The Gryffindor common room was dead. Two first-year girls sat on the sofa in front of the fire, struggling over an essay for Transfiguration like it was the definitive thesis on how to finally turn lead into gold. Meanwhile, Sirius watched Remus, sprawled across from him in the old wing chair near the window, reading. Well, Sirius thought, everyone knows that Remus is the smart, beautiful one. Peter’s the quiet, well-meaning one. Potter is the show-off. I, however, am the immature, bad-tempered one, with the reputation for having a tiny heart, a smaller brain, and no impulse control. If I told Remus how I feel about him, he’d think I was pranking him.
Remus lowered his book and looked at him from across the room, shooting Sirius a crooked smile with what almost looked like a wink, but couldn’t possibly have been. Before Sirius could decide what to do, Remus stuck his head back into his book.
“Hey, Moony,” Sirius yelled.
“Bored again?” Remus asked, voice soft as silk and sexy as hell.
“How could I be bored? I'm sitting here looking at you, gorgeous.”
“Can’t you even be serious for one minute?”
Don’t say it. Don’t say it. Don’t say it, arsehole, he warned himself. But nervous as a feral cat and twitchy as a bug on a pin, he said it. “I’m always Sirius.”
Remus stuck his lower lip out in an adorable pout, shaking his head and sighing, before slamming his book shut. “I’m going to the library to read.”