Chapter Text
At first, time seemed to stretch unbearably slowly. They texted each other pretty much every day, and some nights they would even call.
For a couple of people who agreed not to do this long distance (and not to put a “this” on the this, for it was not a this, it was a--nothing), they certainly weren’t acting like it.
Phone calls easily became soft and intimate, breathy promises and teases and hot words uttered over hundreds of miles:
“I miss you. I miss your mouth. I miss the way it moves when you talk.”
Sighing, “I miss the way yours feels.”
Swallowing, “I miss your tongue.”
“Fuck, Otley. Why are you all of the way up there, and I’m all of the way down here?”
When Sirius’s coursework became intense, and when Remus found himself deep in the throes of classes and writing his dissertation, their calls became less frequent, and Remus, as busy as he was, ached for them.
Ached for Sirius.
“I kept your t-shirt. The red stripes,” Sirius confessed one night. Remus was staring at his alarm clock on his bedside table, listening to the distant sound of buses and cars crawling up the Walk behind his Leith flat. He could hear muffled music coming from Dorcas’ room next door. She had Marlene over.
“I wondered what happened to that!” Remus laughed. He wanted so badly to reach out over the line and poke Sirius in the ribs. “You cheeky thieving monkey.”
“Hm. You know me.”
“Do you wear it?”
“Sometimes. Not at first, because I used to sniff it like a weirdo while I had a wank.”
“Romantic.”
The sound of Sirius’s returning chuckle was muffled. Then, a long and broken sigh. “I can’t wait to see you. It’s--it’s not the same here. It’s not--it’s not what I thought it’d be like.”
When Remus tried to wheedle out more information from that, Sirius dodged the subject and started a new topic of conversation, and before long, they were whispering different kinds of assurances into each other’s ears, bringing each other off in the only ways they could while they were on separate ends of the country.
Sirius, James, and Lily were due to arrive in Edinburgh in two weeks. It was the first week of winter break, and after that, Remus was going to spend a whole fortnight in Otley with his mum and his Auntie Helen, the longest stretch of time spent back at home since he started university almost four years ago (“just don’t set me up with any cheesemongers, please”).
So it was surprising - no, that was too mild a word, shocking was a bit more apt - when Dorcas delivered the news to him a week after their last phone call:
“It’s for you, says his name’s Sirius?” she said, holding onto the receiver in the hallway as she stretched around into the little cubbyhole they called a kitchen, one dark eyebrow cocked.
Remus had been doing his dishes from dinner when the buzzer sounded, and he looked down at the bright yellow Marigolds on his hands, his eyes wide. He whipped his head around, blowing an errant curl from his eyes. “Sirius?”
“Interesting name, yeah,” Dorcas said thoughtfully. “Sounds pure posh, like. Is this one of your pals from down south during your time at the castle?”
“Shit,” Remus muttered, glancing around, panicked. “Shit shit shit. Yes. Yes, I know him from Bucks. He’s--er. He’s a bit early.”
A whole week early.
“Okay, hold on.” The gloves were whipped off in seconds and he ran his hands through his hair, not giving himself time to glance at any reflective surfaces before he hopped downstairs in his bare feet and tartan pyjama bottoms, the Christmas ones his mum gifted him a few years ago. Thankfully, the matching reindeer top was somewhere in his washing basket, and he was wearing an old Ezra Furman t-shirt instead. Marginally cooler.
He fiddled with the latch on the door, shivering a bit. The communal hall was spacious and dim, and it smelled like weed and old, damp stone. His fingers and toes were already freezing.
It was difficult to pinpoint the feeling of seeing Sirius standing there, impossibly, on his doorstep, backdropped by the rowdy football pub across the road.
Because it wasn’t just one feeling, it was several, all at once, jumbled up and tossed around in the giant washing machine that was his brain in that moment: bewilderment, elation, fear (had something happened to Monty? To Euphemia? To James or Lily?), an underpinning sense of--relief.
Sirius was wrapped in a leather biker jacket that had no business looking that good on him, and the soft grey beanie hat on his head only made his eyes look that much sharper.
Eyes that slowly travelled up and down Remus, smiley and perhaps a little cautious.
“Are you going to let me in, Otley?”
Remus stared at him, struck dumb for a moment before he moved aside so Sirius could step out from the cold. When Remus closed the door behind him, muffling the sounds from across the road, he swung around and immediately pulled Sirius into a tight hug returned with unabashed joy.
“How’d you get my address?” Remus breathed. Sirius smelled like cigarettes and spicy cologne, and under that, a faint hint of turpentine. Always present.
He wondered if he put the cologne on for him.
“Monty gave it to me,” Sirius whispered. He pulled back and looked at Remus again, his expression soft. “It’s not a problem is it? I wanted to surprise you.”
Remus laughed breathlessly. “Mission accomplished!” And then, “God, come upstairs, you must be freezing. And hungry? I’ve got biscuits. Do you want a tea? Everything’s okay?” he asked him, searching his face frantically.
But Sirius chuckled and carried his bag on his shoulder, following Remus up the old-fashioned stairs to the third floor, clinging to the winding railing as they went. “Everything’s fine, Otley. I’d love a tea. And biscuits. You old fart,” he teased.
Remus laughed through his nose. “Enough of that. You’re officially old now too.”
They settled on the kitchen table after Sirius put his bag and outer layers down on the blanket-covered armchair by the TV, his eyes flitting around the small flat, clearly trying to take it in, from the stuffed bookcases to the Rosemary’s Baby poster above the couch.
Dorcas hovered for a few minutes, curious to find out more about the unannounced houseguest (for it was unspoken Sirius would be staying here, whether he had a hotel booked or not), but after shaking hands and exchanging names, she raised another inquisitive eyebrow at Remus and said, “I will...make myself scarce, then,” clearly holding back a laugh and assessing Remus’s pink cheeks.
“Let’s definitely hang out tomorrow, Dee, I want to know more about your film degree,” Sirius called after her, and she grinned, waving at them, disappearing into her room. After a beat, the muffled sound of music from behind her closed door filled the quiet.
Remus let out a slow breath and set a steaming mug of tea in front of Sirius. But before he sat down, he hovered behind him in question, and when he saw the soft look of permission on Sirius’s face, he leaned down just as Sirius tilted his head back. They exchanged a soft kiss, their first in months.
When it broke, he peered down at him, at those soft red lips, at his straight little nose and the clear, grey eyes that were still nervous.
“Remus, I have to tell you something a little bit, er--mad, and you have to promise not to freak out,” Sirius said, tapping his fingers nervously around the rim of his mug.
“More mad than you showing up here a whole week before you were supposed to?” Remus asked him, sliding into the chair across from him, their knees knocking gently underneath the small table, their ankles weaving together so easily.
Sirius nodded and scratched his head a bit. “Er, yeah. So--Central Saint Martins. It’s--well, the whole experience...” He let out a loud breath through closed lips like a horse, putting his whole chest into it. “It’s basically been a big pile of shit from the start. A fucking car crash.”
Remus blinked, shocked, and tilted his head to the side. “You never said anything!”
“I didn’t want to worry you. Any of you.” Sirius drew in another deep breath, looking down at the table. “It’s a good school. A very good school. But--I hate London. I can’t do it, Remus. I can’t be there anymore. It’s so grey and miserable and busy every single day. And--it’s too close to them. It’s like I can feel them breathing down my neck. It’s destroying my bloody soul, y’know?”
Remus didn’t really know, not personally, but he could see it. He could see the misery in Sirius’s face now, the downward slant of his mouth. He hated it.
“So I have two options,” Sirius said quietly, finally looking up again. “I could transfer to Oxford, if they’ll have me, and be with James. Or I could take the offer from Glasgow, and be closer to Monty and Euphemia, during term time.” He sniffed a bit, his cheeks pink. “And you.”
Remus’s head was spinning. He was sure his expression was quite ridiculous too; he stared at Sirius, slightly slack-jawed and flushed. His heart was rattling wildly in his chest, but he didn’t move his legs away from Sirius’s.
“I know it’s utterly mad,” Sirius whispered quickly. “But--this summer was everything to me, Remus. Was it everything to you? Tell me it was. We call each other almost every day. That’s not nothing, is it?”
Every night, for the last four weeks of summer, Remus had slept in Sirius’s bed. Had kissed him goodnight. Had woken up with him and teased him about his terrible bedhead. Had laughed with him, shared stories, shared himself. Had stolen every free moment with him, memorising his scent, his taste. Had peeled all of those layers from that very first day away.
Sirius sniffed, leaning forward to take one of Remus’s hands.
“Say yes. Say yes, and I’ll do it. We can try this--thing. See where it goes. It might be a total disaster, we don’t know that yet. But--it might not be. It might be something completely brilliant and amazing.” He let out a tiny breath. “I think it could be. Don’t you?”
And there he was: Sirius, as clear as day. Unravelled and completely sincere.
Remus looked at him across the table, and he reached out to him, tucking some wild black curls behind his ear.
“Alright then,” he said, a smile wavering on his lips, bursting to expand across his face. “Yes.”