I’m sorry if that – I don’t expect you to say anything, we can just pretend—”
“How about now?”
“Sorry?”
“Can I kiss you now?”
Sirius is really counting on that to come across calmer than he feels.
“What?” Remus sputters, strained and high, exactly like he’d said it when Sirius had suggested it the first time. His eyes snap back up to meet Sirius’. He’s so sweet, when he’s nervous, and Sirius almost laughs.
“It’s...it’s like this,” Sirius says. “It’s like, I like you - fancy you - so much it scares the shit out of me, Remus. More than anything. I like you so much I feel sick with it, to be honest. And, look, it took me a while to realize it – too long – so I guess, I guess I’ve spent a long time acting like a bit of a prat about it, but I know now, I know it's completely impossible, how much I like you. I was going to tell you, as well...I was going to try and apologize last night, but I came up and you were with...you were with, uh – fucking hell, Moony, you know I really can’t believe you don’t remember his name—"
Remus snickers a little at that, relaxes slightly, and Sirius smiles, too.
“So, uh, yeah. What’d you think, then? Can I kiss you? Or are you still, I mean I don’t know how serious you and that bloke are, maybe you were just saving formal introductions for your fifth hookup or something, I don’t—”
And then Remus shuts him up.
Before Sirius knows it, Remus has leaned down and his lips are on Sirius’ – not grazing this time, not almost, but very, absolutely, indisputably there, and though it takes Sirius a few seconds to remember to kiss back (he should’ve been more prepared, really, he is the one who asked) he eventually gets around to it. It’s soft and nice and safe and right, so right it’s all he can think about, and for someone who first gave it a go less than twelve hours ago Remus is a stupidly good kisser.
Sirius realizes he should probably do something with his hands, too, since Remus’ are already in his hair, at the nape of his neck. He can’t very well leave them dangling by his sides like an idiot, so instead they come to rest on Remus’ waist, one slightly higher than the other, carefully above his right hip.
It’s a shame that breathing is a bit of a necessity, because Sirius would really rather do without it, but all the same they break away as they must, eventually. He can see the flecks of gold in Remus’ eyes, up this close.
“I’m sorry,” he gets out, breathless. “Earlier, what I said, I’m really sorry, I never meant—”
“Me too,” Remus says. “Me neither.”
“I was just...I really was jealous. I was a wanker.”
“Just a bit.”
“You matter to me Remus, you know that, right? You know what I mean. Since first year. Since always, I think. More than all of it. Yeah?”
“Yeah,” Remus replies. A few beats of silence follow, and Sirius finds that he's okay with that.
“What are we going to tell James and Peter?" he asks, suddenly. Remus tips his head to the side.
"We don't need to tell them anything," he decides. "Just that we sorted things out. Which we did."
Sirius nods. "We did." Gently, he reaches up to pull one of Remus' hands away from within his hair, intertwines it with his own, and they fit together as if by design, and Sirius feels so ridiculously giddy, so wonderfully floaty, so right. "James'll be right hacked off, though, considering he just went on about his new rule and all."
Remus smiles, and then frowns. "Well, I'm the prefect out of us all," he says, with an air of mock gravity. "If rule-making comes under anyone's authority it's mine, right? I reckon I can overrule him."
"Mm. Spectacularly overestimating the power of your badge, I see."
"Sirius?"
"Yeah?"
"Shut up."
"Alright," Sirius grins, leaning in again.
Sirius is fine with not being Remus' first kiss. He reckons he'll have time to make up for that, later.