Chapter Text
It wasn’t supposed to happen.
When Remus transferred to Hogwarts, he had every intention of staying the fuck away from them. You know, the royal-blooded, Balenciaga-wearing model type with an incestuous family tree dating to Grandmommy Victoria herself. Yeah, not really Remus’ crowd.
For the most part, he successfully avoided the posh assholes. It helped that he commuted as one of the few non-residential students at Hogwarts and that he stuck to the music room at lunch, passing a cigarette back and forth with Lily, the only tolerable student in the ivory palace. She was on scholarship, like him. And she wasn’t full-blooded Viking, like him.
They were half of the four—yes, four —POC at Hogwarts.
Remus made it two entire goddamn years tucked away with Lily, working his ass off without their private tutors and adoring teachers, sans the perks of royal titles and wealthy surnames; he was on track to graduate with the marks, the letters of rec, hell, even the extracurriculars to make his way into a college across the world where he could study and live and fucking exist without being a symbol of diversity, an exotic spectacle for one of Denmark’s oldest academies.
No, to put it lightly, fuck that.
So Remus was set to get out, and hopefully, one day get his mom out too. There wasn’t anything tying him to this little Scandinavian Kingdom besides the eternal bender of his Danish father and thus, fifty percent of his DNA. Nothing convincing, in summary.
Until his last year came around and Slughorn, the dick, paired the class off, at random, for the whole fucking year. And because the universe hated Remus, his literature partner was the prince of pricks himself:
Sirius Black.
Otherwise known as the Crown Prince of Denmark, Count of Monpezat. The heir apparent to the Danish throne.
So no, it wasn’t supposed to happen, Remus and Sirius, and it almost didn’t.
But eventually, Remus would be glad it did.
******
“It can’t be that bad, I mean at the very least he’s literate,” Lily says with a wink while she pushes through the crowded hallway. Her thick black ponytail swishes, the red streaks nearly whipping Remus in the face.
He scoffs. “I can’t say I’ve seen Sirius read.”
“Ooo it’s like that American actress from Glee! Lea Michelle, no?” Lily hugs her books closer to her chest, an old habit, Remus knows, to ward off the creeps who gawk at her tits. “Maybe Sirius can’t read at all, and that’s the crown’s biggest secret.”
“The crown’s biggest secret is undoubtedly much more evil,” Remus says drily. “Something with murder, if I had to guess.”
Lily throws her head back and laughs, provoking pointed looks from a few students. Remus bites back the urge to flip them off and soaks up the sound, almost like a roar but with something undeniably musical to it. Few things compare to Lily Evan’s laugh.
“So if Sirius is your literature partner, what’s the plan?”
Remus shrugs. “Do the work myself, talk to him as little as possible. I’m hoping to average five words a day.”
“He doesn’t seem the quiet type though.”
“He’s not.” Remus nearly winces at how sexual that sounds. He shoots a prayer in thanks to his mom for his dark complexion which largely hides his flush.
They make their way into their Calculus classroom, both taking their spot in the second row, the first of the class to arrive.
“So what’d Sirius say? Anything juicy?” Lily nudges him as he pulls out his papers. “Come on, spill.”
“Nothing important.” He busies himself with reviewing their summer homework, a packet’s worth of equations and algorithms that made Remus want to rip his hair out.
“He’s the prince, everything he says is supposed to be important.”
“Not to me.”
It’s a miracle that Lily doesn’t catch the lie, doesn’t see through Remus’ stoic pretense to the twist in his gut, and the pulse in his throat.
Because, fuck, it did feel important. Much more than it should have.
“Hey,” Sirius’ voice is halfway to a whisper yet still loud and proud, ringing in Remus’ ears. “You’re Remus, right?”
It’s the bare fucking minimum that Sirius knows his name given how small their class is but Remus feels a twist in his gut, that plebian part of him trained to admire nobility pathetically pleased that Sirius knows he exists. Remus makes quick work of kicking that feeling to death.
“Yeah.” And because he’s a cheeky bastard, Remus dips his head and asks, “What’s your name?”
Sirius’ lips do a little dance then, the promise of a smirk paused by white teeth digging into his bottom lip. Remus flicks his eyes away from…that and finds Sirius’ blue-gray gaze, the shade of iris an entire nation drools over. Lividus, the snobs call the color. Now that Remus has a chance to look closely, he thinks “ lead” does it justice.
The conversations around them are easy and open but the two of them sit in silence, Sirius still biting back a smile and Remus still trying not to watch.
Then Sirius drawls, “You can call me whatever you want, Remus.”
Remus nearly chokes on his own spit and shock, because surely Sirius isn’t flirting with him—surely the prince of Denmark isn’t so shameless and senseless that he’s flirting with a boy . And not just any boy at that.
It has to be some sort of treason, Remus thinks to himself.
Or maybe he’s mocking Remus. Yes—that’s much more fitting for Sirius’ lot. So Remus rolls his shoulders back and looks away from those dark black curls that inspired a wave of perms across Europe.
“Alright then, Black.”
Speaking of treason, Remus is surely playing with fire; the baby royals here aren’t so common as to actually use their surnames, but Sirius’ lips twitch up and there goes his smile, wide and charming and fuck, gorgeous.
Remus scowls.
“I think we’re going to be great partners, Lupin.”
And if Remus’ gut twists again in pleasure because Sirius knows his last name too, he avidly ignores it.
“Well,” Lily sighs, looking over her own Calculus packet. “If anyone can handle Sirius, it’s you.”
Remus chews on the inside of his cheek, his mind once more straying somewhere indecent. It stays there as the rest of the class comes filing in, conversations of Swiss chalets, French châteaus, and Italian villas floating around them until two hands full of silver rings, one of them a familiar signet, rest on Remus and Lily’s desk.
“Lupin, you left me.”
Remus brings his eyes up slowly, finding Sirius leaning on the cool surface with a cocky grin. And honestly, how cruel is he? Why must he mock Remus so… sensually ?!
“When the bell rings, that’s our cue to leave the classroom,” Remus deadpans. “I know that's a complicated phenomenon to wrap your head around.”
“But you left and you didn’t even get my number,” Sirius pouts.
“I think our school emails are more than sufficient, Black.”
Sirius scoffs indignantly, a sound Remus didn’t think people with net worths that high could even make. His eyes flash to Lily. “Hi there, I’m Sirius.”
He holds out a hand and of fucking course Lily takes it. “Lily, nice to meet you.”
“Lily, don’t you think Lupin should give me his number? Just in case I have a dream about Shakespeare and have to text him a sonnet in the middle of the night?”
Lily grins wickedly, her brown cheeks dimpling. “I think that sounds really reasonable, Sirius.”
Remus saves his scathing glare for Lily until they’re alone, instead setting his attention on his newest pain in the ass. “I’m not giving you my number.”
“I figured, so I’ll give you mine.”
Then Sirius takes Remus’ hand, clicks his pen, and writes his number right over Remus’ pulse, the string of symbols like bloody calligraphy on his skin, pretty enough to warrant a tattoo.
“You know, your freckles here…” Sirius brushes over Remus’ wrist and up his thumb. “They make a crescent moon.”
Remus tenses, no, straight-up shivers , but if Sirius notices, he doesn’t comment. Instead, he sets his pen back on Remus’ skin, connecting the few freckles Remus has, thanks to his Danish ass of a father, and drawing, yep, a crescent moon.
Sirius places Remus’ hand back on the table gently, holding on until the last second, then nods to Lily with that charming smile. “Nice to meet you, Lily.”
“Likewise.”
“Text me,” Sirius tells Remus with a wink.
A fucking wink .
Stunned, Remus tracks Sirius’ path to the other side of the classroom where James is sitting. Only when he’s sure Sirius won’t look back does Remus deflate, breathing out every atom of oxygen in his useless corpse, begging the universe to just suck him dry and leave him to rot because what. the. fuck.
“You could sell that information online and pay for at least a year of college.” Lily points to Sirius’ number on his skin.
Remus grunts back to life and shoves his sleeve over his wrist.
Lily laughs. “I take back what I said. Maybe you can’t handle Sirius at all.”
******
Unknown Number: hi, Moony
Remus: ?
Unknown Number: it’s Black
Remus: What is?
Unknown Number: ffs it’s Sirius :)
Remus: Yeah, I figured from the horrible nickname.
Unknown Number: you don’t like it? :(
Remus: How easily I’ve turned your smile into a frown.
Unknown Number: you’re just as delightful in writing as you are in person!
Remus: That sounds sarcastic.
Unknown Number: it’s not :)
Remus: Oh no, it’s back.
Unknown Number: what can I say, you make me smile :)))
Remus: How did you get my number?
Unknown Number: Lily! she’s so nice, warned me that if i left it up to you, you’d never text me so here i am, texting you
Remus: What do you need, Black?
Unknown Number: i just wanted to know when you want to meet up to discuss our first project <3
Remus: It hasn’t even been assigned yet; besides, you could have asked me this in class.
Unknown Number: omfg did you just use a semicolon? in a text?!
Remus: What about it?
Unknown Number: you and you’re punctuation astonish me ngl
Remus: I aim to astonish.
Unknown Number: do you?
Remus: No.
Unknown Number: so you’re not even trying and STILL you amaze
Remus: Once again: what do you need, Black?
Unknown Number: your attention?? obviously?
Remus: Goodnight.
Unknown Number: no wait come back!
Unknown Number: i promise i’ll be goodddd
Unknown Number: I’ll even use your fancy punctuation; just for you.
Unknown Number: alright fine, sweet dreams, moony
******
“Hola, mijo.” Remus’ mom looks over her shoulder with a smile and hesitates. She turns off the burner and faces Remus head-on, leaning onto the kitchen counter with much too knowing a look.
“Is it gonna be one of those mornings?” Hope asks.
“I’m fine,” Remus grunts, kicking out a chair and slumping into it.
“Eighteen years I’ve known you, sweetcheeks, I think I can read your face well. ¿Qué pasó?”
“Es que…” Remus trails off, switching to Danish. Sirius doesn’t deserve the Spanish tongue. “We have to do group projects in literature.”
Hope plates some eggs and beans. “Ah, well, I know you hate working with other students but this is a good skill to learn. Besides, it can’t be bad if you’re with Lily?”
“She’s in a higher level,” Remus reminds her.
“Such a clever girl.” Hope smiles, the one she reserves for all mentions of Lily, or the not-so-rare visits Lily makes to their house when she’s off work.
Hope would never say it outright, but Remus knows she’s awaiting the day Lily and Remus profess their love for each other, and have at least five babies. Neither one of them has the heart to break Hope’s dream, so they keep their queer secrets to themselves, Remus most of all.
“So who’s the literature partner then?” Hope slaps a tortilla onto the pan. “Someone you know?”
“I guess.”
When Remus doesn’t offer anything more, Hope picks up the tortilla with her fingers and flips it without looking, her eyes watching Remus expectantly.
“Fine,” he gives in, helpless to Hope’s stare. “It’s the prince.”
Hope nearly drops the tortilla. “¡No mames!”
Remus reaches for the book he left on the kitchen table the night before and untucks his napkin bookmark. “Yep, now you understand why I’m grumpy so let me brood in peace.”
And because his mom is a godsend with a knack for listening, she does, placing his breakfast in front of him and kissing the top of his head. “I’ll be here if you want to talk. Or talk shit.”
Remus laughs a little at that, shoveling eggs into his mouth.
As Hope cleans up and hums “Contrabando y Traición”, Remus’ mind drifts with the noise, the page full of words blurring beneath his eyes. By the time he had brought himself to bed the night before he’d pretty much convinced himself that he imagined his interaction with Sirius.
He had somewhat successfully scrubbed the number off his hand, as well as the moon doodle, and was well into another reread of The God of Small Things when his phone buzzed.
Only Lily, his best friend, his fellow prisoner, texted him this late, so Remus looked. Little did he know the traitor gave Sirius his number. Gave the bloody crown access to Remus’ personal life.
Remus contemplated blocking Sirius, he really did, but it was probable that they’d need to text each other come future assignments, and he’s not so thick to really piss off the prince of Denmark. Or so Remus told himself when he responded—when he engaged with Sirius’ smiley faces and lower-case nonsense and flirting . No doubt about it, the texts sitting on Remus’ phone are evidence enough.
Sirius is flirting with Remus.
Why? Remus has no fucking clue. But he intends to find out.
******
“Moony!” Sirius’ face brightens in the doorway and he bolts across the classroom to sit beside Remus.
They do have to sit next to each other thanks to Slughorn, but Remus was banking on at least a good ten minutes of peace, and five minutes of violent anxiety, before he had to face Sirius.
“Why are you here so early?” Remus speaks through gritted teeth.
“Wanted to see you.”
Remus clasps his hands on the table and glares daggers at the faint outline of a moon still staining his skin.
While Remus pretends not to notice, Sirius pulls his books out of his bags, digging into the bottom to find a pen, then ties back his hair with a velvet scrunchie, which should look ridiculous but it’s expensive enough to appear something stylish.
Not that Remus would know anything about style, he’s been told many a time by Lily that his sweater collection is an ode to Red Cross thrift shops everywhere.
Sirius’ Half Galla uniform is the same as Remus’: sky-blue button-up with the school blazer a shade of navy blue that borders on black, and a striped tie that for anyone else ruins the entire look, but Sirius is Sirius, so of course it doesn’t. Unlike Remus, Sirius’ clothes are obviously tailored, the material ironed and almost glossy, as if it had been painted.
Actually, now that Remus thinks about it, all of Sirius looks like a painting. Which, you know, fuck him for bringing those sort of shitty metaphors into Remus’ brain.
“So did you dream of me?”
Remus turns to look at Sirius. “ What ?”
“I texted you before you went to bed with every intention of getting lodged in your unconscious. So I simply must know if it worked.”
“Does this usually work?” Remus asks, voice low. “The cocky pick-up lines and persistent nagging? Or is it that no one can refuse the prince, so you’ve never had practice?”
Sirius’ smile shudders. “I’m sorry?”
“I’ll admit I’m a little curious why I’m your pick for whatever game you’re playing, but let me make myself clear. I’m not fucking interested.”
“I’m not playing any game,” Sirius’ voice is as unsteady as his gaze. He can’t seem to look Remus in the eye anymore, all his thunder stolen. Good.
Or it would be good if Remus’s stomach weren’t twisting again.
“Remus, I’m sorry if I came across too strong or—”
“It’s an overdone prank, Black. Flirting with the queer.”
That snaps Sirius upright, pulling his eyes back to Remus. “Why would you think I’m joking?”
Because the alternative is outrageous, because it’s been done to Remus before, because Sirius is so out of Remus’ league in every category there is that Remus can’t even fathom the thought of—
Sirius’ hand lays on Remus’. “I’m not joking, Remus.”
Remus looks at their hands, feels his own paralysis right down to his bones, and yet his lips manage to move, tongue manages to twist: “What happened to Moony?”
“My apologies.” Sirius’ thumb grazes the faded crescent moon. “I’m not joking,” he repeats. “ Moony .”
Remus slides away, pulling out his copy of Hamlet to give himself something to do. He clears his throat. “Glad we cleared that up then.”
Sirius’ attention is addictive, and Remus can fucking feel it press into his skin, the burn of his thumb lingering on his hand, and bloody hell, he pretends to read—how he pretends to read.
“So then, Moony, are you still not interested?”
The book in Remus’ hands falls to the desk, Shakespeare’s portrait going with it. Remus picks it up quickly and runs a hand through his tangled hair to stall, to summon some sort of answer, but he knows what he should say. He wants to say it.
He does say it.
“No, I’m not interested,” Remus rasps.
From the corner of his eye he watches Sirius carefully—has anyone refused him before? Maybe he’s in shock, his noble brain short-circuiting with the foreign advent of rejection.
Soon enough Remus can’t take the silent suspense and glances Sirius’ way, only to find the prince grinning.
“What?”
Sirius shrugs. “If you let me, I’d like to change your mind.”
And if that doesn’t make Remus’ blood boil , his heart pounding with indignation at Sirius’ fucking nerve. He thinks he can just, what, convince Remus to give him the time of day? As if Remus is just a commoner to be convinced, a vote to be swayed, something shiny and different on Sirius’ plate for the prince to play with—no. Nope.
Not fucking happening.
But before Remus can say as much, Sirius is nodding to the book in his hands. “So what’d you think of Act I? Personally I adore Hamlet’s thirst for revenge.”
******
Irma Pince is not the worst boss in the world, Remus knows, but she’s also not the most...attentive. The first couple weeks Remus worked at the Hogwarts library all he had was a century-old manual and a set of printed call numbers filed backwards to help him run the front desk.
Two years later, he’s managed to digitalize the library’s system, much to Irma’s eternal annoyance, and has somewhat nailed the art of spending as little time as possible actually working. He sits at the front desk and rereads the classics or attempts to do homework and occasionally texts Lily, careful to listen for the click-clack of Irma’s kitten heels.
Romulus’ dead brother: Do you have tmrw off? Want to binge season 5?
Lilith: as MUCH fun as a night with you and David Tennant sounds, I have plans.
Romulus’ dead brother: Plans?? With fucking who?
Lilith: Down boy, I can feel your jealousy oozing out of the screen.
Romulus’ dead brother: I’m not jealous, I’m rightfully scorned on behalf of both myself and David. Who are you ditching Doctor Who for?
Lilith: …Pandora (EEKKKK)
Romulus’ dead brother: No fucking way.
Lilith: Yes fucking way!!
Romulus’ dead brother: Is this a date?
Lilith: Yes? No? All I know is she asked me in Spanish to *hang out* tomorrow and ofc I fucking lost it and immediately said yes.
Romulus’ dead brother: Spanish really is the language of love.
Lilith: Olé!
Romulus’ dead brother: You and your Castellano :/
Lilith: Perdóname, guapo.
Remus’ head shoots up when he hears voices in the D-E stacks right across from the desk, and he slips his phone into his pocket, fiddling with the library’s desktop to look busy.
“Yes, Reggie, thank you . I don’t want to look like an idiot and it seems like he’s read everything—”
“We had to read this in 8th grade, Sirius.”
“Well, I don’t remember a single word!”
If Remus were anyone decent, he’d cough, make his presence known, or at least try not to listen to two of the most regal and ridiculous people in the nation, but he leans forward, unabashedly curious to hear Sirius talk with his brother in the facade of privacy.
“Okay where’s the one about small gods,” Sirius says. “I saw that in his bag today.”
“ The God of Small Things ? I have an annotated copy.”
“I could kiss you, Regulus.”
Regulus’ answering sigh nearly makes Remus laugh. “I think there’s more than enough incest in our family already.”
“Will you be upset if I plagiarize your comments? I want him to think I’m clever.”
“You are clever.”
“Awwww, Reggie!”
“Not as clever as me but your IQ places you in the 85th percentile so you’re at least above average.”
This time Remus has to cover his mouth to muffle his laugh.
Out of all the royal bastards swarming this school, Regulus is the one Remus has the most experience with; the second heir is much less eye-catching than his brother, quiet and observant where Sirius is loud and oblivious. Remus has found himself alone in the library with just Regulus, and Irma, on more than one occasion, and he almost enjoys the young prince’s company—blissfully silent and generally the hell out of his way.
“Come on,” Sirius whines.
“I refuse to be your Cyrano.”
“Ugh you and your classics, your outdated references are what gives our family name such an elitist reputation.”
“Yes,” Regulus deadpans. “It’s my fault they call us snobs. Never mind the centuries of colonialism at the hands of our ancestors.”
Sirius’ laugh carries across the library all the way to Remus’ chest, sparking little fires in between the beats of his heart. Remus pulls back his metaphors yet again, choking the literary nerd inside him and forcing himself to stop eavesdropping.
But no one could miss when Regulus says his name: “Why don’t you just talk to Remus?”
“That’s what I’m trying to do—I just have to study first.”
“You’ve never needed to do homework in order to have sexual intercourse before.”
Remus chokes at the same time Sirius does.
“No! No, I’m a gentleman , Regulus. I mean I need to read up on what Remus likes, make a good first impression.”
“You already made a first impression. It didn’t go well.”
“James was much more supportive than you.”
“James is a better man,” Regulus answers, sounding as sincere and straightforward as ever.
“Just tell me what Remus would be more impressed by: Tolstoy or Dostoevsky?”
“Neither,” Remus mutters under his breath then quickly bites his tongue. He would not be discussing his dislike of the Russian canon with Sirius. He would not be discussing anything with Sirius besides what is required for their literature class.
“I’ll repeat myself: Why don’t you ask Remus ?”
Sirius tsks. “We’ve been over this, Reg. The point is to surprise Moony.”
“You’ll have to check your books out with him regardless.”
“What do you mean?”
“He’s a librarian. Or at least works as one, I’m certain he doesn't have official certification but he’s very competent—”
“Regulus are you telling me he’s at the front desk…right now?!”
“Yes, that is what I’m saying.”
“Fuck what if he heard us?”
“It’s possible, you’re quite loud.”
There’s a shuffling sound and Remus snaps his head down and flips open his book, running his pen over the margin as if he were annotating something very shrewd. He almost gags when he realizes he’s doodled a crescent moon instead.
“Remus!” Sirius’ voice makes him jump in his seat. “I didn’t know you worked here?”
It’s only because Sirius sounds so nervous and even awkward that Remus summons the will to meet his gaze, but alas, the prince appears as perfect as ever, a curl falling in front of his face, slicing one of his eyes in two. Fuck him for standing there, making Remus want to reach forward and tuck his hair behind his ear.
Fuck him for coming to Remus’ sanctuary, his place of work and general source of worth, and robbing him of any peace.
Fuck fuck fuck him.
“Regulus.” Remus nods to the younger boy standing behind Sirius. “I’ve got your book.”
Regulus comes forward, eyes hungry for his next title.
It all started last year when Regulus spent three hours searching the stacks with a furrowed brow, and just when he set off for the exit, sans book, Remus held up a copy of Purple Hibiscus by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie and told him he was forgetting something.
Remus had been setting aside books for Regulus every week since.
The whole thing’s a bit surprising to Remus as his taste in books is postcolonial, pensive, and more than often, downright depressing. They’re the sort of books neglected in bookstores across Denmark, in fact, Remus has to order them for the library himself, so Regulus reading them, perhaps even enjoying them, remains a mystery to Remus.
“ Pedro Páramo ,” Regulus reads the cover, holding the book reverently.
Remus picked the title after a quick glance at Regulus’ library records, which showed that yes, he did check out One Hundred Years of Solitude three times. “It’s a Mexican classic,” is all Remus offers Regulus in explanation.
“Is there another copy?” Sirius asks. “I’d like to read it too.”
Remus doesn’t meet Sirius’ eye when he answers, “Nope, just the one.”
At his brother’s pleading look, Regulus merely walks away, book in hand.
“Bastard,” Sirius mumbles under his breath, watching him go.
“Stop wasting your brother’s time.” Remus clicks on nothing on the keyboard, giving his eyes and hands something to focus on. “And don’t look at the books in my bag, that’s fucking weird.”
“You…heard the entire conversation?”
Remus hums in reply, typing a string of nonsensical letters into an open document.
“Well I didn’t look into your bag,” Sirius defends himself. “I saw the books on your desk. I was only paying attention.”
‘Only paying attention’? But why ? Why the hell would someone like Sirius care if not for a joke? These are the questions Remus wants, needs answers to but he can’t be so bold, so inviting. It’s better that he gets this interaction over with.
“Are you going to check something out? You’re holding up the line.”
Sirius looks behind himself, where no one is waiting. “Apologies, Moony. I’d like to check this out.”
He slaps Heart of Darkness onto the counter, smiling ear to ear.
“That’s the piece of crap you picked to impress me?”
“It’s—it’s a critique of imperialism though, right? That’s what the Goodreads summary said.”
“I’m not sure which is more embarrassing, the fact you use Goodreads or your inability to think for yourself.”
Sirius flinches and alright, perhaps Remus went too far, cut too deep, but that’s for the best—it will only serve to keep them distant, to disillusion Sirius from his…whatever this is to him. Remus still isn’t sure. Maybe it’s not a game to Sirius, but it can’t be anything genuine either—his lifestyle, hell, his mother wouldn’t allow for it.
“What would you recommend instead?” Sirius asks after a moment.
And it’s because his voice is so small, almost fragile, that Remus decides to give him this. Only this.
“ Things Fall Apart ,” he suggests. “Some say Achebe wrote it in part because of how horribly Conrad portrayed Africans. I mean there’s not one well-developed Black character in Heart of Darkness , and sure, it’s critical of the Belgian Congo, but is it anti-imperialist? Achebe certainly didn’t think so and I have to agree—” Remus cuts himself off with a forceful swallow. “Sorry, got carried away there.”
“I’d like to read it.”
“Which one?”
“Achebe’s,” Sirius says as if it were obvious.
Remus has to do his job, so he pulls up the call number for Sirius and points him in the right direction. When Sirius comes back with a sheepish smile, claiming he’s absolutely lost, Remus has to help him, because it’s his job, and walks him to the K stacks in the corner. He scans the barcode and checks it out under Sirius’ name and gives him a nod in goodbye, but Sirius doesn’t leave.
He sits himself down on the table by the front desk and turns to the first page.
It’s only because Remus has to do his job, follow the goddamn rules, that he doesn’t kick him out.
But he sure as fuck can’t blame his job for the flutter in his stomach.
******
DO NOT TEXT HIM: moony! i finished chapter one :)
Moony: You were reading for half my shift and you’ve only just reached Chapter 1?
DO NOT TEXT HIM: oi! i’m a slow reader. and sensitive. be gentle with me.
Moony: Yeah, fine, I’ll admit that was dickish of me. Sorry.
DO NOT TEXT HIM: you’re forgiven <3
Moony: What do you need, Black?
DO NOT TEXT HIM: i want to debrief ch 1!!
Moony: You have my number because we are literature partners. Do not text me unless you need to discuss an assignment.
DO NOT TEXT HIM: but technically this is about literature…
Moony: Goodnight.
DO NOT TEXT HIM: okay okay i’ll just talk to you about it tomorrow!
DO NOT TEXT HIM: sweet dreams, moony!!
Remus sets his phone down and screams into his pillow. Why the hell does Sirius text like an eight-year-old girl? And why is Remus starting to find it…charming?
No that’s a cliche, one that Remus promptly slices from his mind. Prince fucking Charming. No. Nope. No!
He screams into his pillow again.
A knock sounds at his door. “Cariño, I know the book must be sad but you have to remember that they’re characters in a story.”
Remus laughs and he feels Hope’s smile on the other side of the door. “You can come in.”
She opens the door and props her hip on the doorway. “¿Qué onda?”
“My literature partner has taken to texting me after hours.”
“The prince?”
“Yes, mom.”
Her smile is slow, showing off her crooked incisor. “Late-night texts with his highness, huh? I remember you swearing three years ago that you would never befriend any of the ‘pendejos reales’.”
“Oh my god you know very well we aren’t friends.” Remus grabs his pillow but Hope is already pulling the door closed, laughing like a cheesy villain.
It’s exactly what Remus needs to hear. He loves his mom’s laugh as much as he loves Lily’s, memorizes the distinct, rowdy sounds like he does his favorite quotes from novels. As Hope snorts down the hall to her own bedroom, Remus releases his grip on the pillow and settles into his duvet.
For years now it’s been just the two of them, and though the aftermath of Lyall’s addiction, Lyall’s exile, threatened to destroy Remus and Hope entirely, they pulled through together.
Somehow Hope, the youngest mom in Næstved, the only Mexican in town and municipality, handled her heartbreak and started a new life without Lyall. Nevermind the fact that Lyall was the reason she moved away from her entire family, immigrated to a country known for white homogeneity, and learned a language that sounds and feels like potatoes stuck in the throat—Hope kicked the love of her life out after the last straw, a DUI with Remus in the backseat, and found a new place for her and Remus to live. She started picking up double shifts at the not-so-Italian restaurant across town. Now she manages the whole place.
Hope is, to put it mildly, Remus’ hero.
A part of him itches to go down the hallway and lay beside her, passing back and forth a bag of salted licorice while he tells her every last detail of the past few days and lets her figure out a plan of action. She’s a problem-solver, not to mention an expert when it comes to overbearing Danes.
But Remus is fine. It’s fine. Everything’s fine. If anything, he’s the one being dramatic about Sirius’ attention.
Soon enough Sirius will get bored, and Remus will be left alone.
It’s as reassuring as it is upsetting because, yes, that is undoubtedly how this will go, experience proves, but Remus is human, after all. He wants to be wanted.
Maybe not by Sirius.
Definitely not by Sirius.
Literally any man but Sirius.
And yet, here the universe is, teasing him with something he can’t afford. He falls back into his pillow and decides instead of screaming, instead of bothering his mom, he’ll dial Lily.
She picks up after one ring: “Remus, my love, you will not believe the date I’ve just had…”
******
“And that is my star.” Sirius points to something bright and blinding, and Remus can barely keep his eyes open, but he tries to look. He tries and he tries but his eyes tear up, overwhelmed. He just can’t seem to stand it.
Then two warm fingers find his chin and tilt it to the side, Remus’ eyes blinking wide open. He can look at this Sirius. In fact, it’s easy to run his gaze over every inch of Sirius’ tangled curls and gray eyes and angled cheekbones; it’s just as easy to brush his fingers across his brow and down his nose, pulling apart his lips.
“Beautiful.”
Sirius’ answering smile is debilitating. “The star or me?”
Remus leans forward, whispering “You” against Sirius’ lips. It starts out slow, Remus brushing their lips together with the lightest touches, feather kisses summoning something laden, a weight settling over his shoulders like a blanket. Then Sirius grabs Remus’ hair and pulls their bodies flush.
They topple as Sirius straddles Remus’ hips, their chests pressing close enough to merge heartbeats.
“Fuck me,” Sirius whispers.
“Gladly.”
Remus flips them over so he’s pinning Sirius down, holding his wrists above his head as he kisses him deeply, nibbling on his bottom lip as his free hand travels down. He makes quick work of Sirius' zipper before he reaches beneath the elastic band of his boxers, snapping it to his skin playfully.
“Mooonyy,” Sirius’ whine breaks into a moan as Remus takes him into his hand and swipes a thumb just there, then tightens his grip with a quick flick.
“Oh god, Remus—”
Hope’s croaky belt pulls Remus out of his dream and he leaps out of bed, glaring at his sheets. “What the fuck was that?”
Remus’ fists tighten when he looks down and finds himself undeniably…affected.
“Oh no you don’t.” He grabs a towel and sprints into the shower.
“¿Cómo dormiste, mijo?” Hope calls from the kitchen but Remus is already underneath the icy spray, washing off the burning touches of Sirius’ lips, Sirius’ fingers, Sirius’ cock—
“Get a fucking hold of yourself.”
Remus throws his head back and waterboards himself, thinking of anything but his unconscious fantasies. Though he can’t quite remember falling asleep, he does recall a long chat with Lily about her “hang out” with Pandora, and after collecting all the details of the night spent in Pandora’s room together, alone , they both concurred that it was a date. And that now, it’s up to Lily to make the next move.
Unlike Remus, Lily has no qualms about dating up, at least in title. Remus would give her shit for it if Pandora weren’t obviously Lily’s type; beautiful, strange, and emphatically kind.
He reaches out a hand and turns the water off, shivering in the peeling porcelain tub.
“¡Comida en cinco!” Hope shouts.
It takes a lot for Remus not to sink down onto the bathroom floor.
He may not like Sirius as a person, as a persona, but Sirius’ body? Well, evidently, Remus really does want what he can’t have.
******
“In addition to your individual essays following one of the three prompts I’ve supplied you in your syllabus…” Slughorn pauses at the front of the classroom, hands clasped behind his back as he smiles to himself. “You will craft an original soliloquy with your partner. It can be from any character and from any point in the story.”
Remus’ head sags.
“And, of course, you will perform the soliloquy in front of your classmates. You may pick between you and your partner who will have that honor.”
The class erupts in quiet murmurs, everyone turning to their partner to beg the other to perform.
“Not a fan of soliloquies, Moony?”
Remus turns to look at Sirius—he’s managed to avoid it all class, looking at the beautiful prick, but in spite of his father’s brief appearance in Remus’ upbringing, his mother raised him right, and at least in class, Remus has to look Sirius in the eye.
He hopes Hope is proud of him cause Remus sure as fuck isn’t. Not when his whole goddamn body shivers at the sight of Sirius’ bitten bottom lip, head cocked at an angle that is obtuse in name and nature. Is he doing this on purpose? Batting his eyes and biting his lip, testing Remus’ patience; though what Remus is holding himself back from he has no fucking clue. Throttling Sirius? Undressing him? Pinning him to the table and licking up his throat?
All probable options.
“I’m not a fan of public speaking, actually,” Remus remembers to answer the question.
“Oh, well, don’t worry, I can do that bit if you’d prefer.”
“Really?”
Sirius smiles at Remus’ incredulous tone. “I’ve had practice.”
It’s the first time that Sirius has so much as alluded to who he really is—the invisible crown that sits on his head, and the noble blood that runs through his veins.
Of course, Remus has thought about Sirius’ title constantly, incessantly, it’s never far from his mind because the moment Remus forgets he’ll allow himself closer, allow himself to touch what fucking shouldn’t. So, like a pagan chant, he reminds himself: Prince. Heir. Monarch.
Sure, Remus has come to accept that he’s physically attracted to the pompous prick. But just because Remus wants to fuck Sirius doesn’t mean he should .
Snape, one of the most insufferable students at Hogwarts, raises his hand. “Professor, will we be completing this assignment in verse?”
Sirius whispers under his breath, “Please don’t make us, Sluggie. I’m begging you.”
Slughorn claps his hands together. “Just as Shakespeare turned to prose in moments of madness and comedy throughout the play, you and your partner may decide what style suits your soliloquy best.”
“Thank god,” Sirius breathes.
“Not a fan of Iambic Pentameter, Black?” Remus steals his question.
“Oh don’t tell me you are.” Sirius’ eyes pop. “It’s bloody foul!”
Remus shrugs. “I think the rhythm’s beautiful. Like a heartbeat.”
Sirius softens at Remus’ words, and Remus takes that as his cue to look the hell away.
“So, Moony, are you working today?”
“Why do you want to know?” Remus flips through his overloved copy of Hamlet .
“Well, I figured I could wait for your shift to finish and we could get started on soliloquizing. Shakesperaizing, if you will.”
“Not a real word, Black.”
“Shakespeare made up words all the time, and what can I say, you bring out the poet within.”
Remus returns to the topic at hand while Slughorn starts to pass out the assignment’s grading rubric. “I’m working, yes. I get off at 18:00.”
“Brilliant. I’ll wait for you.”
It’s not asking for much since Sirius is a residential student, so the library is but a five minute walk from his bed, but Remus’ heart still clenches with something much too close to affection for his liking.
The feeling stubbornly persists at the end of the school day when he trudges to the library, and finds Sirius reading at the same table from the day before. When Regulus comes in, he takes one look at his older brother who’s stolen his spot, and scoffs, turning on his heel for one of the desks in the far back.
After a few minutes, Remus’ phone buzzes.
DO NOT TEXT HIM: what r u working on?
Moony: I work in a library, you can do the math; I’m sure of it.
DO NOT TEXT HIM: not with the semi-colons again, please i’m a weak mannnn
Moony: Get back to reading, Black.
DO NOT TEXT HIM: only if you tell me what you’re reading
Moony: Are you implying that I’m doing personal work at my place of employment?
DO NOT TEXT HIM: yes :)
Moony: Stop smiling at me, it’s creepy.
DO NOT TEXT HIM: only if you tell me what you’re reading!!
Moony: Stop repeating yourself, it’s creepy.
DO NOT TEXT HIM: …only if you tell me what you’re reading
Moony: Okay, fine. It’s nothing good, just some poetry.
DO NOT TEXT HIM: ooo is it iambic? you love your iambic
Moony: No. It’s free verse.
DO NOT TEXT HIM: who’s the poet?
DO NOT TEXT HIM: helloooooo
DO NOT TEXT HIM: moony???
“Remus?”
Remus uses his best customer service voice and looks up at Sirius, whose elbows sit on the front desk, hands clasped underneath his chin. “How can I help you?”
Sirius pouts, and it should look stupid, but it’s damn endearing. “You stopped texting.”
“I’m working, Black.”
“Who’s the poet?”
“Hm?”
Sirius leans forward, the two open buttons of his shirt pulling apart. “You’re reading poetry, so who’s the poet?”
Remus’ spit gets stuck halfway down a swallow and any possibility of acting like a normal human being leaves then and there, with Sirius hovering a few inches from his face, chest nearly bare, staring right at Remus’ lips.
“Who is it, Mooooony?” Sirius draws out the vowels in the maudlin, mocking nickname, and Remus eats it fucking up. Or at least, his body does, forcing him to lean over the front desk to meet Sirius halfway.
“Me.”
Sirius blinks but doesn’t move. “You— you’re the poet?”
“An amateur one, yes.”
They stay there, on the brink of something, a breath away from everything, until Irma’s kitten heels come clacking and Remus rips himself away, rolling back in his chair.
Sirius gets the message and squints at the map of the stacks taped on the desk. “Oh, I see, that’s where the Z stacks are…”
Remus bites the inside of his cheek but Sirius keeps improvising as Irma walks up.
“Your highness!”
To Remus’ great horror, his boss proceeds to curtsy to Sirius, a nervous smile brightening her wrinkled face.
“Oh, no need for titles here, Librarian Pince.”
“Please, call me Irma.”
Sirius shares an amused look with Remus. Though the students are dissuaded from formally addressing Srius and Regulus, “dissuaded” in the form of James laughing his arse off every time he hears someone use it, they have to be professional with the Hogwarts faculty. There are grounds for suspension if they don’t.
But Sirius just whips out his television smile, a different one from his real one, Remus has noticed, and compliments Irma on her lavender cardigan.
When Irma remembers that Remus exists, she tells him in a clipped tone: “I need you to shelf this cart. I’ll cover the front desk.”
In other words, she’s too lazy to do the shelving herself, and it’s probably for the best, because Remus actually understands the Library of Congress system, whereas Irma likes to wing the decimals by rounding up.
“On it.” He takes the cart and rolls away, letting himself look back at Sirius only once.
Remus doesn’t find himself surprised to see Sirius looking back too and it’s that acceptance, that horrible resignation that knocks his breath out of his lungs. Is Remus getting used to this? All of Sirius’ attention and flirting and general closeness?
He can’t be adapting to this, he can’t start expecting anything from Sirius, much less his constant, coquettish attention.
Remus scolds himself as he files the entirety of the cart, and tells himself he won’t look at Sirius’ table, much less respond to his messages, when he returns to the front desk.
He lasts about five minutes, and then he’s looking, hoping, wanting—but Sirius isn’t there. Neither is his stuff.
Remus checks his phone but there aren’t any messages.
Disappointment bubbles up from his stomach to his throat, and he takes the emotion and wields it a poetic weapon, typing furiously onto his draft, waiting for Sirius to walk back into the library with that gorgeous smile.
He doesn’t. So Remus writes.
When it hits 18:00, Sirius still isn’t there.
Moony: Black, where are you?
Moony: If you’re going to bail on me, at least have the decency to tell me.
Moony: Sirius?
Remus waits longer than he should, sitting in the library, at Sirius’ desk, with every faith that the prince will soon come running in with apologies.
It’s when the hour comes for the last bus that Remus gives up. He’s halfway to the door when he runs into Regulus.
“Where’s my brother?”
Remus schools his expression. “No clue.”
“Are you already done with your study date?”
“It wasn’t a date and it didn’t happen—”
Regulus’ already stiff posture tightens. “Something must be wrong then. He wouldn’t miss this, he’s been talking about it all day. Dreaming about it for—”
“I don’t care.” Remus walks to the exit. “Good night, Regulus.”
He doesn’t get a response because Regulus is on the phone. Remus only hears a snippet of his trembling voice:
“James, call me back if you can. Are you having another—”
The smack of the library door locks out Regulus’ voice, erasing all evidence that Remus waited, he fucking waited for Sirius.
He tells himself he’s disappointed because Sirius wasted his time, and they do need to work on this project. The other feelings—the rejection, the hurt—Sirius doesn’t deserve. So Remus doesn’t feel them.
******
DANISH DICKWAD: remus, oh my god I’m so sorry!!!
DANISH DICKWAD: there was an emergency and i had to leave and i left my fucking phone in the library and i couldn’t get it back :(((((
DANISH DICKWAD: fuck, i’m really sorry, moony
DANISH DICKWAD: i’ll see you tmrw in class and apologize in person
DANISH DICKWAD: okay?
DANISH DICKWAD: yeah i get the message. goodnight <3
******
It’s not that Remus loathes Denmark entirely. He adores their dark, twisted humor that no other nation can seem to handle, their tendency to stick to their own people unless a pint or a shot inspires them, and even their folklore of little mermaids and Norse pagans and most recently, John Dillermand the legendary children’s show featuring a man with a very long penis. And the Scandinavian candy, Remus must admit, is superior.
But though Remus is a Danish citizen, and has only seen his Mexican family twice, there have been many times in his insignificant life where the gilded gates of all things Danish have been firmly shut.
Through trial and error, Remus and Hope have learned not to slip into Spanish in public, to smile and nod at compliments of acclimation, to champion patriotism like it’s a goddamn weapon because maybe it is, maybe a flag on the door is the difference between belonging and exile, between safety and danger.
For Hope’s peace of mind, Remus has learned to bite back his sly rebuttals, to avoid confrontation or conflict because when it comes down to it, the people in power will never pick his side.
There had been only one exception to Remus’ rule of thumb: his first year at Hogwarts, when Slughorn pulled him aside and accused him of plagiarism. “There’s no way you’ve managed such an eloquent analysis, my boy. I must say I’m disappointed you turned to such extreme means—”
“I didn’t plagiarize,” Remus had been adamant.
The debate found its way all the way to the Headmaster’s office, and Dumbledore had been unsurprisingly complacent and complicit until Remus showed the time stamps on the file, and the IT clerk had confirmed it hadn’t been forged.
Remus has harbored a grudge against Horace Slughorn ever since, a silent, simmering vitriol against the man that he’ll never get to act on.
So needless to say, when Remus has to beg Slughorn to change his literature partners the next morning, it’s absolute agony. A metric of how low he’ll stoop just to get the fuck away from Sirius.
“I don’t see why you would need to change partners, Mr. Lupin. His highness is bright and enthusiastic about English literature—”
“We’re incompatible.”
“I do not appreciate your tone, Mr. Lupin.”
Remus sucks on a tooth. “My apologies, Professor.”
“As for your literature partner, I’m afraid there is nothing I can do.”
Of course there isn’t, Remus thinks, but doesn’t say. He gives Slughorn the best smile he can manage, choking on an empty thanks, and marches out of the classroom in search of Lily.
******
“Moony?”
Remus whips his head up, startled by the unfamiliar voice. All of Slughorn’s class Sirius had been whispering apologies, reciting “Moony” like it was a lullaby, and Remus gave him fucking nothing—not so much as a glance—but this time, the nickname comes with someone new.
“James?” Remus asks in wonder.
The two of them have never talked, despite the fact that they’ve shared over half of their classes. That’s in part because Remus stays the hell away, but also because James is a front-row teacher’s pet, and brings a studious air into the classroom that he always seems to shake the moment the bell rings.
James might be a brilliant student, might be as kind as Lily claims, but he’s dripping with wealth—in fact, he’s one of the richest teenagers in Europe. It’s a hard pill for Remus to swallow, because while James is a part of the unlucky non-white club in this hell hole, half-Indian according to his Wikipedia page, his trust fund makes the school, hell, the country love him.
Not that James can help any of that, and not that Remus really wants their racist, classist approval.
But still.
He makes being different look easy. And fuck, Remus knows it's goddamn hard .
So James standing at the library’s front desk with a crooked grin and mischievous eyes is not what Remus expected, and only slightly better than an appearance from Sirius.
“Moony,” James repeats. “That’s what Sirius calls you, no?”
“How can I help you, James?” Remus levels the boy with his customer-service voice, and just as with Sirius, it doesn’t dissuade James one bit.
“The question is actually how can I help you,” he says, eyebrows wiggling. “Or—wait—that sounds terribly wrong. Not that being gay is wrong, of course not, but what I’m trying to communicate is that I have answers to your questions. Which hopefully is helpful.”
Remus blinks at James’ monologue. “Okay?”
“Right so. Last night. You know, when Sirius ditched you? He won’t tell you why cause it’s my business and all and he’s a loyal guy but I—I—” James stammers.
Remus isn’t sure he’s ever seen the guy so incoherent before. James is obnoxiously quick on his feet.
“Sometimes I have migraines,” James rushes out the words. “Really bad ones and it’s hard for me to handle without help. Sirius’ help, specifically.”
James shuffles his weight back and forth, and Remus realizes he’s nervous. Or perhaps plainly uncomfortable. Remus didn’t know that James Fleamont Potter, the heir to the most famous Danish brewery’s fortune, could be awkward .
It shouldn’t be so reassuring, but, hell, it is. Honestly, it makes James more likable than ever to Remus. Less…untouchable like the crowd he hangs with. Sirius included.
Even when James’ parents died in a horrific car accident, he showed up to school the next month with an easy smile and convincing swagger.
Yet this, migraines, seems to throw him off entirely.
“So Sirius was taking care of you,” Remus strings the pieces together.
“Yes!” James blurts then winces, looking around at the largely empty library with a sheepish expression.
“I see.”
“And I feel horrible about it getting in the way of your date—”
“It wasn’t a date.”
“Okay,” James drags the word out with a smile. “Whatever plans you and Padfoot had together I really didn’t mean to interfere with, and honestly, don’t tell Sirius I said this, but he’s a downright mess because you won’t talk to him.”
“Why?” Remus can’t help but ask. He just doesn’t understand why any of this matters so much to Sirius, a prince who up until this week had never talked to him once .
“You really should ask Sirius that,” James says with an apologetic smile.
“No, it’s better I don’t. Well, thanks for the explanation, I guess. Are you feeling better?”
James hesitates for just a second, barely a whiff of a pause, but Remus catches it.
“I’m brilliant.”
It’s a lie, Remus thinks, but doesn’t say. “Right then.”
James nods and walks backwards, peering around, then looking down the stacks.
“Are you looking for someone?” Remus asks.
“Yeah, Reggie?”
“He’s in the back,” Remus points to the corner. “Follow the signs to the B stacks.”
“Fitting,” James laughs. “See ya, Moony.”
Remus hates that he smiles at that. He turns to look at Sirius’ empty table, the spot Regulus had evidently left open for his brother.
It’s almost unbearable how much Remus wants him there.
******
Moony: James came in today. He explained what happened.
Sirius: yeah???
Moony: It’s fine, Black. You can stop freaking out.
Sirius: oh thank god, you ignoring me has been hell :)))
Moony: Don’t be dramatic, all I did was pay attention to Slughorn in class.
Sirius: and pretend like i didn’t exist! and ignored my messages! which you had every reason to but still it was a nightmareeeee
Moony: I promise I’ll acknowledge your existence tomorrow.
Sirius: oh wow ok i think i need a minute
Moony: ?
Sirius: be still my beating heart
Moony: ??
Sirius: no I forgot, you’re a poet!
Sirius: Hear my soul speak. Of the very instant that I saw you, Did my heart fly at your service
Moony: Now you’re quoting Shakespeare?
Sirius: Who ever loved that loved not at first sight?
Moony: I pray you, do not fall in love with me, For I am falser than vows made in wine.
Sirius: !!
Sirius: For where thou art, there is the world itself, And where thou art not, desolation
Moony: Love is blind, and lovers cannot see, The pretty follies that themselves commit.
Sirius: wow, how ever will we match his might in soliloquy?
Moony: We won’t.
Sirius: that’s the spirit <3
Moony: Also, I’m…sorry about my behavior today. I think I was being dramatic too.
Sirius: you’re so so forgiven
Moony: That was easy.
Sirius: i’m an easy man!
Moony: That’s my cue to go to bed.
Sirius: how i adore our nightly chats
Moony: Goodnight, Black.
Sirius: sweet, sugary dreams, moonbeam
******
They reschedule their study session . Not study “date.” It’s the same set-up, 18:00, when Remus’ shift ends.
Remus definitely doesn’t look to see if Sirius is sitting at his table in the library. Bloody hell, when did it become “his” table? Even if Remus didn’t look, which he does, because he’s a weak, weak man, he can feel Sirius waiting for him a stone’s throw away.
Watching.
Breathing.
Existing.
Every second of Sirius’ existence is another second off of Remus’ life, or so it feels with his tight chest and pounding heartbeat. Remus makes agonizingly slow progress on his essay for Slughorn, sure to keep his writing not too eloquent for the professor’s bigoted tastes, and sneaks little check-ins Sirius way to ensure that he’s still there.
He is.
“Hi, Moony,” Sirius says when he catches Remus looking.
Remus grunts, “I’m working.”
Sirius presses his lips together but then he breaks apart, a laugh spilling from his mouth that makes Remus bang his knee on the underside of the front desk. It’s a sharp sort of laugh, more like a cackle than anything, with a bark-like quality that rivals German Shepherds.
The Prince of Denmark laughs like a dog.
And Remus is entirely obsessed with the sound.
Of course Sirius has an endearing laugh, of course he would do this to Remus, unknowingly, but nevertheless cruelly, chipping away at Remus’ resolve like the irritating git he is.
Remus yanks out his phone and texts Lily a string of numbers and letters that she somehow translates.
Romulus’ dead brother: AWUEW42395SWETIWHE4945ERIWEHW144
Lilith: Why can’t you just accept that Sirius is into you?
Romulus’ dead brother: How the hell did you know?
Lilith: it’s all you talked about at lunch ;) and now I ask again, why can’t you just accept that Sirius is into you?
Romulus’ dead brother: Because it doesn't make any sense!
Lilith: thhhhen allow me to be sensible for you
Romulus’ dead brother: If you must.
Lilith: 1) you’re hot
Romulus’ dead brother: Bloody hell, not the numbers.
Lilith: 2) you’re smart in a hot way
Romulus’ dead brother: I didn’t know that was possible.
Lilith: 3) the options at Hogwarts are limited
Romulus’ dead brother: Now I see the sense.
Lilith: 4) you don’t suck up to him like most
Romulus’ dead brother: How are there any more numbers?
Lilith: 5) he’s been watching you since year 1
Romulus’ dead brother: What?
Lilith: you sweet stupid boy
Romulus’ dead brother: If he’s been watching me it’s only cause I *stand out*.
Lilith: Nice try but I too *stand out* and he’s never paid me mind, plus his best friend is POC
Romulus’ dead brother: I think you're making this up.
Lilith: are you gaslighting me?
Romulus’ dead brother: :|
Romulus’ dead brother: Well, why didn't you mention it before? And why wouldn't he do something about it?
Lilith: u were dating someone
Romulus’ dead brother: Is that an answer to question 1 or 2?
Lilith: both i guess, plus you get mean when the royal fam comes up so
Romulus’ dead brother: :| x2
Lilith: and as for Sirius maybe you should ask HIM
Romulus’ dead brother: No thanks <3
Lilith: Fine. I’ll do it
Romulus’ dead brother: LILIAN IF YOU DO ISTG!
Lilith: Just kidding :) glad to see u care so much about his perception of you tho!
Romulus’ dead brother: :| x3
“Hello?” a shrill voice sounds from the other side of the desk.
Remus shoves his phone into his pocket and takes the book Severus is holding out. “Sorry.”
“Hmph.”
Severus, Remus has come to learn, is the biggest wanker at Hogwarts, which is quite the feat given his chauvinistic competition. It’s not that he’s any worse than the rest, really, he just had no duty or name to live up to, so he doesn’t give a flying fuck when it comes to basic human decency. He’s unafraid to share his “traditional” opinions in class and likes to charm Remus with a few Mexican slurs when he’s feeling cheery.
To top it all off, Severus has had a fetish thing for Lily forever, equally as disgusted as he is obsessed with her “African beauty”. Lily’s handled him just fine, but every time Remus sees him, it takes everything not to scratch out his eyes, Oedipus style.
For Hope’s peace of mind, Remus doesn’t punch Severus in the face. No, he pulls up Severus’ account, scans the barcode on The Fountainhead , quite the fitting book selection, and stamps the inside cover.
“It’s due in a month.” Remus holds out the book.
“I need it for the entire semester,” Severus says flatly.
“Library policy.”
“I’m sure you can make an exception.”
“I can’t.”
“Where’s Librarian Pince?”
“On her break.”
Severus’ face twists into a sneer, and he slaps his hands on the table, which would probably make someone else flinch, but Remus is used to volatile men. Guess his dad taught him something.
Remus places the book on the table, waiting for Severus to give in and go, but surprise surprise, it seems like he wants a fight today.
“Listen to me—”
“Is there a problem?” Sirius interrupts Severus at the front desk, his brows raised in a way that reminds Remus of his mom. The Queen .
“This is none of your business, Sirius.”
Sirius steps forward so he’s intercepting the glare Severus is shooting Remus’ way. “Take your book and go , Snape.”
Severus’ lips twitch, a nervous tic, and he starts to back away. “What are you two dating now?” he spits.
The question punches Remus right in the gut but Sirius seems unbothered. Much too indifferent.
“You really want to play this game with me, Snape?” Sirius cocks his head. “I’ve got a security team surrounding this building, just one phone call and they’ll detain you for threatening me. Or, I could beat the shit out of you myself.” He smiles. “Your pick.”
It’s not like Remus didn’t know Sirius could be intimidating—putting aside the literal crown he sometimes wears, Sirius is fit in many more ways than one. Something to do with those rich people sports, Remus guesses, rowing and derby and whatever the fuck gave him those arms and broad chest, full of angles and muscle, yet somehow border-line lanky.
And oh god, Remus is checking Sirius out again…in front of Severus .
“Well?” Sirius drawls.
Severus grabs the book and spins on his heel.
“Fucking faggots,” he mutters on his way out.
Sirius whips out his phone with a determined glint in his eyes, but Remus quickly leans over to stop him. “It’s not worth it.”
Slowly, Sirius looks down at Remus’ hand on his arm, then shifts his attention back to his phone. “What’s the point of having fucking bodyguards if I can’t use them?”
Remus really should move his hand now, but he feels his fingers squeeze Sirius instead. “You know very well that’s not what they’re here for.”
Sirius blinks. “No. They’re here to watch me. Report my every move to—” he cuts himself off. “Nevermind, sorry, I’m just…”
“Me too,” Remus agrees, because however that sentence ends—tired, bloody fed up, bitter—Remus is too.
Remus decides that now is the time to stop touching Sirius, it would make sense to pull away right about now . Now! Every inch of his body screams at him when he does, his arm drawing back at a slow crawl as if waiting for him to change his mind, or for Sirius to pull Remus back.
He wishes Sirius would.
“Moonshine,” Sirius says softly, and despite the horrible nickname, Remus meets his gaze.
“I have to get back to work,” he says on instinct. He doesn’t want to discuss what Severus said, what he implied. Ignorance is bliss, usually for Sirius’ type, but this time it’s better that they don’t pop the bubble. Say the ugly, queer truth.
Sirius points to the ancient grandfather clock in the corner. “Not anymore you don’t.”
“Oh.”
“So…” Sirius swallows and Remus tracks the way his Adam’s apple bobs, the way his button-up is quite unbuttoned, the way his shirt is half untucked, his fingers stuffed into his pockets. “Do you want to come to my room?’
Remus jolts, a wave of dread and literal death crashing over him, leaving him wet and shivering, because what? Sirius’ room? Please god no.
Please god yes .
“We can’t work here?” Remus protests weakly.
“We can,” Sirius nods. “I just figured you’d want a change in scenery. Plus I have snacks in my dorm.”
And because Remus is an idiot, still drinking up every last drop Sirius will give him, he agrees.
He’s totally fucked.
******
“Why the hell do you have so many copies of Twilight ?” Remus guffaws when he first steps into Sirius’ room.
Sirius turns from the hook he’s only just finished hanging their jackets on, and smiles fondly. Why is he smiling fondly?
“I knew you would look at my bookshelf first.”
“It’s a normal thing to investigate.”
“No, Moony, you’re reading obsession is unlike anyone else. You’re very very special .”
It’s all teasing and fun, and Remus does manage to roll his eyes, exasperated, but his stomach twists, a little voice in his head squealing in delight. Seriously, squealing ?
“I mean since year 1 you’ve averaged three books a week, and that’s not counting what you’re reading outside of school.” Sirius shakes his head and falls onto his bed, scooting to press his back against the wall.
Remus’ mouth goes dry with the realization that, hell, maybe Lily was right. Year 1 ? Has Sirius been watching him for that long?!
“So.” Remus clears his throat. “Twilight?”
“It’s a game Reggie and I play. Whenever we go into a second-hand shop we look for Twilight . You’d be surprised how many Danes have departed with the masterpiece.”
“I’m shocked,” Remus deadpans.
“Me too!”
Sirius’ grin is so genuine, so unlike the one reserved for his more princely responsibilities, the interviews with mommy dearest, the photos printed on tabloids and social networks, that Remus has to look away, scanning the rest of the room carefully.
The dorm isn’t any bigger than the others, which is surprising. Surely, the prince warrants larger accommodations. His bed is tucked into the corner by the window, a desk with a corkboard and bookshelves on the other wall. He’s got nicknacks lining the open surfaces, anything from nail-polish to rings to sticky notes with doodles and reminders
Besides the Twilight copies, there are only Sirius’ school books, Hamlet included, and his library copy of Things Fall Apart on his bedside table.
“What chapter are you on?”
Sirius follows Remus’ eyeline and groans. “Next question.”
“Do you not like it?”
“No! I do, I do it’s just…” Sirius tucks his socked feet beneath his legs. “I really am a slow reader. Just generally horrible at it.”
Sirius’ frown makes Remus scoff. “That’s such a lie. I’m your literature partner. You know Hamlet back and forth.” It’s not like Sirius needs his ego anymore inflated, but Remus won’t stand for falsehoods. Not when it comes to literature, at least.
“First of all, I’m the Prince of Denmark, it’s practically part of my job description to know Hamlet back and forth.” Sirius tilts his head. “And second of all, I don’t read the play, I watch it.”
That, Remus realizes with a start, makes a lot of sense. Hamlet was meant to be performed, after all.
Sirius turns and looks out the window, the blinds partially open. “I think that’s what I’d do if I weren’t…you know, this.” He gestures to himself as if that explains it, and it does.
Remus knows who Sirius is, what he represents. He can’t forget it.
“I think you’d be a great actor,” Remus says honestly.
“You know, I think so too. The crown’s a lot like a lifetime performance, you have to be quick on your feet, good with crowds and attention and spotlights, metaphorically and literally. And you have to memorize lines.” Sirius laughs dryly. “A lot of lines.”
“I—I’m sorry.” Remus looks at his hands.
It’s hard to have empathy for the celebrities and politicians who choose that kind of lifestyle, but Sirius didn’t get any choice in the matter. He was born into his responsibilities. Hell, his whole childhood was probably preparation for it. “I have to admit,” Remus continues. “I never thought about what it was like for you. How hard it must be.”
“It’s a comfortable life,” Sirius counters. “I don’t think I have a right to complain.”
There’s truth to that, of course. Remus knows very well that Sirius has it good, maybe not easy, but he’s sitting in wealth and prestige, he fits into the Danish ideal in every way.
Or maybe not.
Maybe not in every way.
“Well, sure,” Remus eventually responds. “Doesn’t mean you aren’t struggling though.”
He almost cringes at both how lame he sounds and how badly he wants to comfort Sirius. This isn’t what he’s here for—he’s meant to write a stupid soliloquy and then go home before the last bus.
But just as he opens his mouth to move on, Sirius asks: “What about you?”
“What about me?”
“You love to read. Why?”
“I guess, for all the reasons you’d like to act, I want the opposite. I like the privacy of literary analysis. The…uhm, the intimacy of it too.”
Remus almost walks out of Siirus’ dorm then and there because where the fuck does he get off telling Sirius these things?! Just because the prince poured his heart out doesn't mean that Remus ought to reciprocate—if anything Sirius’ openness should be a crimson red flag, yet another reason to stop whatever magnetic force is pulling them together.
No, seriously, why is Remus standing so close to the bed? Why is Sirius leaning forward on the edge, standing on his knees so he’s eye-level with Remus?
Remus shouldn’t ask questions he knows the answers to. He knows, deep down, exactly why this is happening.
He knows .
“How is it intimate?” Sirius whispers.
Remus licks his lips, so distracted by the flutter of Sirius’ dark eyelashes that he answers honestly, again. “When you read, you have total insight into the characters’ minds, their unfiltered perceptions and judgments and insecurities. There’s nothing so raw as that.”
Sirius’s face flickers and because Remus is so close, he can name every emotion crossing it: understanding, affection, maybe even awe.
“Is that why you’re a poet?” he asks.
“No,” Remus breathes. “I write poetry to understand myself. Sometimes I think I know the characters on a page better than I do my own mind.”
Sirius sits on his heels, shaking his head. “Fuck me.”
“What?” Remus should step back, should put some space between them, but unlike in the library, he’s lost total control of his body. He’s stuck, here, with Sirius.
And bloody hell, he’s glad for it.
“You’re just—” Sirius runs a hand over his face, but before he can finish his sentence, his phone rings.
The ringtone is a low chime and Sirius stiffens. “I’m sorry, one second.” He accepts the call, holding the phone to his ear.
Sirius’ Danish, Remus doesn’t fail to notice, quickly slips into something precise and clipped. “Yes. I understand, but I’m working on a project for class right now. I’ll call you tomorrow? I understand. No, I promise I will. Right. Goodbye.”
This time, Remus manages to step back, whatever force pulling them together dissolving with his mother, the goddamn Queen’s , interruption. It’s for the best, Remus thinks. For a second there he was starting to know the human behind the prince. Starting to like him.
And that couldn’t be good for either of them.
“Sorry,” Sirius says again. “They usually call around this time.”
“That was your mom, yeah?”
Sirius’ eyes crinkle, but not from a smile. “No, though I’d expect she was somewhere in the room. It’s Fie, she’s sort of like my manager.”
“Does your mom not—” Remus stops himself, he really shouldn’t pry. These aren’t just family secrets, they’re royal secrets.
“Does she not talk to me?” Sirius guesses. “Not if she can help it, no. I’m more of an employee than a son in her mind. At least ever since she caught me—”
When Sirius cuts off, Remus doesn’t push him to finish. But he can guess.
Oh, hell, he knows . He understands a childhood of wanting something that others don’t. The secret glances and the sleepless nights, pouring over books that make it all seem normal. Make it seem okay. Maybe Copenhagen is liberal, but Næstved certainly isn’t, it’s a small town frozen with years of tradition, an ancient school its prized possession, and Remus its prisoner.
Remus can’t even tell his favorite person in the world, his mom, the truth.
So he probably does know what Sirius feels. Because it sure seems like Sirius is a prisoner too.
“It must drive you mad,” Remus whispers. “All of this.”
“Oh, it does. I’m absolutely off my head.” Sirius laughs darkly.
“I think I’m a little mad too.”
Sirius’ eyes widen but he doesn’t lean forward. He scoots off the bed and picks up his copy of Hamlet . “Then why don’t we write Ophelia a soliloquy?”
“She’s my favorite character.”
Sirius smiles softly. “Mine too.”
******
Lilith: how’s your date???
Romulus’ dead brother: Shut up. It’s not a date.
Lilith: that’s not an answer!
Romulus’ dead brother: It’s going fine. We’re being productive, finished the first draft.
Lilith: wow you make suchhhh a good team.
Lilith: Are you going home now? can I sleepover??
Romulus’ dead brother: Not yet. And of course.
Lilith: WHAT DO YOU MEAN NOT YET? remus, are you *hanging out* with Sirius?
Romulus’ dead brother: He offered take-out. I’m hungry. There’s not that much to it.
Lilith: you’re having FOOD. that’s a date, Rem. we literally decided my night with Pandora was a date BECAUSE OF FOOD.
Romulus’ dead brother: Not relevant.
Lilith: HOW
Romulus’ dead brother: 1) You like Pandora.
Lilith: AH you’re stealing my numbers :)))
Romulus’ dead brother: 2) Pandora likes you.
Lilith: mmhmm, just like Sirius likes you!
Romulus’ dead brother: 3) He’s the prince.
Lilith: Pandora has a fancy title too
Romulus’ dead brother: Correction: He’s THE prince. The nation would likely explode if they knew he was gay, much less for me.
Lilith: …fair.
Romulus’ dead brother: Glad you’re starting to get it.
Lilith: I get why you can’t date PUBLICLY, but i’m all for *hanging out*
Romulus’ dead brother: We aren’t *hanging out*
Lilith: the night is young yet
Romulus’ dead brother: I have to catch the last bus in thirty.
Lilith: i dare you to spend the night
Romulus’ dead brother: I do not accept. Also, what about our sleepover? :(
Lilith: don’t you pout!! I’m trying to get you some action
Romulus’ dead brother: Hard pass.
Lilith: sureeEeeEEEeee
Romulus’ dead brother: Okay, he’s back with the food. See you later?
Lilith: kk…but no worries if something comes…up
Romulus’ dead brother: You’re horrifying.
Lilith: I try <3
“Is that Lily? Tell her I say hi!” Sirius says, pushing the door closed with his hip, two bags of take-out in his hands.
Remus ignores him and nods to the bags. “There’s no way we can finish all of that.”
“You said you were hungry!” Sirius places them on the desk in front of Remus. “Besides, Agnes always orders way too much.”
“Agnes?”
“My favorite bodyguard. Gets me food, let’s me sneak out, etc, etc.”
Remus flips open a lid and sees five sushi rolls in a row. He can’t remember the last time he’s managed to afford one roll. “Well, thank you, Agnes.”
They do, in fact, end up eating it all, Sirius throwing down his chopsticks with a victorious smile. Given the lack of seating, they’ve ended up eating on a towel on the floor, Remus barely resisting the urge to take a photo of the prince in such an undignified position, fuzzy socks and all.
“You know, I think this school is mostly ridiculous, but I liked this assignment.” Sirius gestures to their soliloquy on the desk scrawled in Remus’ handwriting.
“I…agree.”
Sirius snorts. “You sound so surprised.”
“I am. Didn’t think you would find this school ‘ridiculous’.” Remus moves so he can lean his back against the side of the bed, which, intentionally or not, makes his arm brush Sirius’.
It was intentional, Remus can at least admit to himself , albeit begrudgingly. He’s greedy for more of whatever the hell that was in the library. It’s addicting, touching Sirius. Bad for his health, but intoxicating nonetheless.
“My family might think Hogwarts is breeding grounds for the best of Denmark, but I think it’s just a circus. A Like a dress rehearsal for the bloodbath in Copenhagen.”
“That’s a lot of metaphors,” Remus quips.
“You’re rubbing off on me, Moonpoet.”
Remus grimaces. “Oof, that’s the worst one yet.”
Sirius lifts his head, and Remus relaxes his face, trying not to look too pinched. Lily always tells him that his RBF scares off most of Hogwarts, which, combined with his Mexicanness, is likely true. But Remus doesn’t want to scare off Sirius.
Or at least, he doesn’t want Sirius to look at him and see what they see.
It’s too big a wish, Remus tells himself. He’ll only be disappointed, he knows. But Remus might be too far gone to stop the fall, so why not let gravity just…take over. It’s a heavy thought.
“So then, why do you think Hogwarts is ridiculous?” Sirius finally breaks the silence.
“Apart from the uniforms and the religious history and the secret societies?”
“You know about those?”
“Everyone does, Black.” Remus pauses. “Don’t tell me you’re in one of them.”
“Definitely not.” Sirius’ expression hardens, and Remus can tell there’s more to the story, but again, he doesn’t want to know. Or he shouldn’t want to.
He shouldn’t.
“Well, all of that academic fanfare is part of it,” Remus continues. “But my main issue is the tuition. There’s a reason you go to this school and every door opens for you, and it’s not because Hogwarts has the best pedagogy or whatever. It’s like…a stamp of affluence. Keep the wealth in the right circles.”
“That’s—” Sirius breathes. “That’s more than fair.”
Remus tries his hardest not to gawk, but he finds himself staring at Sirius nonetheless, repeating his words in his head. Sure, Sirius has a bit of a rebellious reputation in the tabloids, swapping the usual preppy wear for band-tees and black nails, or greeting sunrises in clubs with James. Nothing really dangerous, if anything it only makes the country love him more. Sirius is wild but not too wild. Different but not too different.
Though the more time Remus spends with Sirius, the less he thinks Sirius fits the role. Princes don’t look at men like that. Not openly.
Not proudly .
Remus must still look shell-shocked, because Sirius mumbles, “I know, how can the prince actually have opinions?”
“I didn’t think you were indifferent,” Remus quickly says. “I just didn’t expect you to tell me .”
“Oh.” Sirius stands up straight, knocking his head on the edge of the bed. “Well, to be fair, I’m not supposed to tell you.”
Before Remus can ask why on earth Sirius would tell Remus shit, much less the truth, Sirius moves on:
“If you don’t like Hogwarts so much, why are you here?” Sirius' eyes widen. “Not that I don’t want you here, I’m really fucking glad you are, but…”
“It’s kinda hypocritical that I am, no?” Remus finishes for him. “I’m here so I can get out. It’s my ticket to somewhere…” I can belong , he almost admits. “Besides, I’ve got the tuition from my dad so it’s not like I’m wasting my mom’s money.”
It sounds so simple when Remus puts it like that, an easy transaction that masks the pity change Lyall sends Hope and Remus from wherever the hell he’s ended up. Guilty enough to send checks, but not to come back.
Not that he would be welcome.
Sirius nods. “What are your parents like?”
“My mom’s the best person I know,” is all Remus gives him.
Sirius lets out a strangled laugh, one quite different from his dog-like cackle, and Remus looks at him curiously.
“Sorry—” Sirius wheezes. “It’s just, my mom’s the worst person I know.”
Remus isn’t sure what to say to that, he’s not about to shit talk the Queen with her son , but he offers Sirius a tight smile, and tries to loosen it.
“I can’t tell if you’re trying to hide a laugh or a frown,” Sirius says after a moment.
“Neither,” Remus gives up. “I’m just…processing.”
“Processing what?”
“How can you be so trusting?”
Sirius tucks his chin on his knees, looking at Remus with a tired smile. “I’m not, normally.”
“Then why do you trust me?”
“You sound like Reggie.”
That makes Remus smirk. “He doesn’t think you should trust me?”
“Regulus doesn’t think we should trust anyone . Besides James.” Sirius chews on his bottom lip. “But you know what you were saying about madness?”
“Yeah?”
“Well, this summer I lost my shit. Fell apart. So I made a promise to myself that this year would be different. That I’d let myself…”
And Remus shouldn’t ask, he hasn’t asked until this point, he’s been careful to keep his feigned ignorance, but damn it, he has to know.
Remus wants to know...fuck it, he wants to know Sirius .
“Let yourself what?” Remus finally asks.
Sirius takes his time sitting up straight, he’s unhurried, even lazy, when he leans forward as if giving Remus enough time to push him off, reject him, deny him.
Before, when Remus still had a morsel of common sense, he did reject him.
Now, it’s impossible to resist Sirius Black—not the prick who calls himself prince, but the boy who wants to be an actor, the boy who took care of his best friend when he had a migraine, the boy who is as mad as Ophelia.
“ Moony ,” Sirius whispers in warning, an inch away.
“Oh come on, Black.” Remus wraps a hand in Sirius' hair and pulls their lips together.
Sirius’ touch is soft, but the sound he makes when they kiss is softer, something delicate and breathtaking, so much so that Remus has to gasp before he leans in again, swiping his tongue across the seam of Sirius’ lips.
Their tongues meet tentatively at first, or maybe it’s pure reverence, neither willing to risk whatever precious thing they’ve hatched in the cracks of their facades, hidden from the world, and all the more fragile for it.
Sirius holds Remus’ face between his hands and kisses him soundly, proudly . Like he wants this as badly as Remus. Like he knows.
He knows .
Then Remus pulls his hair and Sirius moans, electrifying Remus’ every last nerve until he is senseless, save for the points where Sirius’ skin, Sirius’ tongue meets his.
“Fuck.” Remus scrambles back, mind lighting up with fireworks so close they fucking burn, colorful and scathing and mesmerizing, and all he can think to say is:
“I’m going to miss my bus.”
Sirius grips his wrist firmly, pulling him back. “Then miss it,” he mumbles onto Remus’ lips.
“I don’t particularly want to walk home in the dark.”
“Then stay.”
Remus leans back to search Sirius’ eyes. Fucking hell, he’s being absolutely, positively genuine.
“I want you to stay,” Sirius says easily as if that isn’t absurd. Ridiculous. Treasonous .
“You can’t—we can’t—”
“Why not?” Sirius’ voice catches. “I want this. Please, don’t tell me you don’t.”
“Don’t be daft, of course I—” Remus cuts off when Sirius kisses him again, urgent and impatient, like the tight thread between the two of them has finally snapped and he can’t bear to stay away.
Remus’ fingers find their way back into Sirius’ hair, tugging on the silky curls while Sirius kisses down Remus’ jaw, latching onto his pulse and drawing another crescent moon, this time with his tongue.
“Holy fuck .” Remus forces himself off of Sirius and onto unsteady feet. As if in a daze, he picks up his phone from the desk and dials a number.
“Hola, mamá,” Remus says into the phone. “Me quedaré con Lily esta noche, ¿de acuerdo?”
“Sí, supongo, pero vuelve con ella mañana, voy a hacer salsa de mole,” Hope replies while Sirius looks up at Remus with lidded eyes.
“Claro.”
“Te quiero.”
“Yo también te quiero, adiós.”
Remus hangs up and immediately shoots Lily a text.
Romulus’ dead brother: Something’s come up.
He doesn’t wait for Lily’s reply, returning his attention to Sirius waiting for him. On the bed . Grinning.
A reality check is on the tip of Remus’ tongue, something along the lines of ‘This is a one-time thing’ or ‘Don’t look at me like that, I only want to fuck you.’
But Remus says neither, instead soaking up the silent ache of their gazes, and the euphoric yield of finally giving in to it—he crosses over to Sirius in a few strides and pulls him into another messy kiss. Remus knows what he’s doing, he’s had plenty of practice, but Sirius is just as confident, which is nearly as stupefying as his lips.
“You’ve—you’ve done this before?” Remus gasps as Sirius tugs off his shirt and then pushes him into the bed.
“Mm,” Sirius replies, trailing down Remus’ jaw, to his neck, to his chest.
“ How have you done this before, Black?”
Sirius laughs an inch below Remus’ belt. “I think you can use your imagination, Moony. Or don’t. I’m happy to show you.”
“Fine, correction.” Remus chokes as his pants zipper comes down. “ Who have you done this with before? James?”
Sirius looks up at Remus, his face hovering over Remus’ tented boxers. “Do you really want to talk about James right now?”
“No.”
“Good, then shut up.”
Remus opens his mouth to tell Sirius off but it comes out as a broken moan as Sirius kisses the fabric of his boxers, his mouth soft and wet and entirely indecent . It’s not as if either of them is particularly quiet after that, but neither of them bothers to talk, both too spellbound by each other’s naked skin to allow for conversation.
It’s worse than Remus’ unconscious imagined. It’s so so much worse than his dreams.
Because it’s better.
Sirius isn’t the shy, adorable boy Remus had expected him to be in bed, he’s just as persistent, but also bossy, throwing Remus around and ripping moans from his throat, hell—Sirius makes Remus beg for it.
And Remus is glad too.
Later, he’ll dissect the night, play it over and over in his head until he’s numb to the pleasure, or at least can feign objectivity. He’ll scold himself for wanting it so badly, for loving Sirius’ cocky self-assurance, the very attitude that Remus claims to hate .
And he does, anywhere else, but here, with Sirius straddling his hips, whispering horrible, wonderful things into Remus’ ear, undoing him with careful, quick touches.
Well…he fucking loves it.
They shatter each other, then piece themselves back together with slow kisses. And it’s so easy to do it again, and again, until the last bus has long left, and moonlight is shining across the sheets, making Sirius’ pale skin glow ethereal.
“You…” Remus shakes his head, allowing Sirius to play with his fingers lazily. They’re wrapped up beneath his duvet, still entirely naked, only now their touches are curious instead of desperate.
“What?” Sirius says. “What am I?”
“I can’t believe you’re actually gay.”
Sirius’ eyes crinkle, this time with a smile. “Took you long enough, Lupin. I’ve not been subtle.”
“Can you blame me for second-guessing? It’s not like you’re allowed to be—” He stops. “I’m sorry.”
Sirius looks at their tangled hands. “You’re not wrong.”
“I haven’t told anyone that I’m gay besides Lily, you know.” Remus swipes his thumb across Sirius’. “In case it helps to know that you’re not the only one hiding.”
“What about Grant?”
Remus stiffens and because they’re so close, Sirius feels every inch of it.
“Don’t worry, it wasn’t obvious that you two were together or anything, I was only paying attention,” Sirius rushes to say. “And I—I know what it’s like.”
There’s no part of Remus that wants to talk about his ex-boyfriend, the man he fell in love with in secret, but couldn't love in public. It was only natural, really, that when Grant graduated the year before, they split up. Remus still has a year left in purgatory before he can be openly himself, in every way, but Grant deserved his taste of freedom.
So he left Remus behind.
“What about you then?” Remus changes the topic.
Sirius, luckily, gets the message. “Are you still asking about James?” he teases.
“No, I know James would never swing that way.”
The slight hitch of Sirius’ breath tells Remus more than he should know because 1) how the hell can he read Sirius so well? and 2) how the hell could there be so many closeted queers in Hogwarts?
Only Remus knows, deep down, it’s not abnormal; hell, in some places it’s downright expected that everyone’s a little fruity.
That’s not the case here in Næstved.
“I didn’t date James no.” Sirius laughs. “But I’ve had my fair share of flings, much to the Queen’s eternal disappointment.”
Remus turns onto his back, staring up at Sirius’ spotless ceiling. “So you’re bi then? Or…were the girls all for show?”
“I did tell you I was good at performing,” Sirius says after a moment.
Before Remus can think of something to say to that, Sirius yawns, pressing closer to Remus in every way possible, from his cheek on Remus’ bare chest to their legs intertwining.
Only when Remus thinks Sirius is asleep does he squeeze his eyes shut and scream into his mind, terrified and happy, and terrified to be happy, because that really just happened.
He just fucked Sirius. Or rather—Sirius fucked him .
There’s no way he can fall asleep, Remus decides, so he reaches over to Sirius’ nightstand for Things Fall Apart .
“Moony?” Sirius wiggles, his warm skin pressing all over Remus. “Are you not sleeping?”
“I’m not tired,” Remus whispers, running a hand through Sirius’ hair. He shouldn’t be so adoring, so sweet and domestic, but it’s strangely simple, at least in the privacy of Sirius’ dorm, to care.
To let himself care.
“Read to me?” Sirius asks, blinking up at Remus.
And because they’re in the safety of these four walls, this night, Remus does.
******
When the sun creeps through the window, the half-closed shades subjecting Remus to daylight, he groans and stretches his arms with a yawn. His hand knocks into something soft and his eyes flash open.
“Good morning, Moony.”
Sirius is lying beside Remus. Neither of them are dressed. Remus is in the Prince of Denmark’s bed .
Images from the night before come crashing down on Remus, pushing him off the edge of sanity, but this time, he can’t let gravity win.
He rubs his eyes to buy himself time because what the fuck was he thinking—why the fuck did he let himself get here? All he had was a starry sky and a full moon to blame, not alcohol, not so much as a bad day—no, this was pure irrationality.
How could Remus do this?
Clearly, the sun is the slap in the face Remus needed because, in the cold, harsh light of day, he can see everything. He can see exactly how this will go wrong.
Sirius is off limits, and Remus somehow forgot; if the world found out, they’d surely remind him.
“Did I convince you?” Sirius says, smile sleepy and warm.
“What?”
“You said you weren’t interested.” Sirius reminds Remus. “And I said I’d change your mind, so…tell me I managed it?”
Remus doesn't want to do this, he doesn’t want to be the reason the brightness in Sirius’ eyes shudders with darkness. But the two of them can’t work—they can’t pretend like any of this could work.
Or at least, Remus couldn’t. Because when shit inevitably falls apart, he’s the one who will face the real consequences. An entire nation’s worth of hatred, when Remus has barely survived Næstved’s.
“I have to go,” Remus mumbles, sliding out of the bed to find his clothes.
“What—we don’t have school, you can stay.”
Sirius sounds so eager, so affectionate, and Remus hates himself for doing this, but it’s for his own sake that he is. No one else, besides Hope, is going to look out for Remus, so he has to do it himself.
“This was a mistake.”
Remus is a coward, so he doesn’t turn to look, but he can feel the ice pouring off of Sirius, all that fire and flame snuffed out with four words.
“A mistake?” Sirius’ voice breaks.
Pulling his pants on, Remus rasps, “Yes. I’m sorry, I should have left last night. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
He’s managed his shirt and one sock when Sirius responds, “What did I do wrong?”
And if that doesn’t just make Remus break , his resolve nearly crumbling. “Nothing! You did nothing.”
He looks up and finds Sirius sitting on the edge of the bed, expression shattered. Remus knew this was fragile, but he let it fall anyways. “It’s not you, Sirius. It’s your title.”
“I am my title,” Sirius says, eyes focused somewhere around Remus’ stomach. “You can’t separate me from the prince, we’re one and the same.”
His voice is so cold, so distant, and Remus wishes he could draw it in, could mend whatever they had not five minutes ago. It takes all eighteen years of his common sense not to.
“What about me being a prince is a problem?” Sirius meets Remus’ gaze, his gray eyes the color of stone.
“The fact that you even have to ask that says it all,” Remus answers, keeping his voice as gentle as possible. As if that might balance the punch of his words.
It won’t.
It doesn’t.
“You don’t even want to try, Moony?” Sirius blinks back tears but he doesn’t move, his body as still as glass while he waits for Remus to change his mind.
But he won’t
He doesn’t.
“It’s a risk for you.” Remus sucks in a breath. “But it’s a threat for me. The things they’d do to me if they found out I was the guy you were…it would destroy any chance of my getting out of here—fuck, I’d probably get expelled.”
“No, you wouldn’t—”
“Don’t underestimate them.”
“Don’t underestimate us . I want this, Remus, please don’t give up when we’ve barely even…” Sirius finally moves, his hands raking through the very curls Remus had tangled the night before.
“I think you’re lovely, Sirius,” Remus chokes on the truth. “But I could never date a prince.”
Sirius swallows and inch by inch a mask falls over his features, apathetic and impenetrable. “Fine,” he says in a straight tone.
“I’m sorry.”
Remus turns to go, and Sirius doesn’t call out for him. He probably won’t ever again.
It’s on the bus, pressed against the clouded window, glaring at the lousy fall leaves of Næstved, that Lily texts Remus.
Lilith: Call me! NOW!!
Romulus’ dead brother: Calm down, I’m on my way home. I’ll call you when I get there.
Lilith: remus, there’s a video of you online
Romulus’ dead brother: What do you mean?
Lilith: i’m so sorry
Lilith: someone filmed you and Sirius last night
Lilith: <queerprinceofdk!.mp4>
Remus’ hands shake as he clicks the link Lily sent, taking him to a grainy video filmed, he realizes with a sharp gasp, outside the window of Sirius’ dorm. It’s Remus there, straddling Sirius, kissing Sirius, pulling Sirius’ dark curls.
Only the video shows nothing of Sirius’ sharp jaw and angled cheekbones. It could be someone else, some other man kissing Remus. That’s probably what Sirius will say. No, not Sirius—the Prince of Denmark.
But Remus’ face is undeniable.
So it’s Remus who will take the fall; gravity, it seems, will get the best of him yet.