Chapter Text
Life is incredibly, unbelievably unfair, and Sirius simply cannot take it anymore—not for a single second longer. He’s about 99% sure that if he had to, in fact, take it for a moment longer, that he would quite literally sink through the floor of his bedroom and perish in flames, or whatever.
“Jaaaaaaames...” he whines, staring at the ceiling from where he’s lying flat on his back on the bed, one arm thrown haphazardly over his forehead in his usual dramatic fashion.
James is spread out on the other side of the bed, a thin sheet covering his legs where he’s sat up against the headboard, and he’s clearly pretending to be extremely busy, thumbing his way through a music magazine he nicked from Remus’s room. Sirius can't recall the last time he's caught James listening to Muggle music – or at all, really – so he knows it's in part a ploy to not have to talk to Sirius.
James barely even glances at him at the sound of his name, simply opting to kick at Sirius's ankle under the sheet in response to his attention seeking. Sirius turns his head to glare at him, his hair rubbing on the sheets, and shoves his knee up into James’s thigh when James still refuses to look at him.
“Hey!” James squawks, indignantly, and narrows his eyes at Sirius as he rubs the sore spot on his thigh. “Quit pestering me.”
“I’m allowed to pester you if you’re ignoring me,” Sirius hisses, catching James’s glare and narrowing his eyes in return, easily slipping into the well-practised routine of staring stand-offs with James.
“Well, I already know what you’re going to say!”
“How could you possibly know what I was going to say?” Sirius blusters, lifting his head from the bed to look at James incredulously.
James returns his stare, deadpan, and finally lowers the magazine. He looks at Sirius for a beat in that impassive way best friends do when they’re trying to make it clear to you that you’re being an absolute idiot—and a predictable one at that.
“You were going to go off on a tangent again about how hot Remus looked today and how badly you want to kiss him, shag him, shack up with him and adopt many children—in that exact order.”
“Was not!” Sirius squawks, but his voice – the traitor - betrays him and comes out too high-pitched to continue to feign he wasn't about to say... well, exactly that. He can feel his cheeks growing hotter, if that’s even possible in this heat.
James rolls his eyes up to the ceiling and produces the most dramatic sigh Sirius has ever heard: deep, loud, proper devastated. How dare he—it’s not like Sirius has come to him about this that often in the past few months, right?
James had only been staying at the Lupin cottage with them for a few days, and Sirius had talked about Remus maybe a total of what, six times? That’s not much at all, and even before that when they were communicating via owl, Sirius had only brought him up a total of twenty times.
And even before that, in the last month of their Fifth year before they left Hogwarts for their summer holidays, after James had found out, only a few… okay, admittedly that would be a lie. He did, in fact, complain to James about Remus all the time, and it's vaguely possible that the majority of his complaints were about how badly he wanted to kiss him, shag him, etcetera.
But hey, that’s what friends are for, and James should be grateful Sirius shares anything with him at all if he’s being so indignant about it. God knows Sirius has spent enough time listening to him blabber on about Lily, and he took all of that in his stride. Well, mostly. Sirius loves Lily, and James for that matter, but there are times when he'd rather bang his head against the wall for an hour than listen to James go on about his unrequited crush.
That doesn't mean James can feel the same about Sirius's unrequited crush, though. Sirius has only been whinging for about a month, so he had years left before him and James were equal in their level of exasperation.
Sirius pushes himself up to rest on his elbows and shoots James another glare, his most famous one, pulling the magazine from his fingers and rolling it up so he can hit James over the head with it.
“You’re supposed to be my best friend. Who else am I supposed to go to about the deepest and darkest desires of my heart, my soul and my loins?” he hisses, hitting James over the head again when he dares to laugh at him.
“Anyone but me, I beg of you. I never want to hear about your loins ever again. Reg, Hope, Lyall, Wormy, Lily, Marlene,” James ticks off on his fingers, “or – even better – have you thought of telling the object of your affections and filthy, unholy intentions himself?”
Sirius gasps in mock horror and tosses the magazine across the room, where it hits a wall and flutters down sadly, James pouting after it. Sirius sinks back down into the mattress, throwing his hands up in desperation.
“I can’t talk to any of them about this and you know it! Least of all Moony himself. I would rather throw myself into the Black Lake and wrestle the Giant Squid,” he groans, mind wandering, grasping for examples. “I would rather let Mulciber purposefully hit a bludger in my direction. I would rather boil Peter’s dirty socks and drink the water. I would rather–”
“Okay, let me stop you there, mate. I don’t think I like where these are going,” James interjects, wrinkling his nose at, presumably, Peter’s dirty sock juice.
James wipes the sweat off his brow with the hem of his tank top, groaning at the late summer heat that’s stifling the room. You'd think he would be more accustomed to this, visiting his family in India practically every summer, but the Welsh heat is something else this year—a dry heat that has yellowed the rolling hills of the countryside and dried up seemingly any and all moisture except for their damn sweat.
Sirius echoes his annoyance. It’s been absolutely sweltering all summer, an anomaly in Wales, and Sirius is unquestionably not made for heat. His hair is perpetually gross and sticking to his neck, and he dislikes the feeling of the transpiration that permanently seems to cover his entire body. On the other hand, he is extremely grateful to the weather gods for making Remus walk around shirtless and sweaty in the garden every day due to that same heat, so he’ll gladly take his losses.
“The thing is, Padfoot– you have to make a decision at some point, you know that right?” James continues, his voice surprisingly gentle, shaking Sirius out of his reverie.
It takes him aback a little. James is many things, many good things, and gentleness is often one of his best traits, but his softer side rarely comes out when him and Sirius are bickering back and forth like this.
* *
Sirius closes his eyes for a second, thinking about the weight of James’s question. The thing is, he does know. He knows full well that this crush, or infatuation, or whatever words people use nowadays to describe the fluttering in his stomach and the tight squeezing of his heart with love and longing that he feels whenever he sees Remus now—he knows that he needs to do something about it. He knows. He just doesn’t know what exactly it is that he needs to, or wants to, do about it.
The thing is also that it’s really, really scary. Sirius found it hard to admit that to himself at first—full of bravado as he is, surely he wouldn’t be beaten into submission by notions like what if he doesn’t…, wouldn’t be cowered by something as silly as being in love with his best friend? But he knows now that’s what it is.
Love, and fear. Fear of rejection, most of all, but if you crack the outer shell of that open, it’s other things too, hidden within, layers of a Russian doll. Fear of losing Remus, of losing the familiarity they have, the brotherly bond, the comfortable silences and roaring laughter, the silent understanding, the closeness with someone who knows you better than you know yourself.
He loves Remus, in any and all senses of the word loves him, and he knows Remus loves him back in some ways in return, but still he worries constantly that that love is something impermanent, conditional, fragile, something he could fracture, or worse—lose entirely. It’s not fair to Remus, who has never given any indication that he would stop loving Sirius for whatever reason, but he can’t help it. The fear is etched into him, carved and seared into his soul by dark memories and sharp words.
It has been with him nearly his entire life, instilled by his parents, of course. It started with them, with Andromeda, Alphard and Regulus, and then later with James and Peter and Remus, and Hope and Lyall.
He still feels it, sometimes—a flicker of fear, fingers of ice clutching in his chest when he says something that upsets James, when Remus avoids him in favour of solitude after a full moon, when Regulus refuses to acknowledge him at breakfast on a particularly bad day.
He feels it every time Remus, Regulus and Sirius take the train from Hogwarts back to Wales, crippled by fear that Hope and Lyall will be waiting on the platform and tell the Black brothers to find someplace else to go. He’s immensely relieved every time the two just pull them into loving hugs, muttering that they’ve missed them all, pushing lovingly made sandwiches and travel mugs of tea in their hands before grabbing their trunks and cheerily asking about their journey on the way to the car.
“I’m afraid, James,” he admits quietly, running a hand through his sweaty hair, even though the words barely scratch the surface of how he feels.
In for a penny, in for a pound, or however that Muggle saying goes. Lyall has been teaching them. James hums in return, encouraging, and Sirius debates how much to tell him. He knows most of it already, the simple fact that Sirius does indeed want to kiss, shag, and shack up with Remus, in that order.
What he doesn’t know is that no matter how badly Sirius craves that, longs for Remus to miraculously love him back and for them to live happily ever after, he’s equally afraid that he’s going to balls it all up. At one point, he even made one of those awfully cheesy pro’s and cons lists like they do in films, about telling Remus the truth. Naturally, Sirius self-sabotaged and spiralled completely as the cons list reached the bottom of the page, the pro’s column only listing ‘he could like me back (unlikely) and we could be happy’.
There’s too much to be afraid of, too many scenarios in which Sirius, Remus and everyone around them end up hurt, or worse, divided. The worst case scenario runs through his head now, like putting the needle down on a well-played record, settling into the worn ridges.
Remus rejecting him, feeling caged or maybe even violated by the thought of Sirius being in love with him. Remus withdrawing from him, their friendship growing frail and shrivelling up like a leaf in autumn, shattering the Marauders. Hope and Lyall, prioritising their real son’s comfort, showing Sirius, and Regulus with him, the door.
It’s unfair to them to think this way, he knows, but it’s not something he can help—he wouldn’t be Sirius Black if every single positive thing in his life wasn’t taken from him, eventually. It’s just the way the world works, the way the Earth turns, for him. It’s only a matter of time before he loses this, too. He’s not sure if he wants to speed up the process by risking telling Remus the truth. He can’t stand to lose any of it.
* *
“Do you think… the Lupins would kick me and Reg out, if he- he doesn’t-” Sirius whispers, strained.
“Sirius,” James cuts him off, aghast. “You can’t mean that.”
Sirius shrugs, pulling his shoulders all the way up to his ears, refusing to look at James. His eyes are fixed sternly on the ceiling, on a small crack in the plaster.
“They love you, Pads. You’ve only lived with them for a couple months in total, across a couple of years, but they adore you. And Reggie too. There’s nothing in the world you could do to make them send you away. I swear,” James continues decisively, and Sirius can feel his resolute gaze on him, burning through him.
“I’m just- what if he doesn’t like me back, Prongs? There’s like, a 99 percent possibility that he doesn’t, statistically, and then what? He’ll feel guilty and awkward around me, distance himself, shy away… and I will be heartbroken, and everyone in the house will be tiptoeing around us both, feeling sorry for me. What if I lose him, James? I can’t, I can’t lose him, okay?” he rambles, finally flitting his eyes across to look at James in a bout of sheer panic that squeezes at his throat.
James sits up straighter, a frown etched on his face, and leans forward to squeeze Sirius’s ankle. They look at each other for a few seconds, something unreadable in James’s eyes. He's undoubtedly seeing flashes of fear and panic in Sirius’s in return. Eventually, James sighs heavily and tugs Sirius’s foot in his lap.
“Pads. He’s your best friend. He loves you like a brother, at least, and although I can’t say if he loves you as anything more romantic than that, he loves you. This is Remus we’re talking about, our soft, gentle giant Remus, who makes you coffee every morning and takes Padfoot to the beach and who buys you band tees he thinks you'd like from the charity shop in town. He would rather cut off his arm than hurt you,” James says sternly. “Give him some credit, yeah?”
Sirius squeezes his eyes shut, letting James’s words ruminate in his mind. He’s vaguely aware of James rubbing his foot, gently, and he knows it’s proof that James is taking this very seriously all of a sudden, wanting to be a reassuring presence. He's good like that. A blooming warmth full of affection for James spreads through Sirius's chest at the thought.
The thing is, he’s right, of course, and Sirius knows it. Remus is the epitome of kindness, always sympathetic and tender and considerate and good, the bloody epitome of goodness, and Sirius loves him for it so much it rattles him sometimes, makes him shake with want.
“I know that. I do. I’m just... I love him so much, James, and I want to be with him so badly, but- I don’t think I’m ready yet. To face the confrontation.”
The words ring even truer as he utters them, feel right in his mouth as he’s stringing the syllables together. He isn’t ready to profess his love in the confession of a lifetime, isn’t yet capable of weathering Remus’s eventual and inescapable response, and he’ll just have to deal with that. Rejection is a hard pill to swallow, and he’s… not ready. More pining it will have to be.
James nods slowly, stilling the motion of his fingers on Sirius’s foot as he purses his lips in thought, but clearly decides to hold back whatever he was about to say.
“Whenever you’re ready, Pads, and whatever you think is the right thing to do. I’ll be here no matter what happens, as will the others. Promise,” he murmurs instead, squeezing Sirius’s ankle again in a soft, comforting gesture.
Sirius offers him a weak smile in return, rubbing his hands across his face in resignation, and shakes his head valiantly in an attempt to stave off any thoughts of Remus Remus Remus and confessions and rejections left over in his traitorous brain.
“I’m still a pathetic basket case, you know, so you can continue with that foot rub,” Sirius teases, nudging his foot against James’s palm and lifting his other foot into his lap as well.
James laughs easily at that, the gentle, worried expression washing from his face like clouds clearing from across the sun, and flicks at Sirius’s big toe with his forefinger.
“Yes, master Black, at your service, master Black,” he mocks, pushing Sirius’s feet backwards and pressing his thumbs into the soles. “Your feet are disgusting, by the way.”
“What, just because they’re not fine and dainty and attached to Evans?” he retorts, bending his knees in an attempt to stick his left foot into James’s face.
“Exactly. Your feet are sweaty and stinky and your big toe is way too… well, big.”
Sirius squawks indignantly. “I’ll have you know people would commit murder for a chance to touch my feet, Potter.”
“Is that so? Well, they can swap with me, because I would rather drink Peter’s dirty sock juice than touch your tootsies ever again.”
“See if I offer them up to you for free ever again,” Sirius huffs, placing one last deftly placed kick to James’s shoulder before retracting his feet and throwing them over the side of the bed. James’s hands are too hot anyway, the skin to skin contact making him sweat even worse.
“Maybe you can ask Remus to touch your feet,” James quips, and Sirius kicks him in the thigh for good measure.
“Shut up, you evil bastard. I’m hexing your underwear pink for that.”
James laughs and rolls his eyes, shoving at Sirius’s knee. He falls backwards against the headboard dramatically, throwing his hand over his forehead and sighing heavily in mock delirium.
“Oh Remus, you beautiful piece of meat, you hunky man, you tall glass of water, please would you rub my feet?” he stage-whispers, fanning himself with his free hand, playing the part of a fawning lady perfectly.
Sirius laughs, honestly and heartily, and something in his chest lightens a little, making it easier to breathe. James has always been a pro at easy banter like this, mocking Sirius like only he can, and well, if you can’t beat them, join them, right? He sits up and clutches at his heart in an exaggerated motion, rolling his eyes up at the ceiling, and whimpers dramatically.
“Oh Remus, with your beautiful eyelashes, your tawny skin and honey brown doe eyes, your gorgeous lips and your strong, veiny hands, and your-”
“Okay, enough!” James laughed, rocking forward to press his hand over Sirius’s mouth and immediately withdrawing it when Sirius, naturally, licks it.
“I wasn’t finished!”
“Well, if I let you finish we’d be here ‘til tomorrow morning. Or maybe even later than that. I need my beauty sleep, Sirius, you know that, we can’t all look like Greek gods from birth.”
“See, you say you don’t want to hear it, but then you talk about Greek gods and you know it reminds me of when Remus taught us about Ovid and Homer, and-”
He’s rudely interrupted by a pillow smacking him in the face and plopping down into his lap, leaving Sirius open-mouthed and aghast, rubbing his cheek where the pillow thumped him.
“Do you even hear yourself right now? Oh, he’s got you wrapped around his finger all right. I have never heard you talk about anything resembling education with such passion before, and frankly, I’m disappointed, Sirius.”
Sirius groans and throws the pillow back at him, but there’s no fervour behind it. James catches the soft object easily and throws it over the side of the bed, onto the spare mattress on the floor that belongs to Sirius while James is staying over, due to a lost bet.
“In my defence, they’re good stories. I like stories?” he tries, but it’s no use. James is unperturbed and they both know it.
James rolls his eyes and points to the mattress on the floor, feigning a scowl. “Down, boy,” he orders, and Sirius goes willingly, sliding down the bed to drop down on the soft bedding.
* *
Sirius turns on his side as James switches off the light, tucking up his knees to get comfortable enough in the sweltering heat of the room for sleep. He scratches at his hip absent-mindedly, mind racing a hundred miles an hour. James is settling in beside him, up on the bed, curled up with his front towards Sirius, an unconscious practice they adopted at Hogwarts, always facing each other.
Outside, he can hear the frogs croaking in the pond in the garden, the chirping of crickets in the bushes. It’s comforting to him, the sounds of the Lupins’ garden, Hope’s pride and joy, so very different from the sounds at Hogwarts. The twittering birds, yapping fox cubs, rummaging badgers, crunching leaves, and the gentle hum of the greenhouse in winter are a stark contrast to the gusting winds and gloomy quiet outside the Gryffindor tower.
Sirius fidgets, frustratingly unable to fall asleep due to the heat and his own wandering thoughts. The sheet is tangled around his feet uncomfortably, so he kicks at them, but it’s no use. He still feels sweaty, overheated and too big for his body, and it doesn’t stop his mind from going haywire.
“James?” he whispers into the dark, watching the outline of James’s body in the gloom, turning to the closest thing that has always settled him.
A soft grunt assures him James is similarly discontented, still awake and struggling to doze off. Sirius hesitates for a moment, unsure which of the hundred questions floating through him he wants to ask.
“What do I do?” he settles for, the biggest question of them all, encompassing his entire problem. He knows full well James can’t answer it for him, not truly, that he won’t have a magical solution to soothe all of Sirius’s troubles away and secure a happy ending, but he still wants to know.
James exhales heavily through his nose, the weight of the question hanging between them. Sirius can see him move, tucking his legs in, mirroring Sirius’s position.
“Tell him, Pads,” he says, gently but resolutely.
“Tell him. But if you find you can’t… and I’m not trying to be insensitive here, but if you can’t, you need to let it go. Forget about it, find someone else, move on. You can’t just do nothing, okay? Trust me,” he continues, voice unwavering as he tugs at his pillow and repositions his head.
“I know how it feels to live in that grey area, that terrifying place of potential... rejection or reciprocation, all the paths still open to you. But it’s not fair to anyone to stay there, and I don’t want that for you.”
There’s a wobble to James’s voice now, a myriad of thoughts and feelings hiding behind his words, seeping through the cracks.
Sirius shivers despite the heat, letting the truth and the weight of James’s words sink deep into his bones. He’s right, of course he is, the bastard, and he knows he’s been here before. James spent a full year pining over Lily before working up the courage to tell her, before she gently rejected his advances. It didn’t stop him, of course, convinced she’ll come around, but James and Lily are not him and Remus.
Getting rejected by Remus could have a multitude of consequences that James never had to worry about with Lily, could fracture everything Sirius holds dear.
Tell him, James’s words echo in his head. If only Sirius had the strength to.