![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
aryastark_valarmorghulis posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
small_giftsTitle: When we finally kiss goodnight
Author: your
Recipient: thehufflebean
Rating: T
Contents or warnings (highlight to view): none
Word count: 2242
Summary: "Christmas 1977. In which Remus receives four gifts, confusion in love is clear and Sirius likes to do stuff.
"The party’s petering out like a gentle drizzle and when Sirius, long legs crossed on the carpet, starts to roll a cigarette Remus busies himself arranging his new – and probably expensive – cashmere scarf around his neck so that he doesn’t get caught looking too much at those deft, sure fingers."
Notes: Happy holidays, Sarah!
When we finally kiss goodnight
Remus missed his friends from the day they graduated; the sunlight was reflecting in James’ square glasses when the five of them headed towards the Hogsmeade station, laughing and careless, young minds beaming to the future ahead, oblivious steps forgetting it was the last time they’ll cover that familiar route.
He remembers James and Lily holding hands and Peter anxiously trying to convince them – or himself – that his application for an internship at Which Broomstick was going to be accepted. (It was. But Remus has been told no by Dust & Mildewe and by Rumihart Books as well. Not a huge surprise, even if Sirius had yelled and burned their rejection letters in an endearing outburst of solidarity.)
What began only as a vague sense of foreboding at the time is shaping up like a dark cloud, pouring rain over all the wizarding Britain, and it looks like Remus not only lacks an umbrella, but he’s not even wearing a raincoat. All his friends are busy with various attempts at being adults – with mixed results, yes, since it doesn’t look like Peter will do more than page settings spells any time soon and Lily’s stuck in the dungeons of St. Mungo’s apothecary with an on-call job because of her Muggle-born status.
In the meantime, Remus is busy drifting from one dishwashing job to another, trying not to feel too sorry for himself, crashing five nights out of seven on Sirius’ couch, watching him with bleary morning eyes while he pours two cups of tea, clad in his grey Auror trainee robes. He doesn’t resent him, of course, or James, but still – in the company of the nocturnal darkness, when his not yet hardened heart can unchain the most secret thoughts – it stings.
And Sirius. Sirius seems convinced he’s being tremendously helpful and magnanimous and the best of friends – to an extent, he is – but it only stings a little more whenever he insists that Remus should move in and ‘ who the fuck cares about rent, I’m not bloody rich for nothing!’ or, ‘here, Moony, this coat is too tight for me but it’s a waste to throw it away ’ or even ‘ I really don’t like eating alone, please come dine with me ’. It’s terribly sweet and quite a bit humiliating and at this point Remus isn’t even sure anymore if he should be annoyed or smitten with him. He is a bit of both, usually.
Christmas is only deepening his daily frustrations. He’s been fired again, his dad is worried, his mum is unwell, on December 23rd the Death Eaters destroyed an Inn run by two Muggleborn siblings up north in Glasgow, and tonight Sirius handed him his fourth present. Of course, Remus couldn’t even reply with anything different than a polite thank you, Padfoot, since they’re at James and Lily’s party and it would be quite mortifying to reveal to everyone that Sirius already gifted him a pair of dragon leather boots, a new broomstick and a satchel – equipped with a purse of galleons inside. Noblesse oblige.
Now Remus has no choice but to follow Sirius outside for a smoke break. Lily and James are snuggling on the couch with their paper hats all askew, the picture of cosiness, their whispers a soothing hum - James lowered the music as soon as Peter left, half an hour ago, and Lily has been yawning since Marlene and Dorcas Disapparated a few minutes ago. The party’s petering out like a gentle drizzle and when Sirius, long legs crossed on the carpet, starts to roll a cigarette Remus busies himself arranging his new – and probably expensive – cashmere scarf around his neck so that he doesn’t get caught looking too much at those deft, sure fingers.
For a fleeting moment, he feels out of place, an unwanted spectator between James and Lily, who are starting to doze off, and Sirius, rolling a second fag for Remus, thumbs slowly pushing the paper against the tobacco, tongue licking and sealing the paper. Remus looks away. Can Sirius really not know that his careless kindness fires up a light in Remus’ heart, irritation and tenderness burning his insides at the same time.
It’s going to be their last smoke break of the night – it’s two in the morning and Lily’s practically asleep on James’ shoulder. With a pang of regret for the warmth of the fireplace happily crackling, Remus casts two Warming Charms on both of them and steps outside of the magically tinted glass patio door, where the depths of darkness greets them, a fairy-tale night’s picture, if a little less stormy. Only the tiniest snowflakes float lazily in the still air, melting on Sirius’ hair like icing sugar.
Sirius offers him a fag and leans in with his own already lit so that Remus only has to put it in his mouth, inhale when the orange end of Sirius’ cigarette meets his own, hoping the twinkling fairy lights dangling from the porch conceal the blush spreading on his cheeks.
It’s one of those times that he wonders if Sirius knows and is playing with him a little for his own amusement, like one who’s distractedly plunking an instrument he’s not really interested in, just to hear what sounds it’ll make. But then, as he always does, he thinks that no, Sirius wouldn’t toy with him like that. Would he?
Maybe it’s the Firewhisky shot or maybe it’s love, but it spins Remus giddy, to not-so-accidentally bump shoulders with him in the middle of the night, their eighth Christmas eve since they’ve been friends, their first out of Hogwarts and their first since Sirius lit some kind of fuse underneath Remus’ skin.
“Scarf looks good on you,” Sirius says around a puff of smoke.
Remus shakes his head. “You shouldn’t have, Padfoot. You don’t have to buy me things all the t-”
Sirius grins. “I think the words you’re looking for are thank you, Padfoot, I love it .”
Remus takes a long drag and stares at the darkness ahead, wondering if it’s possible to hex and kiss his best friend at the same time – someone ought to have tried that, at some point, hexing and kissing. Sirius can’t be the only one in the history of time that manages to be insufferable and irresistible at once. “You’re bloody irritating, do you know that?”
Sirius only shrugs like he doesn’t believe him one bit – and he’s not even totally wrong. “So, shall we go home or shall we sleep in Lily and James’ guest room?”
He says it as if it’s obvious that Remus isn’t going back home alone that night, not that he wants to. It’s Christmas Eve. Almost already over, but it’s still Christmas Eve and with the way things are shaping up, he’s not even completely sure they’ll all live to see another one. The quest for another useless, short-lived job and the wait for Dumbledore to finally deem him worthy of being sent up north to gather intel are what await him, hiding in the shadowy folds of those festive days. Maybe, just for once, he can let himself be a little selfish, to seek just the harmless, most innocent pleasure.
“I’ve been drinking a bit too much to Apparate,” Remus replies. A bit of wine at dinner and a shot of Firewhisky isn’t that much - he has Apparated in far worse conditions before, but the lure of spending the night sleeping in a twin bed with Sirius is far more appealing than sleeping on a couch, an opportunity too irresistible to pass on.
Sirius nods. “Hmm, me too, actually.”
Heading back inside, they find James and Lily asleep on the couch, so they both take off their boots and cast Silencing Charms on themselves as they climb the wooden staircase that leads upstairs. Silence falls upon them like a soft blanket, an intimate space that only belongs to themselves. Remus goes to the loo, brushes his teeth and when he steps into the guestroom, Sirius is already sitting under the covers, the lampshade casting a warm, soft glow. How would it be, thinks Remus, to come home to this. And then, don’t be fucking stupid.
Maybe it wasn’t such a great idea to sleep in the same bed, in such close quarters, but after all, Remus is only eighteen: he’s allowed to have stupid ideas, once in a while. It’s not that he hopes something will happen – but if he’s true to himself, and the liminal time between sober and drunk, frustrated and infatuated seems like a good moment to be honest - something kind of happened before. Remus might or might not have tried to, unconsciously of course, recreate similar circumstances.
After Transfiguring his trousers and jumper into something resembling pyjamas, Remus slips into the bed, shuffling a bit self-consciously when Sirius doesn’t put out the light and remains seated, looking at him from above. Really, how Remus can be blamed for wanting to be as close as possible to him is a mystery – Sirius looks so impossibly handsome in the dim light that all Remus longs to is to trace his classical profile with a finger, just once in his life, and it’ll be enough, he thinks, it’s not too much to ask.
“Good Christmas?” Remus whispers, just to prevent himself to reach out.
“A bit subdued, if you ask me...” Sirius hums, turning towards him. Remus nods, understanding what Sirius means: none of their post-Hogwarts plans really went through, not the road trips or the weekly nights out, not when London isn’t safe to roam anymore; not for Muggle-borns, werewolves and Order members, at least.
“And you? Good Christmas?” Sirius asks in return. Grey eyes bore into Remus’, who usually doesn’t appreciate being scrutinized, very much preferring to blend in, but he secretly loves when it’s Sirius watching him. He feels known, understood.
“Too many gifts, if you ask me,” he jokes, and while they both smile, Sirius averts his eyes and starts to play with the sheet’s hem. There must be something on his mind.
“Is it that weird?” Sirius asks. “That I like to do stuff for you? Because you do stuff for me too, all the time – maybe you don’t even realise it, but you do.”
Remus stares, cornered in a conversation he started himself, palms starting to sweat under the warm covers. “Stuff,” he repeats, sitting up so he and Sirius are at the same level, planning in his mind all the ways to slip away from this topic.
“Yes, stuff,” Sirius says, still not looking at him, but nodding stubbornly, like he’s trying to convince Remus. “You always help me practice for Auror training even if you should resent me and those arseholes who didn’t want you, you wait for me outside the Ministry every Wednesday and Friday for more than an hour just to get lunch together and, honestly, the only times my flat doesn’t look like it’s been ravaged by a group of Poltergeists is when you’re in it. And look, I know you didn’t miss your aim last month – you never miss – you just didn’t want to Stupefy my stupid idiot brother while he was flying and you did it for me.”
Remus swallows, throat dry. Embarrassment and shame glide on him, and the realisation that he hadn’t been as subtle as he thinks he is, and even if he had been, Sirius is too clever and knows him too well.
“Makes a bloke wonder, you know...” Sirius adds, this time looking right at him.
Remus’ face is hot because, bugger all, what does Sirius want? To play with him? A declaration of love? His mind drifts off to the two times they kissed. The first one was a joke – Peter and James dared them under the mistletoe, the previous year – and the second… well, they don’t talk about the second time. But they were drunk, and Sirius can’t...
“You know what,” Remus starts, because Sirius can’t just corner him so bluntly and force him to confess feelings without confessing himself first, “you just bought me four Christmas gifts and told me you like doing stuff for me- makes a bloke wonder as wel -”
“Merlin, what the hell is there to wonder?” Sirius snaps, startling them both. “You have to know-” he lowers his voice then, words coming out hushed and hasty, almost pleading, “that – that I must be in love with you or – or something.”
Remus blinks, his ears ringing like a spell missed him by a whisker, his heart leaping somewhere between his chest and throat. “Or something,” he repeats, his stunned mind still not grasping the enormity of what Sirius just said but there’s no possibility to read anything different into his words. The clumsiest, truest, sweetest confession just fell into his hands and it’s so precious, Remus is afraid that translating the dizzy love into words could break it. So, just like he did that other time (and yet it’s so much different now), Remus cradles Sirius’ handsome face between shaky hands, closes his eyes and thinks, a hundred years wouldn’t be enough to paint the moment of eternity when Sirius kisses him and he kisses back in return, in the dark embrace of a Christmas night in the West Country in Britain, on an Earth that sparkles like a star.
no subject
Date: 2019-12-26 10:43 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2020-01-03 08:53 pm (UTC)