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Chapter Text

There's no real way to start telling this story without acknowledging a few things first. How fickle the memory is, how beautiful the countryside, and how easy it is to irrevocably break yourself and still not regret a thing.

This is not a love story, nor a coming of age. It's something else entirely that it wishes it weren't, and if things could be changed, patterns broken and stories rewritten, perhaps it would fit the mould of a love story very nicely. Maybe thats a hope for another lifetime.

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It's late June once Sirius reaches Brookdale; he would've been there sooner, but this visit with his uncle had been rather spontaneous. Spontaneous in the way it hadn't been planned for at all, a rash decision made during a screaming match in which the manor did not escape unscathed, Sirius isn't sure who did the most damage, he or his mother. The trip was meant to straighten him out, or so his parents claimed. Sirius knew it was really just to keep him out of the way, a hidden warning in the way the maids cleaned out his room so quickly that it was like he never existed at all.

He supposes he should probably feel grateful it's Alphrad they're sending him to and not Cygnus, who's a real piece of work, but he hasn't seen Alphrad since he was a baby and isn't really sure what to expect from the man. He doesn't know much about him, other than he's a recluse in the already reclusive Black family. 

He's spent most of the bus ride thinking about him, what he may be like, and where he may live. Sirius is expecting something straight from a gothic horror novel, a dark, gloomy house with iron wrought gates and a man more akin to a monster than anything human. He's already picturing a cold room in the attic, his new home for the next three months, where he’ll be able to hear all the creaks of the old house. A voice in the back of his head reminds him that ghosts may very well be real, and if they were going to haunt anyone, Alphrad Black would probably be perfect.

The bus drops him off at a corner. Hypothetically, he's near Alphrad’s house; he just has to now find it. He pulls out his phone from his pocket, untangling it from the wires of his earbuds as he pulls up the directions he was given and begins to follow the little arrow glowing on the map.

It isn't a far walk, maybe ten minutes in total, until he reaches the little Home icon on the screen. He's sure he must be at the wrong place, because the house that belongs to this address is not befitting of a Black, not in any sense of what Sirius gathered to be the family-wide aesthetic. It's a Queen Anne-style house, the siding a light yellow color, and the windows framed with brown shutters. The roof is a rich green that matches the front door. There's a fence, yes, but not the one Sirius was expecting. It is wooden and inviting. There's even a small flower garden in the front yard! 

Just as Sirius is considering turning back and calling his Mother to check the address, the door opens and a man steps out onto the porch. He's vaguely familiar, like a fogged-out dream, with his straight nose and black hair. He's wearing cream colored pants and a sweater vest (a fricken sweater vest.), and he's smiling brightly at Sirius as if he expects one in turn. It takes several seconds of blinking for Sirius to realise that the man smiling at him is meant to be Alphrad Black, and by that point, Alphrad has already grabbed his suitcase and is talking at him.

Sirius has missed most of what he was saying, but follows the man up the porch stairs anyway, half flabbergasted, surely, this is not what his mother was expecting when she sent him here; she would never. Alphrad was meant to be a punishment after all.

Alphrad is still talking once they walk into his home, and Sirius is quick to take it all in. There are none of the Ghosts or old family heirlooms he was expecting, like back at home; instead, Alphrad’s house smells of cinnamon, there are knitted rugs on the floor, and bright artwork on the wall. It honestly sorta looks like an antique shop threw up in there, with the mismatched decor and threadbare furniture, it all makes Sirius weirdly uncomfortable.

He had been right about one thing, though; his room was in fact in the attic. 

“I know it isn't much,” Alphrad starts to say as Sirius walks inside the room, “but your mother didn't really give me much warning. We tried to make it.. homey.”

“No, it's.. great. Thank you.” Sirius says quickly, taking it in. It's a small, half-circular room, with windows that overlook the street outside. Tucked into the corner by the door is a twin-sized bed with a wooden frame that looks older than Sirius. There's a small desk directly opposite it that the door slightly bumps into when fully opened, there's a small dresser toward the back of the room and a plush red chair that looks out of place with the clearly aged wood of the other furnishings 

He slides his backpack off his shoulder and sets it on the bed, the springs creaking with the small movement. And he meant it when he said it was great, because he was expecting something way worse. This? Compared to the image in his head? Five-star resort.

“I’ll leave you to settle in,” Alphrad says, drumming his hands on the doorframe, “I’m sure you want to call your parents, let them know you got here alright… We’ll be downstairs if you need anything.”

The very last thing he wants to do is call his mother, but Alphrad leaves the room anyway, giving Sirius the space. He sits on the bed, fishing his phone out of his pocket once more to check the notifications, a message from James and something from Facebook. His mother clearly has no care whether he has made it safely or not, so he sends a message to Regulus instead, just the word ‘Here’. He knows the message will get across.

He makes quick work of unpacking his things; he hadn't been the one to pack his own bags, having watched as his mother ripped open a suitcase and threw whatever she could get her hands on into it until it was an overstuffed mess. He's sure that someone on the staff had probably gone through it since the clothes are less rumpled than they had been. 

The drawers of the dresses are still mostly sparse, but atleast he has done something half productive. He slips his suitcase next to the dresser, in a small gap between it and the wall, and falls back onto the bed. With little else to do, he brings out his phone once more, dialling quickly, just because his mother wouldn't be happy to hear from him doesn't mean someone else wouldn't.

“Bob's Mortuary, you stab em’, we slab em’, how may I direct your call?”

Sirius rolls his eyes, a smile creeping onto his face regardless, “Hi, yes, I was wondering if you have any packages for Mothers?”

“Oh, of course, we have several! Like ‘A Mother's Warmth’ package, the incinerator will have more love than the real thing ever offered! We even throw in a free urn.”

“I think I’d prefer something more akin to the ‘Feeding the Sharks’ package.”

“Man of fine taste, you are.” James laughs, “So I’m guessing you've made it to your uncle's? What's it like? Does he live next to the Addams family?”

“Worse. I'm pretty sure the Gilmore Girls live across the street.”

“That is in no way worse; you're just pessimistic.” James sighs, “So not what you imagined?”

“Not at all. He's like.. bright.” Sirius says, “Last time I saw him, he was covered in wine and brawling with one of my cousins on the floor. This guy is not the same person.”

“I'm not seeing the downside of this.” James says, “Mom was half-worried we’d have to drive down there and rescue you during the night, do a whole prison-break situation.”

Sirius sighs, “I think the prison break can wait for now. I just.. I don't know. I don't know him, yknow? And I feel like shit that Reg is alone, and I’m sure Mother is all over his case since I’m gone.”

“Regulus will be fine, he’ll probably just hang out in the library. Or with his friends. Your parents still like Barty and Evan, I thought?”

Sirius scoffs, “I don't know what would be worse for him, hanging out with them or being stuck inside.”

“Beggars can't be choo—”

“Choosers, yeah, yeah, yeah, I know.” Sirius waved his hand even though James couldn't see. “Have I missed anything?”

“We haven't talked for two days.”

“Oh, cmon, surely there's something thats interesting that happened to you.”

“I hate to break it to you, but my days have been entirely uneventful.”

“Yeah. Well. Tell me anyways.”

Sirius ends up staying on the phone for nearly two hours. Despite James’s insistence that he had nothing to talk about, he filled every minute with conversation ranging from his crush on a girl from his cousin Aaron's school to the new coffee shop in town that Peter ran into the door of because he was so distracted playing Angry Birds. Sirius knows James is only doing it for his benefit, but that almost makes it better. He loves James, and hey, maybe they are a bit codependent, and he hasn't seen him in two days and terribly misses him. Who could judge him for that?

Honestly, Sirius could've stayed on the phone longer, but the front door of the house had slammed, and it had made him curious, so he quickly hung up with James and left the attic room, quietly making his way down the old house, careful to try and avoid as many creaking boards as he could. He reaches the second-floor landing and can hear Alphrad mumbling something and another voice he doesn't recognise. Once he reaches the bannister, he catches the tail-end of a hug, Alphrad's hand resting on the other man's shoulder as he smiles at him.

Sirius feels a bit like he's interrupting something and makes a point to take a noisy step onto the stairs, both the man and Alphrad turning to look at him. watching as he slowly walks down the stairs.

“Sirius,” Alphrad says pleasantly, “Talk to your mother?”

“Uhm.. Yeah.” Sirius shrugs. James is basically his mother at this point.

“Good, good..” Alphrad nods, patting the other man's shoulder before removing his hand awkwardly, “This is Paul. He's to thank for all the interior design of the house.”

Paul rolls his eyes, “I own an antique shop in town, and your Uncle has a bad habit of hoarding.”

“I’ve cut back!” Alphrad defends himself, “Speaking of the shop..” He turns to Sirius, “I was thinking that it might be nice for you to get some things for your room. I wasn't really sure what you boys are into these days, or it wouldn't be so bare up there.”

“It's really fine,” Sirius starts saying, “I don't mind it at all.”

But Alphards is already waving him off, turning into the foyer and grabbing his wallet from a leather messenger bag sitting on the console table by the door. He ignores Sirius’ weak protests as he slides it into his hand, refusing to take it back.

“Really, you’d better do it, or Paul's going to decorate and it’ll look worse than your Nan’s house,” Alphrad says, raising a knowing brow even as Paul elbows him in the side. “The shops are pretty close, I could drive you if you'd like?”

“You really don't have to do that—”

“Nonsense!” Alphrad says, clapping his hands, “Paul's break is almost over anyway.”

Sirius doesn't get to argue, finding himself quickly corralled into an old station wagon that Paul apparently owns, ‘For the extra space, ’ Alphrad says. It's a short drive into town, and there's really nothing special about this place. It's like any other small southern town, a single strip of road affectionately named ‘Main Street’ that can't have more than ten shops on each side, most of the buildings having ‘For Rent’ signs in the window. A park off to the side next to Church with pretty stained glass windows, a community centre building directly across. There are a few kids at the park, and two pairs of adults sitting on benches watching. Cars are parked off onto the side, people walk the sidewalks and every now and then, one waves.

“It's usually busier on weekends,” Alphrad says, “No time, and you'll be meeting people.”

Paul pulls the station wagon onto the side of the long strip of buildings, into a gravel lot. Sirius follows the two men out of a car towards a door that Paul unlocks with an overstuffed key chain, and steps into what he can only guess is the back room of Paul's antique shop. It's dark and somewhat dusty, boxes and oddities piled everywhere, and he can hear Paul mumbling apologies as he searches for a light switch.

“Things are usually tidier,” Paul said, turning on the light, “but we had a huge estate sale last weekend, I knew the late owner and her son let us have first picks on things..”

“Mrs Fletcher had an affinity for birds, if you haven't noticed.”

Sirius had definitely noticed, on account of what he hoped to be a fake stuffed peacock staring right into his soul from across the room. If it hadn't been the peacock to tip him off, then it would've been the multitude of abstract bird paintings scattered across the rooms.

“I’ll go open the shop, feel free to look around back here if you'd like.” Paul told Sirius, smiling kindly, “You might find a treasure or two.”

Sirius is a bit sceptical that he’ll find something that fits his personal style in what can only be described as bird purgatory, but he’s willing to give it a try. He goes through different boxes, rummaging through pieces of people's old lives, making stories up in his head. This old poetry book? A first wedding anniversary gift for a particularly hipsterish couple, accidentally donated after one of their numerous cats pushed it off into a box set for the Antique shop. Painting of a dog that looks suspiciously like Chewbaca? It was actually one of George Lucas’s personal art pieces that was stolen in a heist. The robbers got nervous and dumped it, and it ended up here. An ugly chiffon lampshade? Definitely belonged to Queen Elizabeth, who has a clue how it ended up in Tennessee!

He's just found a particularly ugly knitted throw blanket when he tunes into the front of the store, where he can hear Paul and a new voice talking, slightly muffled and quiet. He isn't exactly sure when someone came into the store; he's honestly surprised he didn't hear the bell above the door. He's curious in a way he doesn't quite understand, in a way that he guiltily regrets later on nights when his room's too dark and his brain's too loud. He tosses the blanket back into a cardboard box, clumsily making his way past the donations littered on the floor until he makes it to the door that separates the back from the open shop, it is being held open just slightly by a doorstop, keeping him mostly out of sight.

The main store floor is typical of an antique shop. All old-wooden furniture with different finishes, shelves stacked high with beaten-up books and glass figurines, printed out and laminated signs reading ‘Ask For Price!' or 'Please Do Not Lean.’. The large shop windows let in heavy washes of sunlight that highlight the dust in the air, particles swimming. Paul is standing by a wooden hutch that looks like it has seen better days, a blue duster in his hand as he talks to a boy. A teenager, actually. Surely not much older than Sirius. His back is turned to him, and Sirius can see his phone tucked into the back pocket of his beaten-up jeans. The boys laughing lightly at something Paul has said, shrugging before a hand reaches up to push back the front of his hair, and Sirius swears he sees ink where his shirt rode up on his side—

Paul notices him then, his eyes flicking back over him as he does a double-take like he's surprised Sirius has left the back— which ok. Fair. In all honesty, Sirius isn't sure when he stepped out of the dark back room and into the actual store floor either.

“Sirius,” Paul greets happily, smiling before turning back to the boy he was talking to apologetically, “Come here, let me introduce you.”

Sirius hesitates; he remembers that so clearly, the hesitation. Like he knew even then something good was about to happen, something he wasn't quite ready for. But he does step forward, walking the short distance across the store to Paul's side and, for the first time, seeing him.

Slouched posture covered by worn-out flannel, mousy-brown curls hiding sloped brown– No, not just brown, there was green in there too– eyes. An unsure smile on his lips as he turned towards Sirius, flushed tan skin and scars, Sirius was practically itching to ask about.

Paul puts a hand on his shoulder, gesturing to him as he speaks, “This is Sirius, Alphard's nephew. He’s staying for the summer.”

“Lucky you,” The boy responds, “World-class vacation spot you've got here.”

“Thats actually what my travel agent said,” Sirius finds himself saying, words quicker than the thoughts in his brain.

“Remus’s father owns the Country Store,” Paul fills in with a pleased smile, “We passed it on the way here. They have the best sandwiches in town.”

“You only say that cause Ma always throws in fries for free,” The boy says, then turns and nods at Sirius, “She loves your uncle, thinks Paul hung the moon or something. Usually she's the one who comes and gets the lunch order, but Dad was running behind with shipments and needed her help.”

“Here, Sirius, go ahead and order whatever you'd like. I need to figure out what Alphrad wants,” Paul says, turning to walk further into the store towards the stairs, “You don't mind waiting for a minute, do you, son?”

Remus shakes his head, an easy smile on his face, “Take your time, sir.”

Paul disappears up the stairs, the wood under his feet creaking loudly through the store, leaving Sirius completely alone with this kid. Which, alright. Thats fine. He can socialise. He is very sociable, actually. Popular, even, back home— Well, okay, not home, but at school! But that was with James. James, who is the perfect amount of loud and charming, who starts every joke Sirius finishes and is the one people probably actually like because he's fucking James. He knows how to talk to James, how to bounce off of James, but what he does not know how to do is talk to this kid. The Not-James. Who is charming, a different kind of charming than James’ chaotic version, his is all light eyes and freckles and kind accents—And he is looking at Sirius now, what does he have something on his face or—?

“So..” He interrupts, “Any clue on what you want?”

“Is there like a menu.. or is this like a subway situation?”

That gets a huff of a laugh out of the boy, who shrugs, “Bit of both.”

“Very informative, thanks.” Sirius sighs, “What do you usually get?”

“The special.”

“Which is?”

“It changes every week.”

“What is it this week?”

“Can't remember, I fear. I haven't tried it yet.”

Sirius stares incredulously at the boy, half annoyed. He has the stupidest grin on his face, like he’s winning a game Sirius didn't even know they were playing.

“.. You're screwing with me?” Sirius exhales.

The boy shrugs, like that is a good answer. Sirius can't help but groan, his head thrown back a little as he bites his cheek to starve off the grin that is begging to peek through. He refuses to give him the satisfaction.

“It's not often we get someone new ‘round here.” He says, gesturing to Sirius lazily, “Least of all someone interesting.”

“How do you know I'm interesting?”

“I’ve got a good sense for those kinds of things,” He answers far too cockily. Sirius rolls his eyes, “And your Alphrads' nephew.”

“What's that got to do with anything?” Sirius asks, eyeing the way Remus leans against the wooden hutch Paul had been dusting earlier.

“All of you Black’s are interesting.” Remus says, hands up like he’s explaining something important, “Alphrads got the whole Black-Sheep run away thing going on, you've got this whole.. ‘don't talk to me, I'm guarded and rebellious’ persona—”

“Excuse you–”

“--And Paul owns this place, everything here's interesting.”

“Paul's not a Black.”

“Yeah, okay.” Remus scoffs out, “He’s probably going to be down here soon. I don't know why he asks. Alphrad gets the same thing every day.”

“Really?”

“Yup.” Remus says, pushing himself off of the hutch, “I’ll bet you I can guess exactly what they're going to order.”

“I'm not taking the bet,” Sirius says, crossing his arms.

“Suit yourself,” Remus shrugs, “...Alphrads going to get biscuits and gravy, doesn't matter that breakfast is over, Ma always keeps a few biscuits under the heater for him. He’ll probably get a black coffee too, which he hates but refuses to add sweeteners, so Paul always asks us to throw some in the bag. Paul will get….” He stops for a moment, thinking.

“Losing your superpower there?”

“Never,” he gasps in fake-horror, “Paul will get a chuckwagon–”

“What the actual fuck is a chuckwagon–”

“Actually, no– scratch that. BBQ– No. Ham. He will get a ham sandwich and a Sprite. Final answer.”

“You sure?”

“Yes– No.. Yes.” Remus nods, satisfied, “Just wait and see.”

“I'm going to laugh in your face when he orders something different, just so you know,” Sirius notes casually, messing with the chipping paint on one of the shelves next to him.

He hears Remus hum, and then, as if he were waiting for his cue, Paul starts down the stairs. He's brought a box with him, which he deposits on the hutch once he gets close enough, stopping to fish his wallet out of his back pocket. Sirius can't help but look over at Remus, who seems far too confident in his own abilities, with a small knowing grin on his face as he watches Paul.

“I know breakfast ends at Eleven, but Alphrad wanted me to ask–”

“It's not a problem, same as usual?” Remus interrupts with a chuckle, pulling a notepad and pen out of the pockets of his jeans.

“Yes, please.” Paul nods, “And can I get... a ham sandwich? And a sprite, if you don't mind.”

“Can or bottle?”

“Don't matter to me,” Paul smiles, turning to Sirius, “figure out something for yourself?”

“Oh—”

“He’s gonna ride back with me to the store, see the menu and all.” Remus interrupts, pointing his pen at Sirius.

“I am?”

“You are.”

“Alright then!” Paul claps, far too jovial, “What do I owe you?”

Having no choice in the matter, Sirius is unceremoniously ushered out of the store by Paul, who waves him off like a parent on their child's first day of school. Sirius can't help but stand on the sidewalk for a moment, reevaluating his life choices and ignoring the stupid face of the boy standing next to him (does he ever stop fucking smiling?) until he has no choice but to follow Remus down the sidewalk lest he find himself lost in Stars Hollow's low-budget twin.

“You're really leaning into the whole.. Southern Boy thing, aren't you?” Sirius finds himself asking as he watches Remus throw himself into a beaten-up pickup truck, fit with wooden side panels. 

He watches as Remus crawls across the cabin, using the hand-crank to roll the passenger window down with a clumsy wink, “What's it they say? If you got it, flaunt it?”

Sirius gets into the trunk with a roll of his eyes, looking around the cab.

“If you're looking for the seatbelt, there isn't one.”

“Thats illegal.”

“Moody hasn't stopped me yet,” The boy shrugs, rolling his own window down and slipping the keys into the ignition, bringing the truck to life with an ill-sounding rumble. The truck pulls out from the gravel lot with a groan and a drag, taking to the road as Remus drums his hands against the wheel.

Sirius is content to stay quiet and watch things pass out the window. With the window down, the wind is blowing on his face, tangling his hair behind his ears. He sorta likes it, the feeling of it beating on his skin, the muffling it creates. He looks across the cab to where Remus is, hand out the window and one leg tucked up on the seat with him. He's a strange boy, Sirius has decided, decidedly weird. He isn't exactly sure if he likes that, but he came with him, didn't he? 

He's handsome. Obviously. Handsome people draw others in, Sirius would know; he’s gotten his fair share of attention in life. And the scars, they add an air of mystery. So, of course, Sirius would follow this strange boy; anyone would. It's just human biology, or something..

They reach the Country Store quickly. Sirius doesn't think there's any place in this little town that they wouldn't reach quickly, but alas. They reach it. Woo. It's a tiny building, the outside resembling a cabin with its log walls and large windows showcasing the coolers and shelves inside. There are two gas pumps in the front, one occupied with a red Volkswagen, a pair of dark legs sticking outside the passenger window as a girl with bleached hair stands pumping the gas. Remus waves to her as he leaves his own truck, parking on the side of the store. Sirius follows him out. When he looks to the side, he makes eye contact with the girl pumping the gas. She doesn't look away, popping a gum bumble before raising a hand in greeting, which Sirius awkwardly returns, speeding his walk up to meet Remus, where he holds the store's door open.

The store has a perpetual sense of urgency. Sirius feels it immediately, watching as someone who he can only assume is Remus’ mother goes back and forth behind the counter. The store isn't terribly busy, but it seems like she's doing everything all at once—Phone pressed to her ear as she jots down an order, one second flipping a burger on a grill, then turning to ring and bell and call out to someone sitting off to the side, white bag with takeout waiting for them.

“Mama, lunch order,” Remus calls over the chaos, slipping behind the counter and sliding the notepad from his pocket across the counter.

Remus’ mother says something in a language Sirius doesn't recognise as she grabs the pad, turning on her heel as she hands the phone over to Remus as if it were a synchronised dance. Sirius can't do anything other than stand there as Remus finishes up the phone call, pressing the phone into the counter as he calls to his mother in the same language he’d heard earlier, crossing behind the counter to take a patty off the grill. They work fast, with practised moves, avoiding each other without having to look. It can't be more than maybe ten minutes, but Sirius saw them hand off atleast seven different orders, a calm rushing over the place like the sun after a long storm.

Remus comes back to the counter, leaning over it, “Well?” He asks, “Wanna order?”

Sirius ends up hesitating, realising he hadn't actually looked at the menu at all since he walked in (He got the sense that Remus knew that, but asked anyway.). Eventually, he settles on a grilled cheese after Remus promises they're the best thing on the menu; his mother had laughed at that, rattling off in a teasing tone to which Remus simply replied with a guilty shrug, turning back to the grill. He watches Remus assemble the sandwich, the way he's joking back and forth with his mother as he toasts the bread. If Sirius has to look away to calm the growing pit in his chest, thats no one's business at all.

Sirius eats his sandwich in the store (He hates to admit it is a really good Grilled Cheese) while he and Remus wait for Alphrad and Paul’s order to be packed away. Remus’ mother brings them the bag of food, smiling at Sirius as she approaches. 

“I don't think I’ve got to meet you yet, sweetheart.” She greets, a slight accent to her words that isn't quite southern, “You're Alphrad’s nephew?”

“Yes, Uh–I’m Sirius.” He nods, momentarily hesitating on whether he should go for a handshake or.. something.

“Hope,” She greets, “you’ve met my boy, do forgive him, he thinks himself quite the clever actor.”

“Mama,” Remus groans, batting at her.

“What?” Hope asks, voice pitched high and teasing, “I’m just warning the poor boy, who knows what little acts you've been trying out.”

“Acts?” Sirius asks lightly, looking back and forth between them.

“She's exaggerating,” Remus says quickly, rushed in a way Sirius hadn't seen yet.

“I don't exaggerate.” Hope scoffs out, patting Remus’ shoulder, turning just as the drive-through bell sounds, “Ha, saved by the bell.”.

Hope leaves the two of them at the counter, Remus shaking his head at her as he comes back out to the store floor, bag of food in hand, as he nods to the door. They head out, walking to Remus’ truck, where the Volkswagen from earlier now sits parked next to it. Sirius hears Remus mutter something when he notices, shaking his head fondly as he hands the bag off to Sirius, jogging the rest of the way to his truck, grabbing the door and leaning through the open window the the driver's side with an accusing ‘Ah-hah!’. As Sirius approaches, he can see the blonde girl from earlier sitting up now in the cabin, a cigarette between her lips.

“You're a thief, McKinnon.” Remus is saying, clicking his tongue, “A degenerate. I thought that Church Camp was meant to straighten you out.”

“It does the exact opposite, if you ask me.” Marlene coughs, smoke blowing out of her mouth, “Like, ‘Yes, please my Sister in Christ.. Hold my hand and pray with me–Oh, the Devils truly trying me tonight, I could only be comforted in your warm embrace!’, I've played more spin the bottle at church camp than I ever did ‘round here.”

“Shit, you've corrupted the sacred camp.” Remus shakes his head in mock disappointment, “How will you ever repent?”

“Trust me, she's repenting.” A new voice calls out from the Volkswagen. A girl with dark brown curls sits in the passenger seat, flipping through a magazine, “I can hardly get her out of the fucking church.”

“Dad’s working on a sermon, and apparently I’m the only one who can ‘guide’ him on which direction to take it,” Marlene explains, “Really, Mom found cigarette buds outside my window and told him. They can't prove it's from me, so I'm not ‘technically’ in trouble.”

“But she's def in trouble.” The other girl fills in.

“Luckily.. Dad thinks Mary is a good influence.”

“Hm, awful intuition the Pastors got.” Remus hums, taking the cigarette from her hands and taking a drag before slipping out the window and turning to Sirius, “Thats our next stop on the tour. The church. Don't let me forget it.”

“Wouldn't dream of it,” Sirius replies dryly. Because apparently this was a thing now. He was going to get a tour. Maybe he could catch a bus back home before the end of the day..

“Oh, so this one's yours?” Marlene asks, leaning out the window now, “I didn't think I recognised him. Let me guess,” She starts, looking Sirius up and down critically, “a runaway you met by the trainyard that you've convinced to join your circus of thieves.”

“How’d you guess?” Remus asks

“Great intuition.”

“Yeah, maybe just as good as your dads.” He snorts, “Nah. He’s staying with Paul and Alphrad, their nephew.”

The girl in the Volkswagen sits up with a gasp, leaning out her own window, similar to Marlene, “Lucky. I have been dying to see in that house of theirs for years, not to sound mean or anything, but I was starting to hope for a wake or something just so I could see–”

“-Jesus Christ, Mary, thats fucking loony.” Marlene hisses out.

“I'm desperate.” Mary defends, “Have you seen the carpet he has upstairs in the shop? I just know the rest of the house is gorgeous.”

“It's really not all that special,” Sirius remarks offhandedly. He had seen beautiful houses, generational manors passed down through ages, and not a single one had the clutter of Alphrad's home.

“Not special?” Mary asks, raising a sceptical eyebrow, “Are you like.. Blind or just decoratively challenged?”

“She's saying you have bad taste,” Remus mock whispers to Sirius, leaning into his space.

“Yeah, I got that,” Sirius says, batting him away.

“So.. Alphrad's nephew,” Marlene starts.

“Sirius,” Sirius interjects.

“..Alphrads nephew.” Marlene repeats, ignoring him, “Other than to judge your uncle's interior design skills, what are you doing in Brookedale?”

Well, thats definitely a question, Sirius thinks to himself, What is he doing in Brookedale? Well, for one, he is being punished. Thats a given, though. He's not sure there's been a time in the last five years that he was not in the middle of some kind of punishment. He’s avoiding his Mothers wrath. He’s keeping distance from that ‘No good scoundrel, who I know is the one who smushed my Rose bush last April!’ James Potter– otherwise known as his best friend and the guy who definitely did jump into his Mothers rose bush after climbing out of Sirius’ window.

“Vacationing.” Is what he lands on, “I haven't seen Alphrad since I was little. Mother thought it would be nice for me to visit.”

Mother thought he was still a raging, cruel drunk and that Sirius would be his personal Kreatcher for the summer, he leaves out.

“Shitty vacation, I thought rich folks went places like Hawaii or the Bahamas,”

“I’d kill to go to Hawaii, think of how good the photos would look on my Facebook...” Mary mumbles to herself dreamily, magazine held to her chest.

“Yeah..” Sirius agrees awkwardly, picking at the skin around his nails. He glances over to Remus, as if instinctively, only to find him already looking at Sirius, nodding like he knows. 

“Welp,” Remus claps his hands, walking back to open his trunk door for Marlene, “hate to break this up, but Ma will kill me if I let their food go cold, so..”

“What a gentleman,” Marlene notes dryly, looking at Remus suspiciously as she gets out of the car, kneeling to smudge her cigarette on the ground, looking it over before tucking what's left into an old mint can she pulls out of her pocket.

Mary settles back into her seat, watching as the two boys climb into the truck. “Hey, Black!” she calls, “Invite us over, won't you?”

“What?” Sirius asks, looking to Remus as if he’s misheard.

“Inivte us over. I'll bring cookies. I'm a great baker.”

“She's a great faker,” Marlene clarifies, getting into the Volkswagen, “She uses box mix.”

“I put the water and eggs in, thats baking.” Mary sighs, “When are you free?”

“Uhm.” Sirius hesitates, but he gets the distinct feeling that Mary Whateverherlastname is, does not take kindly to rejection, “Most always..” 

“Great!” She says, “So’s Marlene so she can drive–”

“--Excuse you,” Marlene tries to interject, “I don't even like driving, and it's your car!”

“--And we will come tomorrow.” Mary finishes with a flutter of her lashes, “Sound good?”

“..Yeah.” Sirius agrees, though he is sure his answer doesn't matter.

“Great!” Mary claps, waving a manicured hand at the two as the little Bug roars to life, “See ya’ later, alligator.”

                                                                                     ☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆

Remus ends up dropping Sirius off in front of the store, and he hates to admit it, but Sirius is slightly disappointed when he leaves the Truck idling instead of shutting it off to follow him into the store. Sirius slides out of the truck, grabbing the plastic food bag when it is offered to him by Remus.

“What?” He asks, “Bored of me already?”

Remus weirdly looks... shy when Sirius says it, stretched across the seats so he's closer to where SIirus is outside the car. He looks down, as if he's thinking, and Sirius can't help but notice the way his hair falls into his face, limp now after his time in the kitchen in a way that makes him look younger. He’s less of the charismatic character Sirius first met that left him on edge, and more just.. A boy. Like him. Sirius thinks back to what Remus’ mother had said, about his ‘acts’ and wonders if he’s met the real Remus at all today.

“Nah, not bored at all,” Remus says, his voice quiet to the point where Sirius has to strain his ears to hear. He looks back up now, meeting Sirius's eyes, gone the vulnerability of before as he smacks a smile back onto his face, “I hope I was a good tour guide.”

“Oh, was that all?”

“Not even half, I'm afraid.” Remus clicks his tongue, “We’ll have to keep going off… If you want to, I mean.”

And there it is again, what he's coming to coin as ‘Real Remus’ in his head. When his eyes grow soft and his voice quiet, like he's afraid. 

“Course. Need to figure my way around, don't I?”

Remus chuckles, shaking his head as he sits back up in his seat, letting Sirius close the truck door. He can hear Remus intake a breath when he turns around, like he was going to say something but thought better of it at the last second. Still, Sirius stands there for a moment, lets him reconsider. When he doesn't speak, he begins to walk towards the door, only to hear his name being called–quietly, as if he had hoped not to be heard.

“Yeah?” Sirius asks, turning back around.

“..Sorry about today.” Remus says, continuing when Sirius shoots him a questioning look, “For just sorta stealing you there, I know I can be.. A lot.”

“You weren't.” Sirius says, quickly, “I had a good time.”

“Good. Great.” Remus sighs, drumming his hands on his steering wheel, “Welp.. I’ll uh.. Let you get back to it. See you around?”

“See you around, Remus.”

Remus pulls away in his beaten-up truck, and Sirius stands on the sidewalk watching until it disappears over a curve, plastic bag in hand. He decides then he doesn't hate Brookedale, actually.. He might like it.

As long as he ignores the warmth in his stomach that he has felt only twice before and refuses to name.

Chapter Text

It has been several days since Sirius Black first met the motherfucker otherwise known as Remus Lupin. He wonders if he has a middle name. He probably does—pretentious bastard.

He had expected to see the boy when Marlene and Mary came over, and was thoroughly disappointed only to find Mary's red Volkswagen in the drive and not Remus’ old truck. He would've called and chastised him if he had his number, but he had forgotten to get it and was too embarrassed to ask either of the girls.

The impromptu hangout had gone surprisingly well. Once Sirius let his guard down enough to actually talk to the girls, he found that he quite enjoyed their company. Mary was shining. He couldn't explain what it was about her that made her that way; she just was. She came in and made herself right at home, shoving a basket filled with chocolate-chip cookies into Sirius’ arms as she led him around the foyer, explaining to him how the colors and materials of the house matched each other. Marlene was funny. All dry wit and sarcastic one-liners, she had shed the slightly conservative clothes she had worn when Sirius first met her, trading them in for tiny ripped shorts and an oversized leather jacket that couldn't have been comfortable in the heat.

“It’s punk-rock,” She had explained, with a shrug.

He had brought them to his bedroom in the attic, letting Mary poke around as she was prone to do, she promised to bring him some posters to fill up his walls. They had settled on his tiny bed, Marlene halfway into Mary's lap as they talked. Sirius told them about James and his new girl. The redhead who called him an idiot but then snuck him into her bedroom the very same night. He told them about his stupid little brother, who actually wasn't so silly after all, and how he actually thinks Regullus is a bit jealous Sirius got sent away instead of him.

Mary tells him about her parents, having moved from New York when she was four so her Father could expand his business, about how they now owned all but one of the Banks in town and had traded their High-Rise Penthouse for a colonial-style Mansion on the outskirts of town. Sirius learned that Mr. Macdonald didn't usually come home to that colonial-style Mansion, and Mrs Macdonald never left, so... Mary stayed with the McKinnons, as often as she could.

Though Marlene had put her input that she didn't think her place was much better. Her father was a Pastor, her Mother a Teacher, and her six siblings were chaos. There were lots of rules about hair, clothing, and boys, and even if she wasn't the one breaking them, it was always somehow Marlene's influence that was blamed. Especially when her little sister had poured bleach on her pink church dress, that had to be Marlene's influence, and she wasn't allowed to forget it.

They spend nearly six hours curled up in Sirius’s little bedroom, interrupted only once by Alphrad, who brought up a far too elaborate snack tray and left with a cheeky comment about keeping the door open. By the time they leave, Sirius feels quite content with the idea of spending the rest of the Summer in Brookdale.

Tuesday afternoon rolls around with a rain shower. Sirius finds himself watching from his window. He had it open earlier in the day, but the rain mixed with the heat created a terrible humidity that clung to the old wood of the house and made his skin sticky. He’s bored, terribly so, and not quite comfortable enough to explore the house without permission from Alphrad, so he watches the rain. 

He wonders what James is doing back at home, if he’s had a chance to actually go on a date with that girl that doesn't involve sneaking through her window while she throws verbal assaults at him. He wonders what Marlene and Mary are doing, if they're hanging out together, if they're also watching the rain. He wonders what Remus is doing, wonders if Remus is thinking of him, too.

Which actually sparks a great idea. Sirius slides off his windowstoop, sliding a jacket on from where he had thrown it on the back of his desk chair, and sliding on his shoes before he can overthink it. He slides out of his room, stopping at one of the hallway mirrors to fuss with his hair, half-debating on a hat before shaking that idea off with a scowl. He doesn't need a hat; it's too hot for that, and his hair is like his second-best feature. Girls at school always complimented it, touched it, and when he’d been the guy to take a girl home or to whatever empty closet he found, they'd run their fingers through it. He had great hair.

He makes his way down the stairs until he reaches the foyer. He can hear Alphred in the kitchen, and Paul must be on his morning break or something because it's far too early for him to be here yet, and the smell of pancakes is in the air, which Sirius has quickly come to associate with Paul, because Alphred can not cook to save his life. Enter, Paul. Pancake extraordinaire. Sirius hesitates, unsure if he's meant to tell Alphrad that he is leaving; it's probably the polite thing to do. It's what James would do if it were Effie, and so Sirius yells down the hall, not waiting for an answer before he rushes out the door. He walks down the porch steps quickly, as if he's worried that Alphred will come out and forbid him from leaving or something, but no man comes, and soon Sirius finds himself walking down the sidewalk, hood pulled over his head to fend off the light droplets from the sky.

He makes his way through town, fighting the urge to use the Maps app on his phone as he navigates. He takes a wrong turn twice and has to circle back, but eventually, he sees the old paint-washed sign for the Country Store and Remus’ truck in the gravel. He has a small smile on his face as he approaches, stopping outside to covertly fix his hair after taking off his hood, before he walks into the store.

A bell rings as he steps inside, and he hears a short greeting grumbled out from the front counter. And he would take offence to the blatant indifference in Remus’ voice if he hadn't noticed the way Remus is just totally absorbed in whatever it is he's reading. He looks far too comfortable, sitting in a rickety chair pushed back on its hind legs that look two seconds away from breaking, his feet kicked up on the counter in a way Sirius has the inkling that his parents would not approve of. He's holding the book in the air slightly, head tipped back as he reads it, his mouth silently forming the words on the page.

“You look like a complete dork,” Sirius calls, slightly louder than he would normally, walking to the counter.

Remus jolts, head snapping up and eyes slightly wide like he's surprised, Sirius only gets to enjoy it for a moment before the seat Remus is sitting on tips back and Remus is sent to the ground in a blur, the crash echoing through the store.

Sirius can only laugh in his shock, leaning over the counter to find Remus sprawled on the floor, book thrown to the side, and a wince on his face. Remus cracks open an eye to glare at Sirius as he laughs, rising up on his arms as he looks from the overturned chair back to Sirius.

“It's not that funny,” Remus says blandly.

“I don't know, from my side of things, it was very funny.”

“What are you doing here?” Remus asks, rising from the floor, and leaning across the counter to the point he's all but in Sirius’ face.

Sirius eyes him, eyes flicking down to Remus's lip and his stomach doing that stupid little flip thing when Remus smiles. Sirius is first to relent, rising from the counter and putting space between them, ignoring the look Remus gives him. He’s letting his soul make choices his head knows aren't real, taking every little quip and smile as if proof that Remus knows exactly what it is Sirius is thinking, when in reality, Sirius is like 75% sure this guy isn't gay; all probability actually points to this guy hating the idea of Queerness in general. Sirius has read the articles, he's seen the movies, he's not about to be stupid enough to out himself in the middle of Southern America.

“Got bored, you never finished my tour, y’know that?” Sirius says, mouth dry as he slips his hands in his jacket pockets, “Figured you’d be here.”

“Here I am.” Remus nods, shaking his head lightly as he rises from the counter, looking over his shoulder to the back, “Stay here, let me go check something real quick.”

Sirius does as told as he watches Remus right the overturned chair and pick up his book before walking to the backroom. Sirius can hear the muffled conversation Remus is having with someone who Sirius is guessing is his father, if the deep bass is anything to go by. Remus comes back a few minutes later, truck keys in hand and a satisfied smile on his face as he comes out from behind the counter.

Sirius follows him to the truck, crawling in the passenger side as it roars to life. Remus turns the radio on, turning it up as Radiohead comes through the speakers. The music is grainy, trapped between two stations, but it doesn't matter. Remus is singing along with it, the biggest smile on his face despite the slow, melancholic lyrics.

He keeps looking over at Sirius, and for once, Sirius doesn't look away. He allows himself this moment to watch Remus sing, albeit off-key. Remus is laughing at the end of the song, leaning into Sirius’ personal space and swerving slightly when Sirius pushes him back to his side.

“Do you want to disappear, Sirius?” Remus asks, and despite his playful tone, Sirius can sense the genuine interest behind the question.

“Do you?” Sirius shoots back with raised eyebrows.

“All the time.”

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Remus’ home is, like many things are in this small town, in the middle of fucking nowhere. They drive off the main road down a winding dirt path, atleast thirty minutes from town. Sirius only sees two other houses on the drive down until they pull in front of a single-story house with green side panels and a flourishing front garden. The paint is slightly sun-bleached, and the front porch is clearly in the middle of being replaced, but the home reeks of something unfamiliar. Sirius notes it as love. It is very clear that the people who live here are loved, that they love each other. From the blooming flowers to the handprints Sirius spies painted on the porch steps. This is a loving home.

Sirius follows Remus inside. The house smells of spice and wood. Sirius follows Remus’ guide as he takes off his shoes, throwing them into a pile. Remus walks into the kitchen, clicking his tongue as he rummages through one of the cabinets, grabbing a measuring cup full of dry food. Sirius is sort of expecting a big dog, like a German Shepard or a Great Dane—A very Remus animal. He is only half surprised when a fat black and brown spotted cat crawls out from under the couch, meowing up at Remus grittily.

“Your cat sounds like it smokes two packs a day,” Sirius quips, watching as the cat tries and fails to jump on the counter where her bowl sits. Remus pours food into it before helping her up.

“Mars would never, she's a proper lady,” Remus argues, stroking her fur.

Sirius eyes the cat warily. He's never been a cat person.

“I don't think cats are meant to be that... round.”

Remus shrugs, “Mom thought Dad wasn't feeding her in the morning.. Dad thought Mom wasn't feeding her in the morning. She conned 'em, got three meals in an hour.”

“Three?”

“I was the only one who was meant to be feeding her,” Remus explains, “Don't know why Ma and Dad started.”

After Mars finishes eating, Remus scoops her up off the counter and puts her back on the ground despite the grumpy noises she makes. They make their way to Remus’ bedroom. Remus sits on his bed while Sirius examines (snoops) through his room. His bed is pushed into the corner by a covered window; there's a desk by the door covered with knick-knacks, paper balls, and books (he notices a worn copy of The Hobbit with some interest). His walls are covered with band posters, and Sirius recognises about half. There's a radio beside his bed that Remus flicks on, more Radiohead.

“Is that your favourite band, then?” Sirius asks, pointing to the Radiohead poster on the wall.

“If you want,” Remus grins.

Sirius rolls his eyes at what he's beginning to coin as a ‘Remus-Answer’, watching while Remus rummages between the wall and his bed, coming out with a pack of Marlboro Reds. He looks up at Sirius, shaking the pack.

“Do you mind?”

“Nah, you’re good.” Sirius nods, coming over to sit on Remus's bed.

Sirius watches Remus’ hands as he pulls a lighter from his pockets, flicking the flame until it burns to life and bringing it to the tip of the cigarette. He inhales the smoke as it ignites, blowing it out of his nose contentedly as he leans back on his bed, wedged in the corner.

He notices Sirius’ watchful eyes and offers the cigarette. Sirius shakes his head, to which Remus gives him a look he can't quite decipher.

“I don't have to smoke if it bothers you,” Remus says, a teasing edge to his voice.

“It doesn't bother me,” Sirius bristles.

“Really, it's fine,” Remus hums, reaching across his bed to grab an ashtray hidden under a magazine, “I don't mind if it's something you're not into.”

“I don't care if you smoke,” Sirius huffs, grabbing Remus’ wrist, and raising an eyebrow at him, “I just never have.”

“Oh,” Remus mumbles, eyeing where Sirius is holding his wrist until he lets it go. Slowly, he puts the ashtray back. “Really?”

“Not really my crowd.”

“Can't say the same,” Remus hums, “been nabbing these from the store since I was thirteen, it's a nasty habit, but better than dip.”

“...Can I try?”

“Just said it was a nasty habit,” Remus raises an eyebrow, but holds the cigarette out anyway, as if he doesn't think Sirius will actually take it.

Never one to back down on a challenge, Sirius crawls up the bed to grab it, settling beside Remus. He’s seen people smoke before, his mother with her pipe and his father with Cigars, he holds the stick between his fingers, bringing it to his lips to inhale. He chokes a bit at first, not truly inhaling right, flushing when Remus laughs, but eventually he gets the hang of it.

“Look at you,” Remus laughs, “rebellion at its finest.”

“Shut up,” Sirius coughs, nudging him with his shoulder as he passes the cigarette back over, “Don't make it a thing.”

“Why not?” Remus asks, his voice quiet now, Sirius turns his head to look at him. Remus is already looking back, a half smile on his face as he takes a drag.

“What?” Sirius asks, as if he missed something.

“Make it a thing.” Remus teases.

Sirius watches with suspicious eyes the way Remus grins; he can feel Remus’ thigh pressed to his, and can't for the life of him remember when the gap was closed. He can feel the smoke Remus exhales, can practically taste it with how close he is–and he swears he imagines it, but he thinks Remus was looking at his lips.

“Never asked,” Remus mumbled quietly, bringing the cigarette back to his lips and inhaling, “how old are you, anyway?

Sirius furrows his brows at the question, the topic opposite of the tension–was there tension here? Sirius is honestly getting mixed signals, but Remus has not moved away. Sirius can see all the different colours speckled in his eyes and can feel the smoke he's exhaling dancing over his face.

“Sixteen,” Sirius answers, watching Remus' face as he blinks.

“God, corrupting the youth,” Remus sighs, and just like that, it's over. He leans away from Sirius, smudging the cigarette out on his window frame.

“The youth,” Sirius scoffs, his face is burning, and he feels almost… slighted? “You're also the youth, yknow.”

“I'm older than you are,” Remus bites back, sitting up straighter, the gap between them more noticeable than ever in a way Sirius is not a fan of. “Therefore much wiser.”

“Oh yeah?” Sirius asks, “How old then, Gramps?”

“Seventeen,” Remus says haughtily, quickly interrupting as Sirius starts to sputter, “Eighteen in like a month.”

“Oh, a whole month!” Sirius gasps, kicking Remus' leg. “Have you registered for the nursing home yet?”

“Knew I was forgetting to do something,” Remus clicks his tongue, shaking his head, but he doesn't look over at Sirius again.

They sit in Remus’ bed for a while, Remus eventually moving over to sit on the windowsill, which Sirius takes notice of immediately. He's not exactly sure if he's being extra sensitive or if he's done something to offend Remus. He definitely needs to get his imagination in check. Maybe Remus had noticed the way Sirius’s own eyes had lingered on his lips; maybe it had made him uncomfortable. If Sirius wants to keep the first friend he’s made here, then he’ll have to do what he's best at-–– push his emotions down until they disappear.

But, then again. Looking has never hurt anyone.

                                                                                     ☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆

Marlene had called him on Saturday, he had just gotten home from the Antique Store, where he had started to help Paul out on the days Alphrad didn't, it just also so happened to be the days Remus wasn't technically on shift at The Country store and could stay extra long after taking their lunch orders. He had just kicked off his shoes and laid down on his bed when he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. He pulled it out and answered without checking the Caller ID, expecting it to be James when Marlene's voice rang out.

“How did you get my number?” Sirius asked, trying to remember if he was the one who gave it.

“Remus, duh.” Marlene scoffed, “So, are you in or out?”

In or out. Marlene had invited him to a party. At a stranger's house, someone she actually didn't even know, but Mary did. She made promises of free booze and ‘party favours’ and Sirius didn't have the heart to admit that he was actually quite inexperienced on that sort of… thing.

He’d gone to parties, of course. After football wins and formal events and such. He’d been to formal galas and grungy basement get-togethers. He’d drunk alcohol, but never enough to get drunk, and he was good at pretending. Once you acted charismatic and careless enough, no one would question why your cup was still half-full, especially when he and James were together. They had plenty of bad ideas sober that people just assumed were drunken escapades. He had gone through the motions and generally had an alright time, but there would be no James at this party; he’d be out of his depth completely.

“Remus is coming too!” Mary called through the phone, slightly muffled.

But then again, Sirius loved a challenge. And who knows, maybe small-town parties are more fun.

“Alright, fine.” Sirius sighed through the phone, sitting up from his bed and turning to grab his shoes and slip them back on, “I’m in.”

He can hear Mary's excited shriek from the phone and Marlene's laughter, “Good! Because I’m already outside.”

Sirius finds himself curled into the backseat of Mary's Volkswagen as Marlene drives them. There's pop music blaring from the radio, and the girls are singing along. At some point, one of them had put the sunroof down, so now the wind is blowing in their faces. Sirius is content to focus on that during the drive.

They make it to a house on the outskirts of town, and it's obvious the party is in full swing. There are several trucks with people hanging out of the bed, more cars parked in the grass than on the gravel, and already beer cans littering the ground. The three of them crawl out of Mary's car, parking in a patch of grass that is mostly clear of vomit and debris. Sirius spots Remus’ truck parked by a tree, no sign of its owner anywhere near it, but it's confirmation enough that he’s here.

Sirius follows Mary and Marlene inside, pushing past the crowded entrance. The room is muggy already, music is playing somewhere in the background, and there's an old football game on TV that no one seems to be paying attention to. Mary introduces him to several people he knows he will never remember, and he politely excuses himself after the third ‘Do you have a girlfriend?’ to go find a quiet corner to hide in. 

He walks up the stairs, dodging a couple who are aggressively making out. He wanders a bit, mostly looking for somewhere empty to hunker down when he hears a familiar humming—and honestly, it could be his imagination, but he follows it anyway until it leads him to a tiny bathroom at the end of the hall, the door half-opened, and the lights are on. Legs are sticking out of the bathtub and a voice he knows humming.

“Well, you look comfortable,” Sirius quips, closing the bathroom door, the shower curtain being clumsily pushed away to reveal a smiling Remus.

“You're like.. a psychic.” Remus laughs, “When’d you get here?”

“Like an hour ago,” Sirius answered, sitting down on the floor next to the tub, “I’ve been looking for you for forever.”

Remus grins at him, a full, goofy grin Sirius had never seen on his face before. The type of grin you just have to smile back at, it would be rude not to. He looks ridiculous, curled into a tub that is comically too small for his frame. There are two empty beer-cans at his side, and a red solo cup he’s holding in his hand that wobbles precariously as Remus laughs, the contents spilling over onto his hand slightly, but he takes no notice of it.

“What are you doing up here, anyway?” Sirius asks, chin tucked on his knees as he watches Remus.

“It's my birthday,” Remus gives an easy shrug.

“I thought your birthday was next month?”

“Early party,” Remus nods, blinking slowly, “can't disappoint my fans, now, can I?”

Sirius can't say he exactly gets what Remus is saying, but he nods anyway, watching as Remus downs whatever it is he has in his cup. The way his throat constricts as he swallows, the line of alcohol that spills from the corner of his mouth, the way his eyelashes brush his cheek when he closes his eyes–Platonically, of course. Sirius is just an observer. He.. Observes. It just happens to be that the most interesting thing in this bathroom is Remus.

“Do you not drink either, then?” Remus asks him, swiping at his mouth clumsily, dropping the solo cup with the rest of his empty bottles.

“I do, sometimes,” Sirius says.

“Not your crowd?” Remus parrots their earlier talk with a grin.

“Guess not,” Sirius huffs a laugh, shifting as Remus' eyes burn into him, “What?”

“Nothing.” Remus says, shifting in the tub to better sit up, “Just surprising ‘s all.”

Sirius raises his eyebrows at Remus, shrugging slightly as if to ask for an explanation.

“Cmon..” Remus sighs, “Y’know what I mean. You're… Pretty. Pretty people go to parties and such, have fun. Don't think you're all that slick, I can tell you're holding out on us… There's a star hidden somewhere under all this…”

“Suckiness?” Sirius fills in.

Remus is quiet for a long moment, blinking at Sirius like he said something wrong. Shaking his head quickly.

“Sadness, maybe.” Remus settles with, “Not… suckiness. I don't see none of that.”

“So you're a better poet when you're drunk, I’m learning?”

“Aint no kind of poet, you gotta be smart for that kind of shit.. Have… Prose and diction, or whatever.” Remus mumbles, leaning back into the bathtub, head fallen back.

Sirius thinks he might fall asleep, the way his breaths even out and his head sways all so slightly. Remus is quiet for a long time, but Sirius doesn't mind. Hanging out in a cramped bathroom has been the most fun he's had all night, despite the fact that Remus probably won't remember any of it in the morning. 

Remus mumbles something under his breath that Sirius doesn't quite catch. He moves closer to the tub, half leaning over it, straining his ears as he catches the tail end of Remus’ lamenting.

“-Used to be smart, y’know? Before shit got complicated, but never was good at saying no.”

His words are slurred, and his eyes are closed, but Sirius feels the weight of the confession, even if he doesn't know the context. He wants to ask, to hear whatever story Remus obviously is thinking of in his head, but even Sirius knows better than to pry more from alcohol fueld conffesions than what is offered. He would hate for things to be awkward when Remus got back to himself, so he simply pats Remus’s knee, hoping the poor attempt at comfort offers something.

“I don't even know whose house this is, did you know that?” Remus continues, coughing out a laugh that is more akin to a scoff, “But they know me.”

“...Liked that at first but now…” Remus shakes his head, throwing up his hands, “Jus’ feel like a fake.”

Sirius doesn't respond, not at first, but then he says what he wished someone would say to him back home.

“Why stay?”

“Hm?”

“Why stay if you hate it so much?”

And god–isn't that a question? A hypocritical one, coming from Sirius himself, but Remus doesn't know that. Doesn't need to, not yet. Not when things are joyful and they're friends and Sirius has no reason to reveal his brokenness. Why stay if you hate it? The words came out so much easier than he ever thought they might, and he wonders if the action if it comes as simply as the words. But then Remus speaks, and he doesn't have to wonder anymore.

“I’ve waited years for someone to ask me that.”

In ten years from now, Sirius will think back to this very moment. The way Remus looked at him–really looked at him when he said those words. How it felt to be seen for the first time, how for once he wasn't the only broken person in the room. He’ll wonder if Remus felt the same–that free, almost rapturous feeling of understanding. He’ll wonder how much Remus meant those words, and for a few moments, he’ll almost be able to hear them again, almost feel the same way he felt that night. 

But right now he's just sixteen and the future is so far away it may as well not exist—there's only now, and right now Remus is in front of him and he's lifting him from a bathtub and running away.

Remus is surprisingly stable on his feet as they venture down the stairs out into the main floor of the house, which has somehow only gotten more crowded. 

“I didn't think this many people lived in this fucking town!” Sirius finds himself shouting over a blaring speaker thats threatening to blow.

Remus shakes his head and laughs loudly, shrugging, “Some of them don't!”, is all he offers in response.

They're stopped several times before they can even reach the door by people Sirius obviously does not recognize. They all seem to know Remus, pulling him into hugs or a friendly jostle of shoulders. Remus laughs with them all, nodding and talking like he really cares what they each has to say. He watches as Remus’s nose wrinkles in a laugh and how he apologetically excuses himself, putting a hand on Sirius’s back and pushing him further into a crowd–until somehow they've reached the door.

Outside is mercifully dark and cool, the closed door muffling the headache-inducing thrill of music. They stand on the front porch, Remus leaning onto one of the beams as Sirius catches his breath.

“And you said you were unpopular,” Sirius scoffs out, grumbling, “I’d hate to see your idea of popular.”

“Aint no different,” Remus mumbles, “Popular is Popular is Popular.”

“You make no sense to me.” Sirius shakes his head, elbowing Remus, “Cmon. Keys.”

Remus rummages in his pockets for a few long seconds, leaning his head on the beam, his eyes closed. He pries one open when he pulls the keys from his pocket, as if to make sure he's grabbed the right thing before holding them out to Sirius. Sirius takes them, pulling Remus to stand by the crook of his elbow as he nods over to the grass where he is pretty sure Remus is parked.

He finds Remus’ car after retracing his earlier steps with Marlene and Mary, and he prays they aren't too upset from his ditching, but he’s sure they're having a good time. He loads Remus into the car, gets batted away several times for trying to help, before he relents and climbs into the driver's seat himself. And–Yeah. Sirius has never driven a truck. Let alone a manual. It sits higher than he expected, and all the proportions are just.. off.

He sits there for a few moments, staring at the keys in his hands as if they might start to whisper instructions to him, but they do not. He thanks all his lucky stars he hasn't drunk anything tonight; he can't imagine trying to do this slightly tipsy.

“You ain't got a clue what you’re doin’, do ya?” Remus’ voice drawls out, annoyingly teasing.

“Your accent gets stronger when you're drunk, did you know that?” Sirius tries to redirect, trying the ignition, cringing at the sound.

“You–You gotta put the car in neutral,” Remus says, gesturing down at the gear shift, “Push down on the clutch. Then try.”

Sirius looks over skeptically, but follows the instructions. Putting the truck into neutral and pushing down on the clutch before trying the ignition this time and—

“There ya go,” Remus grins, “See? Natural already.”

“Don't hold your breath. We still gotta drive–” Sirius stops, “Where am I driving to?”

“Heard Vegas is good this time of year,” Remus muses, head leaned on the window, his breath fogging the glass.

Sirius rolls his eyes, “I don't know how to get to your house, Remus.”

“Thats a real shame,” Remus hums, “Do you know how to get to yours?”

“Obviously.”

“Guess we’re going there, then.” 

Sirius is slow to answer, hands white-knuckled on the steering wheel. His silence must confuse Remus because he cracks open an eye, sitting up straighter in his seat with a frown.

“Or we don't have to,” Remus is quick to throw out, “You can just take the truck if you want to go, I can find a ride back with someone or sleep here–”

“You said you don't know these guys. You can't sleep here.”

“I’ve slept in worse places,” Remus argues, “Seriously, you just take the truck and go on.”

“I don't know if I’m allowed to bring people to Alphrads, like.. overnight,” Sirius quickly blurts, if only to stop Remus’ rambling, “So, hush. I'm thinking.”

And he is. Because on one hand, Remus’ house is atleast a thirty-minute drive, and Remus (despite handling his liquor well) is drunk, and Sirius is not confident in either of their abilities to get to the Lupin household. And ALphrad hadn't been weird per se about Marlene and Mary being over, but he definitely came up with drinks far too often to just of been being hostly. But then again–Remus was a guy. Is this a loophole or just deception—?

“I’ll climb out your window in the morning if you're really fussed,” Remus mumbles.

“My rooms in the attic.”

“I'm a good climber,” Remus shrugs.

Well, that settles that, he supposes.

The drive back to Alphrad is clunky and honestly embarrassing. Sirius is used to being good at stuff–It's one of his infuriating talents. The ability to pick up anything. It has always driven James crazy. Sirius can simply watch something done once and be able to replicate it, no practice necessary–in fact, he does better on the fly. But drivin a manual? Apparently, his own personal kryptonite, and Remus is quick to let him know it.

He ignores Remus’ laugh and cringing at his attempts (if it can be called that) at driving his truck. Half-tempted to just throw in the shoe and sleep in the backseat if he knew Alphrad wouldn't have a heart attack and call the police if he discovered an empty room. He isn't exactly sure what his mother told Alprhad to have him be so protective of Sirius, but he isn't about to ask.

He kills the headlights as they pull up outside of the house, opting to park on the street rather than on the driveway, breathing a sigh of relief when he's finally able to kill the ignition. He refuses to look over at Remus, who's snickering in the passenger seat, rolling his eyes before slipping out the driver's side.

As it turns out, Remus would be a terrible spy. He's all long limbs and awkward balance–Sirius had thought he carried his height beautifully, all slouched posture and carefully weighted arrogance, but right now? Right now, he looks about as graceful as a penguin slipping down a hill. He's loud. Something Sirius decidedly is not. He lets the truck door slam, and atleast then has the decency to shrink back and grimace apologetically, but inside the house, he's somehow worse. 

He somehow manages to step onto every creaky board, slam his foot into the stairs several times, topple over on himself, and nearly fall over the bannister. By the time they make it to Sirius’s room, he's halfway to a heart attack.

Remus collapsed into his desk chair, head lying on his arms atop the desk, watching Sirius close the door. He shoots Remus a look when he turns around. How dare he look so innocent after causing such a ruckus?

“What?” Remus asks with a grin.

“You know what,” Sirius says, walking to his dresser to find something for Remus to wear.

He settles on one of James’ shirts that must have accidentally got packed in with his stuff, a red threadbare Coca-Cola t-shirt thats about two sizes too big, and some flannel pajama pants. He throws them in Remus’ direction and takes his own pajamas into the bathroom across the hall before he can overthink it.

When he returns, it's to find Remus changed and asleep. Not on the bed, no, that would be too normal for the boy. He is on the floor, spread out on Sirius’ scratchy old rug, face down. He has half the mind to kick the boy, right in the ribs, just for the trouble he gave tonight, but instead, he just steps over him and throws a spare blanket he got from Paul’s shop on top of his body. He climbs into his own bed, and hates the grin thats on his face. This isn't cute. Remus is many things, but cute is not one of them.

He's just so–

So infuriating.

                                                                                     ☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆

Chapter Text

“You snore.”

“I don't fucking snore.”

“Well, aren't you a ray of sunshine in the morning?”

Sirius groans, pressing his face deeper into his pillow. It's too early, and he hates the mornings anyway out of principle. The principle being no one in their right fucking mind wakes up before 8 AM, something he has decided after being best friends with James Potter for a decade.

Remus seems not to share the sentiment, entirely far too chipper for someone who stumbled over a pebble last night. Sirius wishes a horrible, awful hangover on him, but then feels guilty, until Remus starts whistling a merry little tune straight from hell, and he doesn't feel that bad anymore.

In fact, he feels so ‘not bad’ about it, he chooses to chuck his pillow at Remus, surprising them both with his good aim as it hits Remus straight in the face. No more tune. Sirius is victorious. And now without a pillow. 

“You're violent.” Remus scoffs, now holding the pillow in his arms, “Got any more ammo?”

“Hey, you've got the hostage now.” Sirius grumbles from where his face lies flat on his mattress, “I'm all out of luck.”

“How is it a hostage when you threw it at me?”

“Why are you trying to make sense right now? It's fucking early–”

“It's almost mid-day, it is not early–”

“It is summer vacation.”

“You're cute when you're whining, you know that?”

“Shut up–”

“Sirius, you awake, son?”

The voice makes both of their head snap to the door. The very much unlocked door that is now swinging open, Alphrad standing there with a plate of fucking pancakes and a smile on his face that is steadily sliding off as he looks back and forth from where Sirius lies in the bed and Remus sits on the floor.

They're all quiet for a long moment, just... looking at each other. Sirius is actually really surprised Alphrad keeps a hold on the plate, the way he’s let his jaw drop open in what can only be shock. Paul calls something from downstairs, and Sirius can hear the little egg-timer going off. Alphrad clears his throat, straightens, and looks at Sirius once more before stepping back and closing the door. Like if he can't see it, it isn't happening.

He blinks once, twice, staring at the lock on his door handle and wondering if he focuses enough if he could turn back time and twist it.

“Do you think… he's mad?” Sirius asks, staring at the door. When Remus doesn't answer, he turns his head to look at him. And oh–

Remus is blushing. His tan skin has taken a red hue that rivals a tomato, and if Sirius wasn't so terrified of his uncle right now, he would laugh– because he looks ridiculous. God, he looks ridiculous! He's never seen Remus blush–hell, he's never seen anyone blush like this.

“Are–...Are you okay?” Sirius chokes on his laughter, pressing a hand to his mouth to stifle it.

Remus nods, a high-pitched little hum leaving his mouth that makes him cringe and hide his face in his hands.

“Remus–”

“Shut up. Don't acknowledge it.”

“Don't–? Are you even breathing? I feel like I should be worried you're going to pass out.”

“It's a thing, okay? I have– issues.”

“Issues?!” And Sirius can't help it, yes, he's mortified at whatever his Uncle is thinking, but c’mon? Remus Lupin flustered and red on his floor? It's a sight—one he’s committing to memory.

“It's an authority thing!” Remus bites back, voice muffled from where he’s hiding, “I respect your Uncle, and he just looked at me like— Like I hit his dog or something!”

“It was not that bad–”

“Yes, it was!”

Sirius snorts, rising from his bed, “Right… I’ll leave you and your authority issues to… chill, for a bit.”

Remus doesn't look up as Sirius leaves the room, grumbling into his hands. Sirius makes his way down the stairs slowly, without the distraction of Remus’ humiliation, his own anxieties begin to take root, digging a deep pit in his stomach the closer he gets to the kitchen. He steps past the threshold into the kitchen, and Paul gives him a small wave from where he's leaning on the island by the stove, a breakfast spread over it.

“You're Uncle’s in the dining room,” He says, nodding to his left where the French doors are closed, “If you want to talk to him.”

Sirius nods, eyeing them as the pit grows. He feels almost… nostalgic. He can't think of a better word to describe it. The times when he would stand outside of his father's study, dark wood-stained French doors looming over him as he waited to be called in—His father was the one who had to handle them when they were young; his mother would just cry in the corner, throwing out every crime that he committed to break her heart that day. It's not a good nostalgia, but it is nostalgia the same.

“Sirius?” Paul's voice brings him back. Away from the cold manor and back into the sunlit warmth of the kitchen. Paul's watching him too, sighing as he pushes away from the counter and hesitates before placing a hand on Sirius’ shoulder, “You are a good kid, you know that, don't you?”

No, Sirius wants to answer, You don't know what kind of kid I am. You don't know me.

“..Yeah.” Is what he says instead. 

Paul doesn't look like he believes him, but nods anyway. 

“Go on,” Paul says, releasing Sirius’ shoulder, “Come get breakfast when you're finished.”

Sirius has never been a coward, atleast thats what he likes to think. He always went into Father's Office first, letting him take his frustrations out on Sirius so that Regulus wouldn't have it so bad. He's gotten in fights at school for kids he didn't even know, just because he didn't like what someone else had said. Sirius had always done the brave thing—he’d always jumped in headfirst, and he isn't about to stop now. He opens the door, and Alphrad is sitting at the table, untouched pancakes in front of him, and hands crossed. For the first time, Sirius sees the resemblance of Alphrad and his mother—It's the eyes, he thinks. The shape and color. The exact same.

He does not let himself act affected, even as his hands shake slightly as he pulls out a chair across from Alphrad, he sits up straight, his face blank and waiting. Alphrad isn't looking at him; he's staring at the plate of pancakes. For one minute, then two, then three, it is completely quiet. Sirius isn't exactly.. used to this tactic. His Mother was never quiet about his faults, and his Father simply did not have enough patience for such intimidation. He's out of his depth, he's unsure of what comes next—and that is almost worse.

“Did you go out last night?” Alphrad asks, eventually.

“Yeah.” Sirius says, forcing his shoulders to relax in faux-confidence.

“Who were you with?”

“Marlene McKinnon and Mary Macdonald,” Sirius admits, “...They were here the other day.”

“I know the girls,” Alphrad nods, “They're good girls. I–...”

Alphrad sighs, and Sirius watches as he all but lets himself collapse on the dining table—Terrible manners, a voice snarls in his head that sounds oddly like his Mother's. Sirius watches as Alphrad rises again, scrubbing his hands on his face before letting them drop.

“I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing.” He admits, “Can you tell?”

Sirius hesitates, slightly confused. This… is not the screaming match he was expecting.

“...A bit?” He admits, quietly.

“You went to a party,” Alphrad begins, eyebrows raised as if he's waiting for Sirius to argue or lie.

“Yeah.” Sirius nods. “A kid Mary knows.”

“Did you drink?”

“No.”

“I won't be mad, I just need to know, Sirius.”

“I didn't.”

“...Okay.” Alprhad clears his throat, “.. You're a good kid, Sirius. I know that, I see that because you’ve been here and… Well, I grew up in the same home you did, just with different people. SO I know that things can get… hard, sometimes. And that things like… drinking and drugs can be tempting for young people, especially young people who have to go through—”

“I don't drink. I don't do any of that.” Sirius interrupts, closer to biting than he intended. He's angry for a reason he can't quite place, perhaps because of the idea of losing Alphard's trust, or maybe it's because his word isn't being believed. “I just don't.”

“I believe you, I do,” Alphard nods, taking a moment, “I just… I want you to be careful, I don't want you to be messed up in something that you don't need to be involved in.”

Sirius just stares, watching Alphard worry his bottom lip between his teeth, as if he's trying to find the right words to say.

“So…” He begins awkwardly, “You and the Lupin boy are friends?”

“..Yeah?” Sirius says confused almost, it had been Paul who introduced the two after all.

“Good.” Alphard nods, clearing his throat again, “Thats good. He’s a good kid. Good family.”

Sirius narrows his eyes; there's something behind the pleasant words, an underlying cadence as if Alphard didn't quite believe all of what he is saying. Alphrad's eyes catch his for a moment, and his jaw clenches before he looks away as if he knows he’s been caught, “You just need to be more careful.”

“With what?” Sirius almost scoffs, frustrated, “Remus?”

Alphard leans back in his chair with a heavy sigh, closing his eyes for a moment, “Remus is a good kid. I like Remus. I.. I see a lot of myself in that boy.”

Sirius waits for the but.

“But,” There it is, “he… often finds himself in trouble. I'm not saying you can't hang out with him, or that you should… be wary. I’m just… I don't want you going to parties with him. I don't want you to get in trouble.”

“Remus doesn't get in trouble,” Sirius says, and even to himself, he sounds petulant.

“Sirius,” Alphard sighs, “Brookdale is… a small town. Nothing that happens here stays a secret, as much as we are all loath to admit it. And with a town like that, we all hear the... unsavory details of life. Especially when it comes to our kids. Listen, I know Remus is a good kid who's just made a few mistakes. I don't think that should define someone—but you are my responsibility, and I will at the very least try my damndest to keep you from making the same mistakes.”

“I can take care of myself,” Sirius murmurs, “I'm not... stupid.”

“I know you aren't.” Alphrad agrees, tone heavy, “You're a Black.”

They're at a standstill now, sitting across the table staring at one another. Sirius knows logically that Alphrad just wants to protect him, that he's trying to do the adult thing, but another part of Sirius knows he doesn't care. He doesn't want—No, he doesn't need Alphard to care. He's lived this long without his caring; why is he now all of a sudden so worried about how Sirius is living? Who he spends his time with? He didn't seem concerned when Sirius was eleven and ran away for the first time, and had to wait for two hours in the back of a police car for his parents to come pick him up because they were busy at a gala. Or when he was thirteen and his mother had back-handed him for accidentally knocking a portrait off the wall, and the school counselor asked him those questions for the first time. Or when he was fifteen and held Regulus in his arms and listened to him cry about not wanting to be alive in their house anymore—

He doesn't need his care. Not then, not now.

Alphrad must be able to feel his steaming, or maybe it's just how Sirius now refuses to meet his eyes, for he sighs once more and leans toward Sirius. His mouth opens and closes several times before he gives up on finding the right words to say. He isn't a father. He isn't Sirius’ father. He doesn't need his parenting.

“Go on,” Alphrad nods, “go get Remus, then come back down and eat breakfast. Don't argue—Just go.”

Sirius purses his lips from where he definitely was about to argue with Alphrad, but feeling it is a losing battle, he pushes his chair out, letting the legs drag perhaps a bit too harshly on the wooden floors as he rises and walks out the door, leaving them open. He walks past Paul and the breakfast spread, past the stupid paintings on the walls, past the ugly red carpet in the office just at the top of the stairs, and past his ugly shame rearing its head at being angry at Alphrad for the first time.

Remus is in the same state he left him in, albeit slightly less red—Which does not last. The second Sirius is forcing him up from the floor and dragging him down the stairs with him his face regains its bright red hue. It actually somehow worsens as Paul casually pushes a plate of pancakes across the kitchen island to him.

Breakfast is a quiet and awkward event. Alphrad and Paul sit side by side, as do Remus and Sirius across the table. It has never been more apparent that Sirius and Alphrad are related—they brood the same. All dark dramatics and clipped constants, even the haughty turn of a nose when something is said that the other does not like. Mirrored drama from the two of them that neither makes the move to alleviate just yet. Paul, atleast, does not seem concerned. He actually seems quite used to it all as he chats politely to Remus about the store and his parents.

Sirius only eats half the pancake, and the very second Remus finishes his plate, he rises from his seat, a harsh noise that makes Remus cringe as Sirius takes his plate and walks briskly to the kitchen, dropping them in the sink before returning and standing at the doors, staring at Remus expectantly until the boy hesitantly rises from the table.

“We’re going to go hang out.” Sirius says, defiant as if waiting for an argument—as if itching for one, “If thats okay with you?”

He watches Alphrad's eyes slip closed for a moment, his jaw working as he breathes evenly. He’s being unfair, and he knows it, doesn't actually care too much at the moment, probably will later when it eats away at him while he tries to sleep. Paul puts a hand on his shoulder, and Alphrad's eyes open again, looking straight at Sirius with a raised eyebrow. Sirius stares right back.

It is Paul who gives the go-ahead, who waves Sirius away with permission to hang out with Remus for the day. Sirius waits for his uncle's rebuttal, for the sharp lashing of an argument, for the sound of glass shattering on walls, but it does not come. Alphrad simply nods and tells him to go. To be safe. That he loves him.

Thats the part that makes Sirius’ stomach hurt.

He and Remus retreat back to how bedroom to change, Sirius pulling on a t-shirt from his school and some shorts, and Remus wearing the same thing he had last night—Some flannel shirt and bootcut jeans. Sirius is quiet as he returns Remus’ keys to him and walks them downstairs, quiet even as he climbs into the bed of the truck and they hit the road. Quiet until Remus asks where it is theyre going.

“Somewhere fun.” Is all Sirius requests.

“I can work with that,” Remus says softly.

The first twenty or so minutes of the car ride are spent in silence, the truck's engine rumbling as a soothing backtrack as Remus drove them out of town. Sirius watched as the buildings they passed started to gradually disappear, replaced with the lone church and rocky terrain. It's beautiful in East Tennessee, something Sirius hadn't expected. It's not flashy in the way cities are, it's a quiet beauty, old and rich and filled with something he can't quite place his finger on yet. Something he almost yearns to do.

It's Sirius who breaks the silence first, after he let Alphrad's words rattle around in his head until he was thinking up all sorts of crazy conspiracies. Maybe Remus was in a gang. Maybe he had robbed a store. Maybe he secretly was a spy sent by his mother to destroy everything he held dear—ok, yeah. His imagination was running a bit wild, but who could blame him? Alphrad had made it sound like Remus was some sort of degenerate. And Sirius gets that—Ok? He does. With the curly hair and the cigarettes and the alcohol, but even with all of that, it's Remus. He looks like a strong wind could probably blow him over.

“Hey, Remus?”

“Hm?”

“What’d you get up to before I was here?”

An innocent enough question, Sirius could play it off as blatant curiosity, of wanting to know Remus better. Remus glances over from him, an eyebrow raised and an almost grimace on his face as he drums his hand on the steering wheel.

“Nothing interesting,” Remus waves off, too casually, “Mostly worked at the store. Went to school. That sort of thing. Hey, did you know that Marlene used to do cheerleading? Has she told you about that yet?”

“Just worked at the store?” Sirius asked, ignoring the obvious deflection.

“Yeah.” Remus nods, taking a longer look at Sirius, worrying his bottom lip, “...What did you and Alphrad talk about this morning?”

“Things.”

“Things?”

“Stuff.”

“Mhm.”

“You.”

“Yeah.” Remus sighed, “Was waiting for you to say that.”

Sirius waits for Remus to elaborate, to ease his worries and tales he's made up in his head, but he doesn't. He simply continues to drive, picking at where the vinyl on the steering wheel has started to peel.

“So… do I get to know why my Uncle told me to ‘be careful’ with you?”

“Is that what he said?” Remus asks, voice light in a forced sort of way, “Guess he could've said worse.”

“Remus.” Sirius groans, “Don't leave a guy in suspense.”

Sirius has turned fully in his seat now, legs pulled up onto the seat as he leans forward so that he knows Remus can see him in his peripheral. He watched how Remus’ hands tensed, the way his shoulders were all rigid, and how he avoided looking over at Sirius. Sirius kicked his thigh, earning Remus waving his hand at him, a warning he would not be taking.

“Cmon.” Sirius says, “You didn't murder someone, did you?”

Remus lets out a tight laugh at that, his hands relaxing slightly on the wheel, “Don't think Alphrad would let you in my truck if I had.”

“Then what?” Sirius grins, nudging him with his foot.

He watches Remus hesitate once, then twice, before sighing, “I used to… date someone and had some different friends then I do now.” Remus starts, “Brookdale’s always so quiet, and they got bored easy. Ain't a good combination for angry people with nowhere to go.”

“What, you got all ‘Girl-crazy’ and now the towns got an eye on you?” Sirius asks, a tinge of jealousy coiling in his stomach, it's stupid of him. Stupid of him to be jealous over nothing, over his friend.

Remus scoffs out a laugh, a small smile on his lips, “Yeah… Something like that.”

                                                                                     ☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆

They end up driving an hour out of town to the closest city, and Sirius is surprised to find that the tall buildings and crowded roads do not bring him a feeling of relief or home, but rather it's more suffocating than he remembered. He has gotten used to the empty landscapes and open roads; now, everywhere he looks, there's a product being sold or a person rushing off. The city has an ever-enduring urgency he never thought he minded until now.

Remus brings him to an old, dilapidated mall in a corner of the city that seems a bit quieter than the rest. The place looks like it's seen better days, and the parking lot is half empty, but Remus grins bright and urges him out of the car. 

The inside of the mall doesn't look any better than the outside, all outdated carpets and advertisements for stores that have been closed since the 80s, but Remus insists it's all a part of the ‘Charm’ of the place.

He lets Remus drag him around the different stores, still only slightly hung up and desperately curious about his past, relaxing as he watches Remus do what he was warned of: Acting. It had been subtle so far, Remus playing up his charm and nonchalance, the poster boy of Brookdale, but today? Today was obvious. Each store they went into was simply a new scene for Remus. Sirius watched the shift; now that he knew what to look for, it was almost too easy to see right through Remus. The smile that didn't reach his eyes, the jokes that were a bit too rehearsed, the looking for approval—honestly, it reminded him a bit of Regulus, only brighter.

It was still Remus, of course, just not. But Sirius played along; he laughed at the jokes, let Remus play the fool that Sirius knew he was not. If it helped Remus forget the things he was running from, Sirius would let him masquerade forever.

They eventually find themselves at the food court, eating half-warm Chinese food from one of the stands and drinking soda that burns Sirius’ throat. Remus has slightly toned down the act, and Sirius takes that as a sign he's finally relaxing into the day. They're chatting about Remus’s cat, Mars, sudden obsession with Hope Lupin's brand-new curtains when his phone starts to vibrate in his pocket. He fishes it out, placing his soda cup down on the table, only to see ‘JAMES :)’ popping up on his screen. He excuses himself quickly, walking further into the mall to answer the call.

“Hello?” Sirius smiles, a sudden relief in his bones; he hadn't gotten to talk to James in a few days and hadn't realized how much he missed him.

“...That is not how we answer the phone, young man! Where have your manners gone?” James' voice croons down the line.

“I'm in public,” Sirius hisses,

“It's not like you're stripping naked for the southern grannies, you're talking to your best friend.”

“James.”

“Sirius!”

Sirius sighs dramatically, thinking for a moment and cringing, “...This is the.. Batcave, Alphrad speaking..?”

“...That was bad. Even for you.”

“I don't have much to work with for the creative juices here!”

“Ha. Juices.”

“Shut up,” Sirius scolds, rolling his eyes despite the smile on his face, “What's going on anyway?”

“What, I have to have a reason to call my best friend? I'm offended,” James scoffs down the phone, “...Ok, so remember that girl I was hanging out with?”

“Knew it.”

“Hush,” James shushes, the static growing louder as he blows into the speaker, “Lily, you remember? Pretty, red-head, goes to Aaron's school?”

“Absolutely bullies the shit out of you every time you see her?”

“Ah, so you're familiar with her game.”

“I might be,” Sirius laughs, “So what about her?”

“Right, so,” James starts and Sirius leans against a wall, settling in to what is bound to be a long-winded chat with atleast several sideplots before James gets to his main point, “I was at hers the other night after we had dinner at my place—which you missed out, Mom was cooking since Lils had mentioned she had never tried Indian food before and you know how Dad always wants to help but Mom kicks him out of the kitchen, right? So, Mom had started cooking, and Dad was just kinda lingering in the kitchen, and then Auntie Samaria called, so Mom told Dad he could add in the cream and left to go talk on the phone. So Mom was gone, not even like… fifteen minutes, and the smoke detector started going off because Dad had accidentally lit one of the tea towels on fire without noticing—it was hilarious. Pete said he could hear Mom yelling from next door. Anyways, what was I saying?”

“You were at Lily’s–”

“Right! So after dinner I drove Lily back, and Christ, I have never met someone like her, she's so… Smart, and funny, and mean but not in a bad way in a ‘I have high expectations’ way. And she always has those Cola Lip Smackers on? And I don't even like Coke, but now I'm like craving it all the time—”

“After dinner, James?”

“Right!” James laughed, “We were in her room, and we were talking, y'know? And anyways, I mentioned how I had been missing you, and we started talking about you being over in Tennessee, and she googled Brookdial—“

“Brookedale—“

“—-Yeah, that, and you’ll never guess what!”

“What?”

“Lily has a friend who lives there!”

“Really?” Sirius says, simply to humor James. It's a small town—a small town James can't even remember the name of—but it isn’t that small. The likelihood that Sirius knows Lily's Friend is probably one in a thousand. “Who?”

“It's— Uhm.. Shit.” James pauses, “It was just on the tip of my fucking tongue, I swear it was.”

Sirius laughs, shaking his head. His best bet was that James had lost the name somewhere between the tea-towel story and the memories of Lily's cola-flavored lips. Or maybe he hadn't remembered it in the first place and simply needed someone to blather to, Sirius never minded being that person.

“It's fine, you can tell me next time.”

“No! No, I remember—Just give me a sec…. Fuck, what was it? They went to camp together or something…”

“.. I'm going to go out on a limb here,” Sirius starts, hesitant, “Was it possibly a Marlene McKinnon?”

“Ye–Wait, no. Yeah, no.” James clicks his tongue, “But thats like super close. It was when she was living up in New Jersey.”

“...Mary Macdonald, ring a bell?” Sirius tries once more, testing a suspicion.

“..Wait. Yes! Yes!” James laughs, “Mary. I remember cause I sang the ‘Old MacDonald’ Song and she pushed me off her bed. Do you know her?”

“Yeah, actually. She's one of Remus’ friends.”

“Oh, the hot sandwich guy?” James asks, “How's that going, anyway?”

Sirius sighs, glancing over to where Remus sits at their table in the food-court nursing a soda. “It isn’t.”

“Really?” James asks, “What? Not… gay?”

“I… don’t actually know.” Sirius shrugs, uselessly. “Like… one second, we’re friends and chatting and then it’s almost flirty? And I thought he was gonna kiss me the other day but then he got all weird so maybe he’s just… friendly?”

“I’m a friendly guy but I’ve never almost kissed you.” James points out, “I mean given the chance…”

“Shut up,” Sirius laughs, “You had yours.”

James hums and Sirius can hear the smile in his voice, “Give it time, worst case scenario you get a new friend to hang out with for the Summer.”

“Yeah,” Sirius agrees, but a part of him feels almost sick about the idea that it’s ’Just for The Summer,’, “Guess your right. Hey, I gotta go.”

“Okie-dokie, love you, Padfoot.” James smiles down the line.

“Love you too.”

Obviously, Sirius had known that Brookdale was temporary. That soon his room in the attic would return to being storage, and he would get back on a bus and return to the Manor and his school and his friends—he just had not known that he would actually like Brookdale. That he would meet people worth meeting, and get used to living in a house that was warm, and have an adult who wanted him around and cared about his safety. He hadn’t known there would be a Remus Lupin here that he’s only just started to figure out—Two months was hardly enough time.

He returns back to Remus at their table with the thought of leaving hanging heavy in the back of his mind. Remus smiles up at him and pauses for a second, like he can just read Sirius’s mind, or maybe he can see his soul? Wouldn't that be romantic? Neither of them says any words, but Remus starts to clear the table, and Sirius watches and waits for him to finish, and then they make their way back to the truck. Sirius fights the inexplicable urge to reach over and grab Remus’ hand. Not even just because he likes Remus, but simply because he wants the comfort, the grounding, the proof that he is real and that this is real and he isn't gone—not yet. Soon, but not yet.

One day, when he is older, he will regret not being just a bit braver and grabbing his hand, but thats a regret for another day.

As they get into Remus’ car and start the drive back to Brookdale, Sirius can't help but imagine a different life. One where he wasn't so.. Him. Where he didn't have the curse of his blood and his soul wasn't always searching for more more more. One, maybe, where he lived in a Queen-Anne styled house in a small town with his reclusive Father and an Uncle that owned an Antique shop, where he was happy and safe and didn't know what it felt like to have a ring rip open the skin of his cheek. It's a nice dream, but a dream is all it is. 

By the time they reach town, it's mid-afternoon, and Remus has turned the radio up and rolled the windows down as they cruise back roads. He has a plan, or so he claims, so Sirius lets him drive them through the winding roads. They end up in front of a small church, white-wood and purple hydrangeas planted by its porch, a crucifix standing tall in the yard next to a sign that reads ‘ONLY JESUS SAVES!’. Remus turns the music down as he pulls into the parking lot off to the side, and Sirius doesn't have to ask what they're doing here. Not even a minute later, Marlene McKinnon is all but running out the front doors.

Sirius sees the way she physically deflates as she walks to the car, her hair is pulled into a tight pony-tail, and she's wearing a long yellow dress with pink embroidered roses. It's entirely so un-Marlene-like that Sirius has to do a double-take at first. She reaches the driver's side of the truck first, knocking on the window hurriedly until Remus cranks it down. She leans on the window ledge with a dramatic groan, there are circles under her eyes, and she squints in the sunlight.

“Motherfucker.” She hisses, glaring at Sirius, “You left early!”

“I stayed a bit?” Sirius tries to defend, shrinking back into his seat.

“My fault, Marls.” Remus shrugs, “Will probably happen again.”

“You. I will deal with you later.” She scoffs, “It's always you!”

Sirius watches the interaction between the two, his brows furrowing at the tone of her voice before he looks at see’s Remus smiling at her—not one of those fakes he's been throwing around all day. He's really smiling at her. It puts Sirius a bit at ease. He wonders what all Marlene knows that he does not.

“How’d church go?”

Marlene groans again, louder this time, as she straightens and stands, glancing back at the church, “Miss Sharon didn't show up this morning for Sunday School.” Marlene starts, lips pursed, “Take a guess who Mom volunteered to fill in?”

Remus hissing through his teeth, “Tough break, where's your other half?”

Marlene scoffs out a laugh, “Mary doesn't feel good. Mom felt bad for her. She's probably curled up in my bed having a better time than I am.”

“I'm gonna guess the Pastor ain't letting you go early?”

Marlene shakes her head, “Nope. Me and Joshua are reorganizing Dad’s printed sermons. By year. Do you know how many fucking years my Dad's been preaching? Do you know how many Sundays and Wednesdays there are in a year? Not even to mention the missionary records we’re supposed to sort.”

“So.. Busy work?”

“Yeah. Busy work.” She nods, “Why? Doing something fun?”

“Was planning on it, yeah,” Remus says, glancing over at Sirius with a grin, “Raincheck?”

“I’m holding you to it, Lupin,” Marlene sighed, patting the side of Remus' truck as she turned, waving at the two of them before she disappeared back into the church.

“Where are we going, anyway?” Sirius asks Remus as they pull out of the driveway.

“Like I said,” Remus grins, “Somewhere fun.”

Remus turns the radio up on this portion of the drive, swerving slightly as he digs in the glovebox in front of Sirius’s seat until his hands clasp around a cassette he waves victoriously in the air. He fusses with the radio, missing the slot twice before Sirius takes the cassette himself and puts it in. It takes a few seconds for the music to play, and Sirius doesn't know what he was expecting, but it certainly wasn't the Fleet Foxes to start playing. He gives Remus an incredulous look, and the boy barks out a laugh—Sirius has nothing against the Fleet Foxes, he just… wasn't expecting Remus to play it after all the Radiohead he had insisted on.

The wind beats heavily on his face from the open windows as he watches Remus sing along. His hair is blowing away from his face, and the midday sun leaves streaks of gold across his tanned skin, highlighting his scars, but especially the one that cuts through his upper lip to the tip of his nose. He’s smiling, crooked-teeth bared for the world to see, for Sirius to see. Inexplicably, Sirius almost wants to cry. He couldn't have told you why back then, and even these days, he's hesitant to admit it, rather willing to chalk it up to teenage hormones and the fucked up brain-chemistry of a traumatized kid, but really, he knows it is because in that moment, he had never felt so free. Sitting in an old truck with a kind boy, no parents waiting at home to yell, no expectations clawing at his throat. He could simply exist.

They drive into what can only be called a forest, the road turning to dirt and trees growing thick and tall as they come upon a gravel lot, the only other car there an old minivan covered in dust and obviously abandoned. Remus parks the car and smiles at Sirius, raising his eyebrows as if just saying ‘You'll see!’ before Sirius can even ask the obvious questions. He follows Remus down a trail; easy conversation between the two of them. It's nice, Sirius thinks, to have someone like Remus to talk to. 

He isn't saying that Remus is like a best friend or anything close to that; he’s only known him, well, nearly a month now. Remus is simply easy to talk to. He pretends to be an open book, and he always seems to genuinely care what someone has to say. And the best part is that he doesn't know. He hasn't had to see Sirius for who he truly is. The pain, and the anger, and the cruel, sharp words he's known to wield. He's gotten to avoid the brokenness that seemed to ease the second he walked off that bus; for once in Sirius's life, he is just Sirius. Not Orion's Boy, or The Heir, or even Sirius Black. Just Sirius.

Sirius hears it before he sees it, the rush of water, the smell of it in the air. It isn't a big waterfall, not by any means, mostly just water pouring over a rocky ridge into a large lake. 

“It's a river,” Remus corrects, “Not a lake.”

“Excuse me,” Sirius gasps, “I didn't know we had a water expert.”

Remus rolls his eyes and elbows him, turning to continue.

They walk only a bit further, leaving the trail behind to coast down a steep hill. Sirius walks behind Remus, following where he puts his feet and only slipping twice. He's got a hold of the back of Remus’ shirt, keeping his own balance and assuring that if he goes down, he isn't doing it alone.

They end up on a sandy bank, Remus claims is the ‘beach’. Sirius would argue sand does not make something a beach, but he knows it's a fight he would in fact lose.

“You do know how to swim, don't you?” Remus asks, eyeing Sirius like he isn't quite sure.

“Seriously?”

“What?” Remus laughs, throwing down the backpack he had fished out from the bed of his truck, “I don't know what they teach you city folk.”

“I grew up going to the YMCA.”

“You say that like it means shit,” Remus says as he digs through the bag. “Was it fun to stay at the YMCA?”

Sirius kicks sand at him, ignoring the snickers. He knew how to swim, thank you very much. It was just that he had only learned when he was thirteen, when James Potter found out neither of the Black brothers knew how. Regulus had somehow avoided the public humiliation—Sirius had not. Atleast he could swim now, even if the sight of those plastic arm rings gave him flashbacks.

Remus has laid out an old picnic blanket, a single water bottle, a pack of Marlboro Reds, and a Zippo—Proudly presenting the spread as if it were for a King.

“Impressive,” Sirius teases.

“I try,” Remus sighed, standing up, wiping his hands on his jeans before turning to face the water. “So? In or out?”

Sirius rolls his eyes, but nods despite it. He focuses on the sand as Remus sheds his shirt and jeans, Sirius following suit. Sirius was good at avoiding. Focusing on things like the red vinyl of the waterproof side of the picnic blanket, or the purple buds sprouting from the ground by the edge of the water, or the dark ink on the side of Remus' hip—Wait.

“I knew you had a tattoo!” Sirius coughs out, all manners and rules forgotten as he grabs Remus by the shoulders to still him.

“Yeah?” Remus laughs, looking down at his own skin with a shrug. Taking a step back and turning to give a better view, “I actually almost forgot about this one,”

Sirius scoffs, smiling as he eyes the shaky-half faded constellation on Remus’ skin.

“Canis-Major,” Sirius notes, a sickening twist of butterflies in his stomach.

“You know your stars,”

“I'm named after one—That one actually,” Sirius says, only just stopping himself from poking Remus’ side as he gestures to the tattoo.

“Which one?” Remus asks, brows furrowed.

“That—” Sirius tries the gesture again, before giving up and touching where his namesake lives on Remus’ skin, “That one.”

“Yeah,” Remus nods, a cheeky smile, “I know,”

“You're— You are such a dick.” Sirius groans, “Acting stupid when you ain't.”

“Oh, careful there, Sirius.” Remus warns with faux-sincerity, “Starting to sound like one of us,”

Sirius shoves him, just enough to make him stumble with his laughter. Remus narrows his eyes at Sirius, his grin sharp as he shoves him back. Back and forth, back and forth until they're fully tussling. Loud laughter and shrieks in the air as they rough-house, somehow, Remus gets Sirius over his shoulder, and he barely has time to register he’s in the air before he's in the water.

The water is cold and biting when it meets his skin, and Sirius scrambles for a hold on Remus’ back, hissing a curse the deeper they go. Remus doesn't seem to mind, laughing even as Sirius’s fingers dig into his skin. He lets go once they're too far out to stand, shaking his hair out of his face as he treads water.

“Motherfucker—Shit, it's cold.” Sirius gasps, splashing water in Remus’ direction.

“It feels great,” Remus laughs, taking a gasp of breath before dipping down underneath the water, reappearing with his hair sticking to his face, “You just gotta acclimate.”

“Just acclimate,” Sirius mocks, “Gonna get, like… hypothermia.”

“Drama queen.”

“Asshole.”

“You kiss your mother with that mouth?” Remus gasps, splashing at Sirius.

“No, but I’ll kiss yours.” 

Remus goes to lunge forward, but Sirius had predicted the move, diving under the water and letting himself sink. He opens his eyes against the water, seeing Remus’s shape above him as he swims past. He waits until Remus stills, feet kicking, before he grabs and pulls him down into the depths with him.

He breaks through the water and watches as Remus does the same a few seconds later, coughing and pushing his hair from his face as Sirius laughs. Remus shakes his head like a dog, sending water droplets into Sirius’ face as he groans.

“Watch it, Lupin,” Sirius laughs.

“Make me, Black.” Remus shoots back.

It is a fun day.

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After they've had their fill of swimming, they settle back onto the little beachy part of shore, passing a cigarette back and forth. Sirius has somehow ended up in just his boxers and Remus’ unbuttoned flannel, Remus has put his jeans back on, and his hair has just started drying, the humidity in the air making his curls frizz.

“Coke or Pepsi?”

“Coke.”

“Coffee or tea?”

“Pass, neither.”

“Ok, freak. Uhm…” Remus sits for a minute, passing the cigarette back over to Sirius, “Summer or fall?”

“Fall,” Sirius replies without hesitation, taking a puff of the cigarette. He had gotten better at smoking—if that was truly a skill to learn, no longer choking as the smoke infiltrated his lungs. He even craved it, but it was more the company that came with it than it was the cigarette itself.

“Why?”

“Just like it,” Sirius shrugs, “I get to stay with James for Christmas break and falls pretty much right there with that.”

“I’ve never been a big fan of christmas,” Remus admits, taking the cigarette back.

“Santa leave you coal?”

“Yeah, real prick that guy is.” Remus laughs, “Guess I like summer more. The store gets its best business in the summer. People passing through on their way to Dollywood or Pigeon Forge.”

“Ok, I knew about Dollywood, but now I think you're just making shit up.”

They're lying back on the picnic blanket Remus had pulled from his backpack, it's far too small for the both of them, but neither seems to mind, as their shoulders press against each other as the cool air from the setting sun dries the water from their skin.

“Nah..” Remus chuckled, “It's where all the tourists go when they visit Tennessee. You can get cabins and shit, do all the things. Parrot Mountain, Dollywood, hiking… That sort. Ma, Dad, and I would make the drive for fall break before it got too expensive. I think you would like it. It's like Vegas but worse and with bears.”

“Thats a good tagline,” Sirius snorts.

“I know, maybe I should go into marketing. I got a real knack for it.” Remus laughs, blowing smoke out of his nose, “What about you? Any family vacations?”

“Does this one count?”

“I’d say so, yeah.”

“Then one.”

Remus hums, “Not a travling kind of family?”

“No.” Sirius answers, short and firm, “...I went with James’ family to the beach, once.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. It was nice. He’s got great parents.” Sirius sighs, “We got a little house right by the ocean, with hammocks and shit. We’d stay up all night just sitting outside talking. Our friend, Peter, went too. He got drunk for the first time, and we spent three hours convincing him to get out of the fucking hot tub and go to bed before James’ parents woke up.”

Remus laughs at that, sighing almost wistfully, “First times are always fun. I got so sick the first time I drank; it was bad.”

“I’m sensing a story here,” Sirius says teasingly, turning to wag his eyebrows at Remus, who scoffs.

“It ain't a good story. It's boring,” Remus defends, “I was thirteen, and hanging out with some of the kids who hung around the store a lot. They were older and I wanted to be cool, so— …I lifted a few cheap bottles of wine from the store. Tasted like shit, we were in the middle of a field across from some train tracks, and it hit me fast. I don't remember half of it, just puking my guts out in some guy's truck and climbing in through my window after.”

“Your parents find out?”

“Ha—No, not that time. Ma thought I had the flu the next day. I wasn't quick to correct her,” Remus says, pausing for a long minute, “...Guess I don't really come across great in that story though,”

“Can't always be the star,” Sirius quips, trying to alleviate the tension in Remus’ face.

“Says the boy named after the brightest one.”

Sirius’ smile grows on his face at the words. He's had a good day—despite the rocky start. He must sound like a broken record these days with how he goes back in forth in his head between two thoughts; I like it here, I like it here with him.

“Hey, Sirius?” Remus muses, quiet and almost unsure, “You think you’ve ever been in love?”

Sirius glances over at Remus at the change in subject, the other boy looking up at the branches of trees hanging overhead, swaying softly in the breeze. The truth is that Sirius has been in love; he’s been in love twice before. A generous amount for someone like him. 

The first had been a boy he had grown up with—another upper-class heir with too much on their shoulders to properly breathe. Sirius had liked having someone to relate to, to sneak away with during galas. He had liked the way his blonde hair had curled away from his face and how he blushed after holding Sirius’ hand for the first time. He liked the way he kissed; it had been each other's first kiss. He liked the slow, unrushed pace they had been allowed to go. He liked how he didn't question the bruises on Sirius’ skin, for he had his own. It hadn't lasted, but it had been his first taste of love. 

The second boy was different than the first. Sirius had fallen quickly; some days, he questioned if it was love at all. He had been their Chef's oldest son, Sirius had met him after a particularly ugly screaming match with his mother when he went to hide away in the wine-cellar. They had talked, then kissed, then repeated each time the boy was in the manor. It was a fast affair, only lasting two months before his mother had discovered them in the wine-cellar while searching for her favorite cabernet. The Chef and the boy were gone not even an hour later.

But that is still a part of the brokenness Remus does not yet need to know. So his answer is far simpler than the truth.

“Yeah, I think so.” He says, “Have you?”

“Once, maybe,” Remus says quietly, “I thought I was. Not so sure anymore.”

“The girl you used to get in trouble with?” Sirius asks, turning to look at Remus.

Remus is still staring upwards, his face relaxed and pliant. Damp curls still clinging to his skin. In the moment, Sirius can truly see Remus. Past his beauty, and his scars, and all his acts, Sirius can see the kid who's just as lost as he is.

“Nah,” Remus whispers, as if he hopes the wind will take the words away, “Not a girl.”

“Some other girl?” Sirius asks, brows furrowed.

Remus turns to look at him now, his face apprehensive and eyes pleading almost, “Not a girl.”

Oh. 

Oh.

Oh!

“Oh.” Sirius says after a long moment, his heart beating fast in his chest, “Not a girl… like..”

“Like a boy.” Remus fills in quickly, voice confident as if ready to argue, “A boyfriend. A guy.”

“Oh.” Sirius nods, cringing at his own speechlessness, for Christ's sake, this is what he wanted! “So, you're..?”

“I'm gay, Sirius,” Remus says plainly, eyebrows raised. “And if thats a problem—”

“Wait– No!” Sirius quickly interrupts, wanting to smack himself for his own stumbling of words, “It's not. I don't care! Well, I do care! I'm just—I'm trying to—”

“Sirius,” Remus laughs out, breathless and relieved, “It's fine.”

Sirius sighs, shaking his head before blurting, “Me too.”

“Huh?”

“Me too.” He shrugs, “I'm, yknow… I'm gay too.”

It's the first time he's truly admitted it, said the words aloud. James had figured it out, and the boys he had loved never asked; his lips on theirs was proof enough. There had never been a reason to tell anyone else, to even say it aloud to himself. The words sound foreign leaving his mouth, but true, a weight he had not known existed lifted from his chest as Remus smiled at him.

It's a quiet kinship between the two of them, secrets exchanged without judgment in a world thats far too quick to cast its shames. A brush of shoulders in the sand and the sound of soft laughter carried away by the wind. Two kids in the middle of nowhere sharing truths that in fact did not stop the world from turning—it continued to turn, and they continued to breathe. It was not the end of the world; it was the beginning.

“You said you didn't know if you loved him?” Sirius asks after a moment, words no louder than a whisper, meant just for Remus’s ears. “Why?”

Remus’ eyes slip shut for a moment, when they open, they lock on Sirius’, open and honest and beautiful. Honey-gold and brown, green flecks like the leaves above them, haunting in a way he wouldn't know for some time.

“Starting to think I don't know what love felt like at all,” Remus admits, “Starting to think it's… more than I thought could exist.”

Sirius doesn't want to read into it. He doesn't want to be stupid, but what other explanation is there for Remus saying these things to him? What other explanation is there for the tightness in his chest when he looks in those eyes or the way his stomach twists? It can't possibly be all in his head, not when it feels so tangible and real that he could just reach out and have it— He could just reach out and have it.

And so he does.

Sirius has always been brave; he had to. He was the firstborn, the older brother, the charismatic one, the funny one. He had to be the person who leaped without thinking, who did not care for the risks or possible consequences, because if he let himself think about it for too long, he would never do it. He would never escape, so he had to just do. Endure and survive, despite the consequences. He's slow, and already so close to Remus, his lips connecting to still open ones as if he's sucking in a breath or a gasp. Remus tastes like salt and nicotine, his lips are cracked, and at first, they don't kiss back, not until Sirius’s hand rests on his cheek.

It's a strange feeling, kissing Remus for the first time. It isn't anything like the other boys he's kissed; he's somehow more nervous than he was the first time he ever kissed someone. It's slow, hesitant, and almost innocent, like they're both afraid to do the wrong thing. It's bliss, pure and utter bliss, and torture as butterflies erupt in his stomach and heat travels to his cheeks.

It's perfect. Until Remus pulls away and turns back to the sky.

It's cold instantly, Remus sits up fast, and Sirius mourns where his skin had been pressed into his. He sits up slowly, a million thoughts in his head as he tries to figure out how he's going to talk himself out of this one. ‘Got you!’, ‘Friends kiss!, ‘Wow, what a crazy joint hallucination, what do you say we go back to the car or jump off the cliff?’.

“I’m— Sorry..” He stumbles out, panic in his veins, “Remus–”

“No, no–” Remus turns quickly, hand raking through his hair, “Please, don't say you're sorry—Don't be sorry for that.”

“But…” Sirius gestures uselessly at the new space between them.

Remus sighs, eyes boring into the ground, chewing the inside of his cheeks, “It's not you,” He assures, “God… ‘Course it's not you, you're.. Great.”

“Thanks.” Sirius scoffs, lightly. He's embarrassed at the rejection, even more so at Remus trying to make him feel better, “You don't gotta do the whole ‘it's not you, it's me’ thing. You can just say you don't want to kiss me.”

“I do,” Remus says, so sure of himself. “I do want to kiss you.”

“Then… Why?”

“Sirius…” Remus sighs once more, “Don't.. I don't want you to be surprised if I just… disappear someday.”

Sirius is quiet, waiting for more. 

“I know you're just here for the summer,” Remus continues, “I hope you get to come back. I think we all do, you're something special, Sirius Black. I really think that. The last thing I want to do is… get your hopes up or disappoint you, I’ve done enough of that for a lifetime.”

“You got a big ego if you think you're gonna disappoint me,” Sirius says, perhaps cruelly. He isn't sure anymore.

“Or maybe I’m a wishful thinker.” Remus shrugs, “I don't want to start something just to leave and… ruin it all.”

“Right.” Sirius nods, a heavy disappointment hanging in his chest. Stupid. God, he was being stupid. He probably wouldn't ever even see Remus after this summer. “It's getting late, Alphrad probably wants me back before dark,” Sirius says, rising from the sand without giving Remus a chance to reply.

He sheds Remus’s flannel, tossing it back over before slipping his own shirt and pants back on. Remus packs away his things, smudging out the long-forgotten cigarette before slipping it in his bag. Sirius walks slightly ahead of Remus on the path; the air is getting colder every minute, and the sky is darkening. The trees dance in the wind, and Sirus does not see the beauty in them, only finds the sound of leaves rustling annoying.

They reach Remus’ truck, and Sirius can't help but notice the other boy has slipped his mask back on. Over-the-top charisma and playfulness that feel more like jabs than they had flirting. Stupid, he feels so stupid. What was he expecting? A fling? A love? Anything? It had felt different, not because Remus was different or a soulmate—he was simply new. Exciting. Sirius had gotten swept up in it when he knew he shouldn't of. Now, he can't even look his ‘friend’ in the eyes.

The radio plays in the background as they drive, and Sirius almost wishes he were back home. No distractions, no newness, no humiliation of his own creation. The comfort of his predictable prison, where he did not have to pretend he was anything but what he was: a Black.

They reach the outside of the house, and Remus turns the music down, smiling tightly at Sirius as he hands the drum nervously on the steering wheel.

“Ma’s been meaning to have you over for dinner.” Remus tries, “I’m sure if you wanted to come, Alphrad wouldn't mind?”

“I.. I have to be up early, I’m helping Paul at the shop.”

“Right.” Remus nods, watching as Sirius crawls out of the car, stopping him right before he closes the car door, “Sirius–”

“Yeah?”

“You okay?”

Sirius was fine. He was a fool, he was a Black, he was somehow heartbroken over something he knew better than to be heartbroken over, but he was Fine.

“Yeah,” He breathed, “...Good night, Remus.”

“Night.”

When he gets to his room, he has the inexplicable urge to cry. The last lyrics of the horribly ironic song that had been playing in Remus’ car playing in his ears.

‘Blame it on the black star, Blame it on the falling sky, Blame it on the satellite…’

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