Dear Your Holiness

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/35105491.

Rating: Explicit
Archive Warning: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Category: M/M
Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Relationship: Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Character: Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, James Potter, Lily Evans Potter, Marlene
McKinnon, Dorcas Meadowes, Frank Longbottom, Alice Longbottom,
Kingsley Shacklebolt, Peter Pettigrew, Nymphadora Tonks, Teddy
Lupin, Harry Potter, Mary Macdonald, Walburga Black, Albus
Dumbledore
Additional Tags: wolfstar, modern day AU, band au, Texting, text fic, priest fic, Father
Lupin, pop punk references OUT THE ASSSS, throat tattoos, does
celibacy include masturbation?, smoking for the aesthetic, Moony and
Remus as separate entities, Sort Of, canon is totally irrelevant in this fic,
literally i just stole the names, Catholic Imagery, Religious Themes, but
also SUPER SACRILEGIOUS THEMES, i mean it is a priest fic so
religion and faith are discussed, Implied/Referenced Suicide, also this
whole fic takes place the week of a catholic funeral, and again its a
priest fic so a lot of this occurs in church, Fluff, Angst, Smut, Eventual
Smut, its a very slow burn okay, Frottage, Oral Sex, Masturbation,
Mutual Masturbation, Anal Sex, Anal Fingering, Rimming, Mutual
Pining, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Yearning, religious trauma,
warnings include:, Eating Disorders, Childhood Trauma, Childhood
Sexual Abuse, conversion therapy, All of the warnings are PAST
references, not part of the actual plot of the fic, but they are mentioned
so read carefully, There is also a scene with a racist police officer in
chapter 3, If you want to skip this scene it is marked and mentioned in
the chapter notes
Language: English
Collections: Worth Reading and Rereading, wolfstar loves, comfort stories, All Time
Fav Wolfstar <3, Wolfstar fics, wolfstar that i want to bind into a book
and hit myself in the face with, wolfstar fics but like also any other fic
that sounds mildly interesting, My favorite gays aka Wolfstar,
harrypotter, dead homos ew, A Collection of my Favorite Fics, wolfstar
>>>, marauders, marauders fics that i want everyone to read, super cool
and awsome works to show people, best wolfstar, Favwolfstar, illumi's
favourite fanfics, Mental Health Well-portrayed Across Fandoms,
TbrWolfstarbabe, Favorite Wolfstar, Wolfstar - The S Tier, peachyunies
tbr, maraudersfics, holy grails of wolfstar, harry and his gay dads
Stats: Published: 2021-11-13 Completed: 2021-12-19 Words: 142,264
Chapters: 12/12

Dear Your Holiness

by MollyMaryMarie

Summary
 During the week of his father's funeral, Sirius Black meets an unusual priest and offers to
help write Orion Black's eulogy. At the same time, he's started texting a mysterious bass
player from a pop-punk band that he accidentally swapped phones with. Eventually, the
conversations between the two start to blur together and Sirius has trouble trying to decide
which one he's falling for the hardest.

Notes

*WARNING*

This fic eventually mentions suicide, as well as childhood abuse, mentions of a character
with an eating disorder, death of parental figures, and past religious trauma (including
mentions of electroshock therapy and straight camp). Please read with caution.
Additionally, if you find something that you think I need to include in this warning, please
let me know.

Thank you to my friends who helped me with editing, @YouBlitheringIdiot, @BlueEagle,

and @Rory_justRory - you have no idea how much you helped! <3

The song that this fic was inspired by (and the song featured in the first chapter) is Dear
Your Holiness by Bayside, which you can listen to HERE!

See the end of the work for more notes

 I Don't Know How They Found Me, Found Me Here

Even under oversized sunglasses, it was noticeable. Hell, it took up half his face. And contrasted
against his pale skin, it was like a beacon for attention. It got so bad, he took to waving
obnoxiously at anyone who dared to even subtly glanced at it. God damn, it was like nobody in the
world had ever been punched in the face before. In their defense, likely nobody had been punched
in the face like he had, because Sirius had been punched in the face by his dead father. But these
arseholes didn’t know that.

It’s not like he was dead at the time. Just … shortly after. The timing really could not have been
worse (or better?). Still, it became clear rather quickly that there was no foul play involved. Simply
a massive heart attack, brought on by a combination of a terrible diet of rich, fatty foods and high
blood pressure, aggravated by poor anger management. Which, of course, Sirius had very recently
exacerbated.

He wasn’t the one who started the argument (and, obviously, he hadn’t been the one to finish it,
since he was the one who got punched in the fucking face), but that rotten bastard had said
something absolutely unforgivable, and Sirius had lost his mind. It was about Regulus. It was
always about Regulus.

It was almost unfair, a heart attack. After everything he’d done to Sirius and to Regulus, for him to
just pass away in his sleep, not feeling a shred of pain? It was unfair. It was really fucking unfair.
But then again, what Sirius had done to Regulus had been just as unfair. He deserved this black
eye. He deserved worse. Maybe he should’ve been the one to succumb to a stress-related demise.

Well, no time like the present. And it was absolute hell being back in this shithole after a nearly
solid fifteen years away. Even worse was being entombed in his mother’s house for the better part
of the afternoon. Worse still was being trapped in his mother’s house surrounded by people he was
supposed to call family. This unbalanced collection of inbreeds hadn’t been his family since he was
sixteen, when he ran away from this clusterfuck of a childhood home and fell at the doorstep of
James Potter, the boy who had been his best mate for half his life, recently separated by what Sirius
would then discover was an awkward two-hour drive, cramped in the passenger seat of the Mazda
MX-5 of whatever stranger had pitied Sirius and his outstretched thumb, walking through the
driving rain on the side of the motorway.

The only regret he’d had then, the only regret he still had was leaving his little brother behind. At
the time, he had tried to get Regulus to come with him. Every phone call home was a plea to get
Regulus to leave, hearing that constant, escalating wheeze in his brother’s voice that meant their
negligent mother wasn’t refilling Reg’s maintenance inhaler like she should’ve been. The wheeze
wasn’t even the worst thing to hear in his voice. Sirius called every day, begging. Until the day he
stopped calling.

He blamed it all on this hellhole. He couldn’t very well blame it on his father anymore. Since he
was dead and all. God, each little reminder that Orion Black was very likely getting his dick
trampled on in hell just brought a blissful smile to Sirius’ face. If only his mother had thrown
herself on the proverbial funeral pyre with him, then Sirius could be rid of them both. No, knowing
his luck, she would live forever, kept alive in her ancient house by her bountiful spite, surrounded
by her collection of towering shrines to dead relatives until the blessed day when they all inevitably
collapsed and crushed her to death.

But there were things in that house that had once belonged to Regulus, nostalgic things that Sirius
had been trying to get back for ages. At one point, he’d even asked his mother to send them to him
directly. Being the hateful bitch that she was, she’d refused, of course. That would disrupt the
historical aesthetic of her most precious shrine. Which meant Sirius had to resort to stealing them
from their miserable childhood home, piece by piece, under the guise of attending his father’s
wake, because knowing his mother (which he did), he knew she would start some unnecessary
drama (which she had), and he could use the distraction to sneak up to Regulus’ old room (which
he had). Of course, there was quite a bit left to steal, but he had until the funeral that weekend to
get the rest. With all the people coming and going out of that house, and all the theatre his mother
was bound to perform, he could slip in and out with ease. Despite how the bickering between his
cousins was just getting good.

With both pockets full of sentimental trinkets, he strode down the street to where he’d parked his
car, quite a distance away from his mother’s house where he could maintain anonymity as best he
could. When he had arrived that morning, his mother had vaguely tried to convince him to stay in
his old bedroom, but Sirius would rather make the two-hour drive to his flat and back every fucking
day for the rest of the week than spend one night in that abyss. Besides, he had somewhere to be
tonight.

As his mobile began to ring in the pocket of his wrinkled suit trousers (which he hadn’t worn since
the last family funeral), he didn’t even slow his stride as he fished it out, anxious to get away from
this place as fast as he could. He slid his thumb across the screen without bothering to look down
at it.

“It took a little longer than I thought it would, but I’m on my way back now,” he huffed into the
device, picking up his pace a little so James would think he was out of breath in his hurry. A soft,
worried sigh flittered through the line, characteristic of James Potter and his infamous worry.

“Sirius, maybe we shouldn’t –” James began, but Sirius interrupted.

“I swear to God, if you try to back out just because my Dad’s dead, I’ll be attending two funerals
this weekend,” he said bluntly, and James let out a small, careful laugh. It still sounded concerned.

“I’m just saying, if your mum –”

“My mum,” Sirius emphasized clearly, “is thriving on the undue attention and sympathy of the
strangers filling her house and I would rather be anywhere else in the fucking world than near her.”

“Jesus, Sirius,” James replied, his sighs growing heavier. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Listen,” Sirius said with a scoffing laugh as he walked the street, approaching the ostentatious
church on the corner. He stifled the rolling of his eyes, trying not to remember the saintly act his
parents put on every Sunday morning in this very building. “I haven’t felt this good in twenty
years. I’m fucking euphoric, mate. I’d say he got what was coming to him, but he deserved much
worse than this.”

Just as he passed the open doors of the cathedral, lingering at the welcoming breeze of cool air
drifting from inside, a contrast to the stifling summer heat outside, he heard an uncanny, familiar
melody moving through the stillness. In his confusion, he paused, focused solely on where the hell
he knew that refrain from, the phone in his hand drifting inattentively down to his side, James still
talking.

It was whistling. A single person whistling from within the building, the echo of that song
reverberating against the soaring vaulted ceilings. Without will or intent, he moved through the
breach of the doors until his battered leather boots fell upon plush, green carpeting, and his pale
skin was bathed in the colours of colossal stained-glass windows. The song continued, though no
vocalist was in view.

The sound of it was haunting, made even more so by its place of origin, by the way it twisted
through the rafters of the lofty ceiling and back down again, the minor key of the melody like
something from a dream he’d had but long-since forgotten. The harmony that he felt he should
have been able to recognize immediately now felt more like a song he’d only heard in some other
lifetime.

“Sirius?” As he finally heard James’ anxious voice, it snapped Sirius to attention. Quickly, he
brought the phone fully back to his ear, blinking rapidly, as if suddenly awoken from a bizarre
dream.

“James, it’s fine. I’ll be at yours before you know it and then you can let me get blackout drunk
tonight, how’s that for therapy,” he growled into the line, not giving James a chance to respond
before he disconnected the call, stepping out of the gap between the church doors. Ever since Sirius
had moved in with him at sixteen, James Potter had sheltered Sirius. Normally, he wouldn’t
complain, he loved being doted on and looked after and cared for, especially when it came to
James, but he really didn’t want it just now. Not for this. He didn’t want this to matter that much.
His father meant nothing to him.

As he started on his journey again, he made it a total of three steps before he stopped cold, brows
furrowed deeply as he backpedaled, staring into the empty church. The melody had stopped.
Abruptly. And still, not a single human being in sight. It took him several long seconds of visually
sweeping the interior of the building, so sure that he had heard that song. The tune began to burrow
into his skull.

With a hazy shake of his head, he returned on his path to his car, making it all the way around the
corner and down the street before the realization struck. It was a tune he knew. One he knew well.
What he didn’t know was why the hell he would’ve heard it within the walls of a fucking Catholic
church.

The melody he knew so well? The first guitar solo from Pink Floyd’s Comfortably Numb.

“I never should’ve agreed to this,” James muttered, but even his muttering was nearly a shout in
order for Sirius to hear him over the feedback of the previous band clearing the stage. With a
wildly overcompensating grin, Sirius emptied his whiskey tumbler and set it on the bar, motioning
for the bartender to fill it again. “Can you even see through all the swelling on your face?” James
groaned, leaning in to get a closer look at Sirius’ face, the coloured stage lights glinting off his
square glasses.

“Well enough,” Sirius told a half-truth with a half-shrug. The swelling in his face wasn’t all that
bad, but he was starting to get a little bothered by the fact that his blurry vision hadn’t resolved yet.
Of course, he wasn’t about to tell James that. “Besides, the point of punk rock is not to see, but to
feel.”

He didn’t have to see to know that James was rolling his eyes. “Are you sure you’re not
overcorrecting, here? How many whiskeys was that? Four? Five?” James asked, and Sirius didn’t
bother to point out that James wasn’t exactly restraining himself in keeping up with Sirius’ whiskey
intake.

“Please, my alcohol tolerance is leagues higher than yours,” Sirius said, and he almost instinctively
rolled his eyes, except it caused significantly more pain than he was expecting. “And it’s not like
we have to drive home or anything, we walked here from your flat.” He kept his eyes forward.

“If Lily wasn’t playing tonight, I would’ve forced you to stay home with us,” James said, pressing
his lips together to show his displeasure. “I’ve barely gotten to talk to you since the wake.”

“If you hadn’t brought me, I would’ve come all alone and found a handsome stranger to take me
home,” Sirius smiled, sidestepping James’ intended line of conversation entirely so he didn’t have
to think about his father or the wake or the list of what he still had left to pilfer from his mother’s
house.

“You can barely see, Sirius, how would you even know he was handsome?” James sighed.

“I’d feel it,” Sirius said with an indicative wrinkle in his nose that left a near snarl tucked away
within a wildly suggestive smirk, ignoring James’ annoyed groaning as Sirius waggled his thick,
dark eyebrows. “Besides, I’ve got a sense for these sorts of things. I can flag a hot bloke by voice
alone.”

Loosening his face into a fond smile, James argued playfully. “Voice is like eighty percent of a
person’s hotness already. That’s not all that impressive. The first time Lily sang to me, I proposed.”

“Oh, please,” Sirius groaned loudly. “You practically proposed before you even knew her name. It
wasn’t the singing first, it was the instrument. The first time we ever saw Fidelius on stage, you
leaned over to me and said, and I quote, ‘I’m gonna marry that babe on the drums someday,’ and
that was on the first song, which she didn’t even sing in,” Sirius ranted, giving James very strong
side-eye.

“Don’t pretend like the drummer isn’t the hottest musician on the stage,” James shrugged.

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Sirius said, poking James in the shoulder before downing another
shot of whiskey. “And I’ll prove it. Ten quid says the bass player of the next band is a
smokeshow.”

“Why the bass player?” James squeaked in his preemptive disagreement.

“All bass players are hot. It’s a prerequisite.”

“Yeah? Name one.”

“I’ll name five, just to piss you off,” Sirius smirked, gulping in a large volume of air to prepare for
his loquaciousness. “John Deacon, Queen.” But before Sirius could name more, James interrupted.

“Fair, I’ll give you that one.”

“Shush, I’m listing,” Sirius said, pressing his finger to James’ lips so hard that he forcibly pursed
them to one side. “Kenny Vasoli, The Starting Line.” James opened his mouth, despite Sirius’
finger.

“Oh, come on, he’s got a natural cheat with that voice.”

“I am not finished. Mark Hoppus, blink182. Jepha Howard, The Used. Sam Kiszka, Greta Van
Fleet.” He paused, knowing that James would interject again, but he did nothing but form an
expression that showed his relative agreement. “Wait, make it six. I’ve got one more. Flea. Red
Hot Chili Peppers.”

“Flea?? You’re really including Flea on this list?”

“Whaaaat, he’s energetic,” Sirius drawled lazily. “Besides – early 90s? Total smokeshow.” He
paused their conversation to drag James from the bar to the stage, inching their way between the
people who were in front of them until they were very close to the front, much to Sirius’ delight.

As a trio began ascending the stage, a devious smile moved over James’ face. “Alright, fine, I’ll
take that bet,” he nodded confidently toward the only bloke on the stage, lanky-limbed and copper-
skinned and almost every distinguishable feature of his face covered, the lower half of his face
hidden by a black surgical mask and his eyes obscured by comically oversized sunglasses (which
was unnecessary for a venue so dark and, heyyy, those were the same sunglasses Sirius had on
earlier but in white). Even his noticeably dark hair was tucked away underneath a slouchy, maroon
knit cap that hung down the back of his neck. The only characteristic thing that was discernable
about him were the full sleeves of tattoos covering both forearms and a shirt that boldly read
“MEND THE ROADS WITH THE RUINS OF CHURCHES.”

The guy in disguise picked up a six-string bass guitar, plucking it effortlessly to provide a
succession of low, as-yet-unamplified notes that were strung together impressively quickly. With
an arrogantly raised brow, Sirius turned to James as if to show that his point had been proven.

“Just because he can play doesn’t mean he’s hot,” James shouted over the tuning and testing.

“It does mean he’s really good with his fingers, though, so –” he shrugged, smiling devilishly.

The platinum-blonde girl with the septum ring adjusted the mic stand closer to her burgundy-
stained lips, letting her candy-apple-red guitar hang casually from one shoulder, parallel to the hem
of her plaid miniskirt. “Good evening, how the fuck are ya, we’re Holyhead.” They immediately
launched into their first song, impeccably on time with one another without so much as an intro or
count.

Sirius still couldn’t see for shit, but he could feel. And what he felt was mostly the bassline
pumping through the speakers, controlling the rhythm of his pulse, dictating the beating of his
heart, in every slide of every note surging out from underneath that bass player’s nimble fingers.

For a while, he tried to watch the way this bloke moved – the way he pulled up the long neck of his
bass when he hit a specifically deliberate chord, his arm drawn back entirely behind his head in a
way that inadvertently showcased all the holes in his careworn green and black plaid overshirt,
sleeves rolled up to the elbow to flaunt his elaborate, impressive tattoos. Or sometimes when he
was playing a slower sequence, how he bent low to the floor, the floral strap of his matte-black
Rickenbacker bass hanging precariously from the back of his neck, his long, tattooed arms making
up the distance. In between songs, he would kneel to fiddle with his pedal and Sirius would lean in
for a better look, but it made no difference. The blurry vision from his black eye made no
difference. This guy wanted to be unseen.

Eventually, when the flashing lights and the excessive smoke from the fog machine grew too much
for his already throbbing head, Sirius closed his eyes. But he continued to listen, the sharp vocal
tone of the blonde singer with the septum ring totally enamoring while still significantly worsening
his headache. Every now and then he would open his eyes just to watch the mesmerizing
movements of the talented drummer with the multicoloured braids coiled up into a flawless knot on
the top of her head with a blue plaid bandana tied just off center around her forehead. Her stick
twirling alone was wicked.

But his attention, of course, always moved back to the mysterious bass player who kept his face
covered. Every time he leaned forward to sing backup vocals on his mic, Sirius closed his eyes
again, straining to pick out that voice, almost as low and melodious as his complicated basslines.

“You’ve been really fuckin’ good to us, we’d love to meet you at the merch table, don’t forget
about us next time round, we’re Holyhead,” she said her spill all in one furious breath, just like the
first time, and Sirius couldn’t help but look over at James and smile, who nodded toward their
table.

Just as Sirius was about to agree – hot bass player aside, their music was fucking mental and Sirius
was absolutely in love with their classic pop punk sound, so he was definitely going to buy a
goddamn T-shirt and follow every single one of their social media accounts – the next song started,
and it sounded a little different than their previous ones. It started all drums, the guitar coming in
loud and loose and heavy with the bass supporting under a tight movement before sliding into the
first verse, the bass player’s fingers moving fluidly down the neck and back up again. Sirius found
himself swallowing.

He looked up just in time to see his hot bass player lean heavily into the mic, his fingers still
moving in dedication, but looking like it took no effort on his part at all. And when this mystery
man began to sing, his voice and inflection perfectly clear despite the mask covering his lips, Sirius
went still.

“Hey, mom, they left me here alone,” he sang with what Sirius could only imagine was passion in
his expression, because he couldn’t fucking see it. “Could someone save me? Someone save me,”
the song went, his emphasis hanging sharply on save me, as he danced between the neighbouring
notes.

“Hey, God, I’m out here on my own,” he continued and it sent an unwelcome shudder into Sirius’
shoulders, unsure if it was the result of the haunting, raspy quality of this bloke’s voice – his range
somewhere in the glorious middle, not as low as his bass but not as high as the blonde girl – or if it
was the lyrical content, faith being one of his own personal prohibited topics of conversation. “So,
now will you save me? Now?” And Sirius heard a little bit of his own anger and bitterness and
resentment toward organized religion in the bass player’s graveled voice, wishing he could see the
clenched teeth and the furrowed brows and the lips snarling that he could hear in his voice as he
begged for salvation.

Suddenly, the driving guitar dropped out, fading into a steady background rhythm of chords, the
drums picking up a more impressive trill, and then it was just his voice and his bass as he sang
clear, “I think it’s funny you’ve been quiet for so long. When you’re quiet, no one proves you
wrong.” Both the blonde girl and the drummer joined in on their own mics, providing a three-part
harmony to the bass player’s lead. “And dear your holiness, your army’s safe and sound – they’re
down here dying for you.”

There was almost a laugh in his voice as he sang, and he turned his head, as if to look back at the
girl on drums, who grinned wildly at him while keeping a precise beat. At once, they all stopped
playing in time with each other, each of them holding their hands in the air as the bass player raised
his voice high, the girls harmonizing faultlessly with him, “And I don’t know how they found me,
found me here.”

In perfect time, they all went back to playing their respective instruments in the middle of that
verse, without losing their harmony, and Sirius lost all function in breathing or thought, absolutely
floored at their impeccable synchronicity with each other. “Well, maybe you can trick the lot of
them. Maybe if you fool the best of them, the rest will come around.” Simultaneously, the blonde
girl on guitar was killing a solo, her fingers flying across the fretboard, madly plucking at the
accompanying strings.

There was an abrupt break in the music, the drummer holding still in her position, sticks crossed
above her head for a moment as the guitar and bass both began to pluck out the same, quirky
melody, the bass player singing, “They’re all scared so they dressed you up in all these different
names,” just as the drummer moved seamlessly back into the melody. “I’ve gotta find peace with
myself before I give you all, before I give you anything at all.” The was a slight bark in the back of
his throat as he sang it.

The pace of the song built into a crescendo in the last chorus until it all came crashing to a strict
halt, chords strummed out softly on the guitar as the bass player pressed close to the mic again, his
tone dropping dramatically as he crooned, voice nearly a whisper, “I’ve been thinking that there’s
something more. And that you’d come down and tell me yourself.” The tone of his voice was so
sincere, so lost, so heartbroken, that Sirius found himself holding his breath just to hear it being
sung that much more clearly. Until, with a sharp breath, the music roared back in and he said with
an irritated growl, “Now I realise it’s a waste of time, another penny thrown down the well.”
Sirius’ breath stuttered out between pursed lips, feeling a swell of emotion at hearing someone else
admit something Sirius himself felt.

The chorus moved on one more time, a little more chaotically than it had the first two, “And I
don’t know how they found me, found me here.” Despite the harmony of the two girls, the bass
player’s voice was almost completely shifted up into a sharp growl, as if admitting a defeat that
Sirius understood.

“Maybe if you fool the best of them, they’ll come around,” he sang, holding the note while
moving in and out of those surrounding it with impressive ease. As the crowd cheered (Sirius
included, louder than most with his wolf whistle, which he thought drew the attention of the
subject of his affection), the blonde thanked the audience again, and they traded the stage with the
next band.

With a heavy exhale, Sirius looked over at James, who was blinking knowingly in his direction. In
his peripherals, Sirius kept an eye on the man in the mask, and on a breath that was already leaving
his chest, Sirius said, awestruck, “I’m gonna marry that babe on the bass someday.” James
laughed. Loudly.

“Can’t say I envy Lily’s band for having to follow that,” James said with a slight wince.

“They’ll be fine,” Sirius replied with a clap to James’ shoulder, using the movement as an excuse
to look over said shoulder in an effort to see if Holyhead stayed at their merch table. “Lily is a
machine on the drums, mate,” he assured him, watching the bass player set down his hard-shell
case. “While they’re setting up,” he glanced at the stage, waggling his fingers at Lily as she settled
down behind a kick drum that read FIDELIUS in bold, black letters. She waved back, smiling.
“I’m gonna visit that merch table.”

As he wriggled his way through the packed house, the mobile in his back pocket vibrated and he
reluctantly pulled it out to find a text from his mother, telling him he’d better not forget about
attending Mass the next morning. With rapid fingers and faster wit, he politely informed his
mother that the only way he would ever set foot in a Catholic church (or a church of any kind, for
that matter) was if she murdered him and had the funeral there against his dying wishes. She
replied that it could be arranged.

However, she also replied that if he wasn’t at Mass the next morning (likely because all her so-
called friends would whisper behind her back about what a terrible mother she must be if her son
didn’t show his undue respect for his dead father), she would donate all of Regulus’ stuff still left
in her house to charity. On one hand, Sirius felt himself lit on fire with fury over the fact that she
didn’t actually give a shit about Regulus and was only keeping his room intact for the exhibition of
it. On the other hand, he snarled with some sort of bitter satisfaction in knowing that his mother
hadn’t caught on to Sirius’ plot to steal literally everything out of that room. But the fury returned
as he realised she didn’t know because she didn’t care, that she probably hadn’t stepped foot in that
room in a decade. It was just a room to her.

With a breath to calm his anger before letting it slip out through his open mouth, he set his phone
face down onto the merch table a little less than gently, in some effort to keep himself from looking
at it and letting the rage light up again. The blonde singer with the burgundy smirk raised a brow at
his black eye, then back down at the phone. “Problem with your girl, mate?” she asked simply.

He pushed a frustrated breath out through loose lips. “My mother,” he corrected, eyes rolling.

“Ah, I feel that struggle,” she responded with a sympathetic nod

The drummer looked apologetic as she said, “Can’t sympathize, my mum is straight brilliant.”

“Can she adopt me?” Sirius laughed, glancing around for his hot bass player and lamentably
finding him nowhere in sight. “Loved the set. That Bayside song at the end was killer,” he said,
noticing the brief, curious, knowing glance between the two girls, like the song held a secret. But it
left quickly.

“Thanks, mate, really appreciate that,” the drummer said under a slight laugh as Sirius picked up a
couple of paper-sleeve albums from the top of the stack, gesturing to the T-shirt display behind
them.

“Let me have a T-shirt, too,” he said with a tilt of his head toward the black one with Holyhead
printed in gold, lower-case lettering, the O struck through with two intersecting faded-white lines,
and Sirius couldn’t help but liken it to the cross-shaped ash on his mother’s forehead at the start of
Lent.

The guitarist handed him a shirt, and he held it up to his frame. With a satisfied nod, he gave them
a few notes (well over the stated cost of the merchandise, they’re struggling musicians, after all),
picked up his new shirt (and his mobile from somewhere underneath it) and went back to James.

“Did you get me one?” James asked as Sirius squeezed back into the crowd, pocketing his phone,
hoping his mother wasn’t going to text him again. He handed James the album he’d gotten him.

“I got you a copy of their album, but if you want a T-shirt, get one yourself,” he said, holding the
shirt up to his chest for James to see. “Think I’ll wear this to Mass in the morning. Mother will love
it.”

“She’s going to disinherit you,” James said, huffing out a laugh through his nostrils.

“Mate, I was disinherited at sixteen,” Sirius replied under an acrimonious laugh of his own. “Any
act of disobedience at this point is just for entertainment value.” James stifled a grin.

“What about Reg’s stuff?” he asked cautiously.

“I’ll have every scrap of it out of that house by the week’s end,” Sirius said with an overly
compensating grin. “You’re welcome to come help. There are a lot of clothes in his wardrobe.”
“I’d be happy to. I can recruit Lily, she’s got more upper body strength than either of us,” James
said with a gleam in his hazel eyes, biting down on his bottom lip as he looked back at his wife on
the stage, and Sirius’ eyes followed to see the bright red of her fishtail braid pulled over one
shoulder, offset against her black tank top and her freckled, sculpted shoulders. “I mean, look at
that muscle definition.”

“Alright, roll your tongue back into your mouth,” Sirius laughed. James gave him the eye.

“Hey, I let you moon over your bass player, at least I know her name,” he cackled. “Speaking of
which, was he at the merch table? Did he take his mask off? Did you flirt him into a date?”

“No, no, and no,” Sirius said with an exasperated sigh. “Wasn’t even there.”

“Ooh, tough break,” James said with a click of his tongue. “Sorry, Sirius.”

An indifferent shrug moved through Sirius’ shoulders, one at a time. “I’m more upset that I didn’t
get to prove my point about the prerequisite of bass players. It was a guaranteed win, that wager.”

Before James could reply, the singer of Lily’s band, a wisp of a brunette named Alice, moved to
the mic behind her keyboard and introduced the band, amid the cheers and screams of their
devoted local fan base. Try as he might, Sirius couldn’t help but let his mind drift, watching Alice’s
boyfriend Frank on the guitar and their friend Kingsley on bass (which Sirius unsuccessfully used
to try to coerce that ten quid out of James, because, as James put it, ‘the wager was specifically for
Holyhead’s bass player, and we both already know that Kingsley is a smokeshow, so I obviously
never would’ve taken that bet’).

In the middle of the second song, he reached into his back pocket, fully intending to take a photo of
Lily, looking like an absolute beast on the drums, cherry-red hair clinging to her neck from the
sweat brought on by the combination of physical overexertion and intensely overheating stage
lights.

At first, he went to blindly open the camera with a single swipe, his phone set to remain unlocked
as long as his watch was within Bluetooth range, but when he looked down at his phone, realised
that his phone didn’t unlock. Because it wasn’t his phone. On the lock screen of this phone (where
there was usually an artsy, black-and-white close-up of James and Lily’s long-haired cat,
Crookshanks, asleep upside down with her mouth hanging open and all her adorably ferocious
teeth in full view), there was, instead, nothing. A black screen that stated the time with no picture
and zero personal information.

The screen was cracked across one corner and it was housed in a case that was greatly worn from
overuse – both of those things were very unlike Sirius’ own phone, which he upgraded practically
every six months. Just as he began to retrace his steps to figure out how the hell a stranger’s phone
could’ve gotten into his back pocket, it began to ring. And the number across the top was Sirius’
number.

Quickly, he stepped away from James, moving backward through the crowd as he tried to answer.
“Hello?” he shouted over the thump of Kingsley’s bass and the crack of Lily’s drums. The
response that came back was garbled, drowned out by the noise in the venue. “Hello?!” he
repeated.

“I THINK … YOU HAVE … MY PHONE!” The voice on the other end repeated their reply,
slowly and deliberately, and Sirius could only just make out the phrase, barely able to hear the
speaker’s voice.
“Who is this??” Sirius called out, as he broke through the back of the crowd, stumbling, and nearly
falling face-first into Holyhead’s hot bass player, phone to his ear. If there was a smile there, or
anger or annoyance or nonchalance, Sirius couldn’t tell, because he still wore the same black
surgical mask and the same outrageously oversized white sunglasses, tinted so dark that Sirius
couldn’t determine if the guy was looking at him because Sirius couldn’t even tell where his eyes
were behind the lenses.

Under the movement of his jaw, his pronounced Adam’s apple bobbing erratically down his
slender, tattooed throat, Sirius was certain he was speaking, but with the noise in the bar and
without having the luxury of reading his lips to follow the formation of words, Sirius completely
lost the message.

With barely a pause, the man reached forward and put his hand on top of Sirius’ own hand, where
he was still holding this bloke’s phone to his ear. In his panic, Sirius went still as the stranger
slipped his phone out of Sirius’ fingers, smoothly sliding it into his back pocket before handing
Sirius his own phone back, holding Sirius’ hand almost affectionately within his own as he did so.

Before Sirius could speak, before he could think of something clever to say, before he could find
the will to flirt, the stranger leaned in. His hand, callused with years of accustoming the touch of
his fingertips to the unforgiving wire of nickel-plated bass strings, slipped along Sirius’ cheek, the
pad of his thumb sweeping almost affectionately over the three-day-old bruise just underneath
Sirius’ silver eye. The ethereal touch of this stranger ghosted down Sirius’ throat until he settled
his palm heavily to Sirius’ chest, letting it linger for longer than just a moment. His mask shifted
under the movement of his skin underneath it, Sirius was sure it was a smile, but he said nothing.
Instead, his palm, still to Sirius’ chest, patted him tenderly before he stepped backward into the
crowd that suddenly surged forward in time with the intensifying beat of the song. In his
desperation, Sirius started to move after him, pushing through the unruly crowd until he made it all
the way through to the edge of the masses of people, only to find his mysterious bass player gone,
the Holyhead merch table now suddenly vacant and dark.

A sigh moved through his lips, inaudible over the extravagant ending of Fidelius’ song, over the
spirited rush of the crowd. Defeated, he struggled his way back to James, a little more difficult now
than it had been between bands, and he squeezed James on the shoulder when he made it. At first,
James looked at him in confusion, Sirius waved it off with an ‘I’ll-tell-you-later’ sort of expression
as he plunged into a self-pitying sulk, but it was short-lived. Pulling his phone from his pocket
again, he came to a realization. The mystery bloke called him from Sirius’ mobile. Which meant
Sirius now had his number.

“I mean, you’re going to text him, right?” Lily prompted, as she signed the cover of their latest CD
before handing it back to the fan with a ‘no, thank YOU’ and a smile that rivaled the stage lights.

“I don’t knooow,” Sirius agonized vocally, throwing his head back. “Wouldn’t that seem creepy?”

“Maybe Sirius is right, he is super private,” Alice added, with a slight wince, as if she didn’t really
want to be on this side of the argument. “Marlene and Dorcas are the only ones who know anything
about him. Heck, we’ve played a dozen shows with him and I’ve never even seen his face.” Sirius
smiled at her innocent use of the word heck, marveled at how the softness of her speaking voice
was the polar opposite of her powerful singing voice, even though he had heard her lead this band a
thousand times.
“She’s got a point there,” Frank said with a disappointed sigh, and Sirius couldn’t help but mimic
it. If he hadn’t been so busy with work lately, he could’ve been to those dozen shows that they had
played with Holyhead. He could’ve met this bloke already. They could be snogging by now.

“And that’s saying something, I’m friends with Marlene!” Lily added, pushing at the small, wispy
hairs that were clinging to the sheen of sweat that still lingered at her temples. “She and I used to go
to the same school, and she won’t even tell me his name. Said he’s in a witness protection
programme.”

“Coming from Marlene, I doubt that highly,” Kingsley laughed before fist-bumping a fan who just
bought several T-shirts. “I think Sirius should text him. Apologize for the mix-up, see if it goes
anywhere.”

“Alright, that is not a bad suggestion,” James nodded. “If it doesn’t, no harm done.”

“Okay, okay,” Sirius said, getting unreasonably nervous at the thought of having to formulate a
text. But the moment he pulled out his phone, there was strangely already a new message there.

(unsaved number):

thanks for not nicking my phone

Blinking mutely, Sirius looked up from his phone, met by a thousand immediate questions. Is it
him? Did he text you first? That’s a good sign, innit? What did he say? What are you going to say?
Tell him I said his basslines were fucking immaculate (that last one was from Kingsley, but Sirius
agreed).

“I’m …” Sirius began to say, smiling devilishly, “… going home.”

“You wanker,” Frank said with a bitter laugh. “You’d better start a group chat about this, I’m
invested now. It’s like my new favourite soap opera, and I don’t even like soap operas.” With a
laugh and a wave, Sirius weaved through the queue still standing at the Fidelius merch table,
reading and re-reading and re-re-reading that innocuous text on his way out the front door. That
was the guy, wasn’t it?

Quickly, he pulled up his call history. It was him – the same number as the one that was dialed
from Sirius’ phone not half an hour before that. Before he could make it to the street, James caught
up with him, linking his arm into the crook of Sirius’ curved elbow, Sirius’ fingers busy
formulating a text.

For a moment, they walked together in silence, Sirius watching James out of the corner of his eye
and James ignoring him. “I’m enjoying our little stroll and all, but shouldn’t you walk your wife
home?”

“I’m going back, I just …” James said, letting out an oddly stunted breath. “I need a pep talk.”

“Oh, tonight is the night?” Sirius stopped in his tracks to look at James in excitement.

“Tonight is the night,” James said, gritting his teeth in an anxious smile. “Wish me luck.”

“You’re not the one who needs the luck,” Sirius shrugged before immediately bending down,
elbows on his knees, as he spoke to … James’ crotch. “Good luck, little guys! Go make us a baby
James!”

“Don’t talk to my sperm, you’ll make them nervous,” James said, covering his zipper.

Sirius stood, laughing. “Honestly, you’re psyching yourself out!” He clapped James on both
shoulders (a little awkwardly with his phone still in hand) and squeezed a few times, his attempt at
a massage, trying to calm James down. “Just make love to your gorgeous wife and enjoy it. If it
makes a baby, it makes a baby. And if not?” Sirius grinned widely. “Then you get to try again,
don’t you?”

The grin on Sirius’ face migrated over to James’ lips as he nodded enthusiastically, pulling Sirius
by the neck into his arms. “Thanks, Sirius,” he sighed, squeezing Sirius softly, and Sirius squeezed
right back before James let go to dash back down the street. “Don’t wait up. Oh, and you might
want to sleep in your ear buds, I might make two attempts tonight.” James flashed his eyebrows up
in eagerness.

“You animal,” Sirius called in a playful growl, baring his teeth at his best friend. But with James
back inside the bar making advances at his wife, Sirius was left trying to decide how to make an
advance at his new crush. As he made his way back to James and Lily’s flat, where he was staying
for the night, he opened the message again and distressed for the hundredth time over the best way
to respond.

(Sirius):

would have but it’s a shit phone

mine is loads better

cause it’s got a picture of a cat on it

As he entered the flat, he anxiously awaited the buzzing of a new message, but none came, not
while he was in the shower, not while he popped a couple paracetamol to stave off the inevitable
headache he would have the next day. Maybe he should’ve started that conversation with
something other than biting sarcasm – not everyone was fond of that, his mother being a prime
example. Before his anxiety got so high that he added another text to the fire, when he walked into
his room (literally designated Sirius’ room when James and Lily moved in), his mobile began to
vibrate in his hand.

(unsaved number):

hand to god, I almost kept it just for the cat photo

the TEETH sweet jesus, those teensy fucken teeth

is it yours?
 (Sirius):

nah, I’m just her favourite uncle

sorry, is this …

shit, I don’t even know your name

holyhead’s bass player, I assume

(unsaved number):

yeah, I don’t usually do this sort of thing

I really didn’t want to text you at all

Marlene said it was rude not to

(Sirius):

damn that was cold

didn’t want to text me at all??

DOES OUR KITTEN MEAN NOTHING TO YOU

still don’t have your name btw

(unsaved number):

WELL I DON’T KNOW YOURS EITHER MATE

(Sirius):

… fair point

I’m Sirius.

friends with fidelius

Just … in case you wanted to know

(unsaved number):

Sirius. That’s cute.

 In the middle of the conversation, Sirius had to set the phone face down on top of his
mattress and bury his blushing face into his pillow, trying not to register the fact that his whole
body lit up upon being called cute by the cutest bloody bass player whose face he had never even
seen.

(unsaved number):

don’t tell me.

your middle name is

fucken

Cassiopeia or some shit

(Sirius):

WOW

RUDE

you’re really holding nothing back

hitting at the weak points

It’s Orion, actually

(unsaved number):

OH MY GOD I WAS KIDDING

JESUS

do your parents hate you???

wait, i take that back

i just said it out loud to myself

it’s actually adorable

maybe your parents don’t hate you.

At that admission, that this bloke that Sirius had immediately developed a crush on – despite the
fact that he had no idea what he looked like, no idea what he sounded like (other than his singing
voice, and that one, absurdly brief phone conversation where Sirius could barely understand him) –
that bloke was somewhere in this city, saying Sirius’ name out loud in the dark. He blushed again.
Brighter.
 (Sirius):

No you were right the first time

But let’s not get into my family drama

We’d be here forever.

I’M STILL WAITING FOR YOUR NAME

I have the right to ridicule you

There was a torturously long break in the conversation, an unwelcome change from the rapid-fire
pace of the previous messages, and Sirius began to wonder if he’d asked too much. After all, surely
there was a reason this guy was so private, a reason he kept his face covered and didn’t have an
identifying lock screen on his phone. Maybe asking his name was too much. Finally, the reply
came and Sirius exhaled.

(unsaved number):

yeah so

i kind of can’t tell you

it’s not you, it’s

hard to explain

(Sirius):

You work for MI6 don’t you

(unsaved number):

shit, i’ve been made

(Sirius):

Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me

I guess I’ll just have to call you by a code name

what is the object directly to your left?

(unsaved number):

I’m … on the roof of my flat

there is nothing to my left

air? space?

the moon?

an imminent death

in the distance, screams

(Sirius):

you are so DRAMATIC. jesus.

we’re going with the moon

your code name is moony

(Moony):

Code names only work if everyone has one

WAIT I’LL NICKNAME YOU FOR THE CAT

teensy teeth

toe beans

squishy foot pads

pick your poison

(Sirius):

If those are my only choices

I choose death by foot pads

(Moony):

well, since you cutesy’d mine up for me

you can be padfoot

 (Padfoot):

oh shit yeah

that is pretty fucking cute

(Moony):

it was only right

since your given name is already so cute

an even trade

(Padfoot):

that’s three times you’ve called me cute

if you’re flirting with me, just say so

Oh, God, was that too brazen? Sure, the banter felt playful and flirty, but Sirius had always had a
bad habit of reading into these sorts of things when he had a crush that was not reciprocated. Better
to shut it down in the beginning if it wasn’t going to become anything. Shit, he might be straight.

(Moony):

I’m flirting with you

Sirius lit up like a fucking siren – he was probably glowing neon pink in the dark. Okay, so Moony
wasn’t straight. Good to know. Really fucking good to know. Except that now Sirius’s head was
filled to the brim with unholy things to say in return and he’d only just met this guy. Didn’t even
know his real name, hadn’t even seen his face. Luckily (or unluckily), the texts kept coming, and
he backpedaled a bit.

(Moony):

shit shit shit

okay, yes, I AM flirting

but I shouldn’t have said anything

i’m not exactly … available.

 (Padfoot):

hang the fuck on

are you married????

(Moony):

GOD NO don’t be gross

I’m not even dating anyone

Because I am not able to date.

(Padfoot):

you’re not like seventeen or something are you?

(Moony):

i’m genuinely not sure

if I should be offended

or flattered by that

(Padfoot):

I mean, yeah, you’re eight feet tall or whatever

but so are seventeen year olds

YOU ACT LIKE I COULD SEE ANY PART OF YOUR FACE

(Moony):

I’M ALSO COVERED IN A MASSIVE AMOUNT OF TATTOOS

(Padfoot):

point taken

i’m relieved you’re not seventeen

 side note, i’m wicked impressed by those tattoos

i’ve only got about a dozen or so

but they’re all small, sort of scattered about

(Moony):

and now I know YOU’RE not seventeen either

but if you’re my age, you don’t look it.

your skin care regimen must be 87 steps long

(Padfoot):

there’s an additional 16 steps on the weekend

speaking of the weekend

i’d ask you out but APPARENTLY you’re not able to date

which is just terribly inconvenient for me

(Moony):

trust me

right now

it is more inconvenient for me than it has ever been

With a soft squeal that he thought he would’ve been embarrassed by if James had heard
it, Sirius buried his face in his pillow, knowing, knowing he should not let this get any further than
where it was right then. But there was something unexplained about this guy, drawing him in,
further and further.

(Padfoot):

what’s with the no-dating rule anyway

it’s because you work for MI6 isn’t it

(Moony):
YES THANK YOU yes that’s it

can’t get too attached

your life would be in constant danger

(Padfoot):

but, like, I mean

we can still text right

(Moony):

we can absolutely still text

if that’s … okay with you.

(Padfoot):

just change my name to Padfoot in your phone

you know, so I’m not in danger

(Moony):

it was saved as padfoot before you even agreed to it

i don’t even remember what your real name is, Sirius.

(Padfoot):

get your government to redact that

I’ve got to get some sleep, sucky day tomorrow

if counter operatives haven’t killed me in my sleep,

then I’ll text you in the morning, moony

(Moony):

best code name I’ve ever had

good night padfoot

With a blissful sigh, Sirius threw himself back onto his bed (or at least, his bed in James and Lily’s
flat, which was truthfully not that far from his own flat, but he didn’t really like to be alone all that
much, plus it was nice to be in closer walking distance of the bar when he got a tiny bit tipsy).
Sooner than later, he began to drift off to sleep, thanks to an unexpectedly pleasant conversation
with a new friend, a belly full of top-shelf whiskey, and a song in his head that started off with the
drums of Dear Your Holiness and slowed to a strange lilt, sounding like someone whistling the
guitar solo from Comfortably Numb.
 Just The Basic Facts - Can You Show Me Where It Hurts?
Chapter Summary

Sirius returns to the church before the start of Mass to see if he can find out what kind
of religious figure would whistle a song about illicit substance abuse in their place of
sacred worship.

“Mass doesn’t start for another hour, Mother,” Sirius argued, slipping his pair of comically
oversized sunglasses onto his nose to cover his black eye, which, as of this morning, had started to
turn a nauseating kaleidoscope of yellow and green. Not to mention the dark circles under his eyes,
which almost made it look like he’d been given two separate black eyes on two different occasions.
But it was mostly from lack of sleep – he’d drifted off sometime after midnight (likely just before
James and Lily got home and started on their baby-making conquest) and had to leave at 5AM
(before James was up, so Sirius didn’t get the details on whether or not James had the stamina to
make a second attempt) to make it to Mass on time. Well, technically, he was telling his mother the
truth. He was just an hour early.

“I’ll meet you at the church,” Sirius sighed, trying to wrap up this conversation. However, when
his mother continued to argue with him, he disconnected the call. He thought about shutting it off
altogether, but the thought of getting a potential text from Moony prevented him from doing it.

In his Holyhead T-shirt, Sirius stepped into the same church he’d passed the day before, pausing
for a moment to listen for that characteristic sound, despite the fact that there were now quite a few
people in the pews, waiting for the start of the service. There was no sound. Not even a hum.

But the sound of that tune, specifically in a whistle, had driven him mad in his sleep. Had he
imagined the whole thing? Was there a clergyman somewhere in this church who knew, by heart, a
song about rock-and-roll and illegal substance abuse? It was making him insane with wonder.

Not to mention, he thought it might be too early to text Moony, so he didn’t have his favourite
distraction. That’s not to say he hadn’t opened the conversation a half-dozen times since dawn and
considered sending a message anyway, but he also wasn’t sure how to reinitiate the conversation.

As he walked further into the building, ears open, he snarled a bit at the parishioners who were
gawking at him, clutching their pearls at his blatantly sacrilegious T-shirt, at his long, dark hair tied
haphazardly into a messy bun on the top of his head, at his ripped black jeans that were very well-
fitted to his thighs but not so well-fitted to his hips. It likely didn’t help his image that he was
tracking dried mud all over the carpet from where it had been caked onto his beaten leather combat
boots from his walk home from the pub the night before, and these religious sons-of-bitches
probably didn’t look too kindly on the characteristic imprint of the pack of cigarettes in his back
pocket, either. Not to mention the obvious head wound being not-so-subtly hidden behind
ridiculously oversized sunglasses. Whatever sneer he got, he gave one in return. One elderly
woman literally made the sign of the cross in his direction.

Still, he wasn’t sure what he expected. Not from the parishioners, of course, he’d spent enough
time with his mother to expect this sort of reception toward his ungodly appearance. No, what he
wasn’t sure about was why he was going through this extra effort to find his mysterious whistler
from the day before. Obviously, whoever it was wasn’t whistling now, but why would they be? It
was Sunday morning, Mass would start in an hour, and the church was already full of people.
Nobody sane would be whistling.

It didn’t mean he wasn’t a little bit disappointed. With a disgruntled huff (that was loud enough to
startle that one elderly lady into signing the cross again), Sirius turned around from where he’d
made it all the way across the nave. Toward the back of the church was a doorway, and when he
passed it, he didn’t hear music. Leaning through the door, it was clearer. He heard someone
yelling. Someone cursing.

Quickly, he slipped through the swinging doors, down a hallway. At the end of the hallway was a
split, a fork – one side went out toward the back garden, which Sirius could see through a small
window in the center of the hallway, and the other led to a set of stairs that descended into the
basement. At first, he moved toward the stairs, hearing the faintest of music, but he was unable to
make it out. Mostly because the yelling had resumed. And the cursing had intensified. It was
coming from outside.

“You furry, rotten bastard, get your garden-munching arse back here so I can feed you to the
fucking badgers.” As Sirius peeked through the window, he could see a man in all black waving
his arms in what looked like an absolute fury, something resembling a half-eaten strawberry in one
hand and a fistful of chewed leaves in the other, stomping heavily through the rows between his
crops with his head down.

Curious and amused, Sirius opened the back door without drawing the attention of the violent
gardener. As he leaned casually against the wood grain, he spoke. “That was you yesterday, wasn’t
it?”

In his surprise, the man in the garden let out a mumbled shout, throwing green, leafy vegetables
into the air above his head. As he looked back to the source of the sudden sound, the greens rained
down over him, getting caught in the thick, curly hair that was now obscuring most of his face in
its darkness, the dimly lit end of a cigarette splitting the dark curtain of his hair to one side. In the
stillness, the ash of that cigarette glowed with renewed embers as the man took in an apparently
sharpened breath.

When he pushed his fingers through his hair to move it from his face, all arrogance that Sirius felt
in his chest evaporated. Within golden eyes behind large, round, gold frames, the man’s expression
was dazed, struck, the cigarette hanging forgotten from one corner of his mouth as he watched
Sirius with panic, as if Sirius could surge forward to throttle him at any given moment. There was a
sudden, nervous clench in his jaw underneath the dark stubble on his copper skin that was
peppered with frequent greys, and the movement violently clamped down the end of the cigarette
still between his teeth. With his fingers holding the unruly hair from his face, hair that was flecked
with grey just like the stubble on his face, he swallowed heavily, and Sirius watched the movement
of his throat. Under his fitted clerical collar.

Sirius repeated his inquiry anyway, despite the sudden pounding of his heart, and he wasn’t sure if
it was pounding because of how unexpectedly handsome this bloke was or if he was suddenly
transported back to the terror of Catholic primary school and having a priest as his Headmaster. “It
was you, wasn’t it?” he said, perplexed by the panic in this man’s expression. “Pink Floyd,
Comfortably Numb, you were whistling it in the church yesterday, weren’t you?” The reaction he
received was … peculiar.

His shoulders slumped forward entirely, deflated from their rigid state of shock and horror with a
large exhale that sounded a lot like a sigh of relief. “Yeah,” he said, half of a laugh as he slipped
the spent cigarette from his lips and lifted his foot so he could stub it out on the heel of his boot.
“That was me.”

“Don’t worry, Father, your secret is safe with me,” Sirius replied with a wink. He expected a smile
in return or, at the very least, a nod of agreement. Instead, the priest began to laugh – and it wasn’t
a polite chuckle or an obligatory snort of amusement, he doubled over in laughter, holding his ribs.

At first, it looked like he was going to reply, but he stopped himself, pursing his lips over tightly
clenched teeth, which Sirius could appreciate from the flex of his tightened jaw, just underneath
the bright silver patch at his left temple, tucked within his dark hair. In fact, Sirius lowered his
sunglasses to appreciate the sight much further, but as soon as the priest saw the black eye that
Sirius had been hiding under those ridiculously broad frames, his eyes widened, but only slightly. It
looked less like an expression of surprise, and more like he’d come to an important realization,
especially in the sudden way his whole face fell out of amusement, in the way he pulled in a sharp,
steadying breath through both nostrils.

That expression only lasted for a moment before he let his head drop forward, pulling a tight wince,
as if berating himself silently for something, and Sirius couldn’t help but liken it to the way James’
face looked when he accidentally brought up something related to Regulus. Shifting his brow into
a furrow of concern, he stepped forward, leaning in, the long sleeves of his black shirt shifting up
over his bony wrists a little as he reached forward, sliding the sunglasses up into Sirius’ hair. Sirius
went still.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realise,” the priest said, his eyes scattering over Sirius’ face, and Sirius could
hear the most subtle hint of an accent in his voice that he couldn’t quite place. “Teddy didn’t tell
me he was sending you,” he sighed, voice hushed and gaze focused as he took Sirius’ chin between
his fingers, turning Sirius’ face to get a better look at his wound, all while rapid-firing strange
questions in Sirius’ direction. “Do you have somewhere you can stay? Have you eaten today? Do
you want me to file a report?” he asked, pushing Sirius’ glasses back down to re-cover the out-of-
place colour on Sirius’ pale skin, apparently oblivious to the pounding of Sirius’ heart in his chest
and the pulsing of the veins in his throat and the heated blush that Sirius could feel spreading out
over his cheeks like sacramental wine.

“Who the fuck is Teddy?” Sirius asked, still wide-eyed. “And, I mean, I’m a bit peckish, I suppose,
but I had a cup of coffee on my drive in this morning, so I’m not starving to death or anything.”

The priest blinked silently at him, a flush of colour across his golden cheeks. “How old are you?”

“Thirty-one.” In exactly the same manner as before, but with a wildly different expression on his
face, he let out a heavy sigh through his nostrils and let his head fall forward. This time, his head
fell into his open palm with a soft smacking sound, nearly dislodging the wide, round glasses from
his nose.

“Christ, you’re as old as I am,” he grumbled for a moment before lifting his head and throwing on a
congenial smile, trying to tuck his unruly hair behind both ears (still pink with his blush), though
his hair wasn’t quite long enough, or thin enough, to stay put. “I’m sorry, you look a bit younger
than you are.”

“How old do I look?” Sirius asking, somewhat amused, trying to sound playfully offended.

With a curious smirk, the priest answered, “Well, you’re obviously not seventeen,” and Sirius
found himself laughing about how he and Moony had just had this conversation. “But you don’t
really look your age.” He gave Sirius a look. “You definitely don’t look old enough to have a
mortgage.”
“My mortgage is paid off, thank you very much,” Sirius quipped, paying attention to the way this
priest was suddenly avoiding eye contact. “Are you disappointed? That I’m not seventeen, I mean.”

The flush returned, and the priest tried to recover. “No, no, not at all, that’s – I thought you were
one of the –” He stopped with a click of his tongue, as if trying to decide what to say. “See, there’s
this, em, service – God that’s not the right word at all – a charity that I provide, I guess you could
say …”

Enjoying the deep red colour he was able to elicit from underneath this bloke’s handsome chestnut
skin, Sirius’ arrogance returned with a fury. “Is this some sort of priest-age-kink situation?”

But the blush didn’t return to his new friend’s face. Instead, he covered his expression in blatant
disgust, and simply responded with, “Don’t be gross,” and Sirius smiled a little at how Moony had
also said just that same thing to him the night before. “No, Teddy is a kid in the neighbourhood
who keeps an eye on the other que– em, other kids. And sometimes adults,” he said, pausing as he
looked over at Sirius, as if not wanting to insinuate that Sirius had looked like a child at thirty-one
years. “He sends the ones in real trouble to me to help sort it out.” As he spoke, he gathered the
baskets of fruits and vegetables he’d already collected (before Sirius surprised him and he’d thrown
the rest into the air).

“Trouble like a black eye from dearest dad?” Sirius asked with an understanding nod, knowing the
thing that this priest was trying to avoid admitting out loud to a perfect stranger. “For lifestyle
choices?”

With a quick glance at Sirius’ face, the priest let out a knowing sigh. “Yeah.”

“Well, if it makes you feel better, I did get this black eye from my dad,” Sirius said with a wide
grin to offset the sickliness of his black eye as he pushed his sunglasses up into his hair. “But this
time, it actually had nothing to do with the fact that I’m gay.” With baskets in both arms, the priest
moved toward the door, shooting a blatantly worried expression in Sirius’ direction as he passed.
Quickly, Sirius moved ahead of him and opened the door back into the church, eliciting a small
smile, a quiet thank you.

“This time?” he asked, and as Sirius followed him through the hallways of the church into a
bigger-than-expected kitchen, he wasn’t able to see the concern he thought might’ve been on his
face.

“It’s fine, it’s the last time it’ll ever happen anyway,” he shrugged, moving back to a more pressing
topic. “Couldn’t that make some trouble for you, though? A priest taking in stray kids?”

A look crossed over his face, like he was irritated by that statement. “Isn’t that fucked up? That
there are so many paedophiles in the Catholic church that I can’t take care of the children in my
own congregation without making sure there are three other people in the room with me to witness
the fact that I just genuinely give a shit about the wellbeing of these kids?” he asked, bitterness in
his tone and in the bite of his words but, with a heavy sigh, he cast Sirius a glance of apology.
“Sorry, it’s – that’s a touchy subject for me.” He laughed a bit before adding, “I have some friends
to help me with that. Very qualified friends, by the way. One of them is a nun, the other is a child
counselor, who –” Sirius interrupted, holding his hands up in the air as a sign of surrender,
realizing his error in bringing up this topic.

“Fuck, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to imply –” But the priest just smiled easily.

“It’s fine, you wouldn’t be the first to make the wrong assumptions,” he said, the easy smile on his
face drifting into something strained and tired. “I wouldn’t do it if these kids didn’t need someone
to look out for them.” He paused to let out a weighted sigh. “From what I’ve seen, they need that.”

Before he could stop himself, Sirius let out a sigh to match, feeling a bit of that bitterness in his
chest, wishing he’d had someone like this kind priest to turn to when he was younger. “If their
childhood is anything like mine was, then they’re lucky you’re here.” Before the priest could
comment on that alarming implication, Sirius swiftly spoke again. “Speaking of which, since this
charity you provide is for the queer kids, did you just assume I’m gay because of the –” His
thought trailed off as the priest turned around to watch him gesture to the whole left side of his
face, answering before Sirius could continue.

“It’s not just for queer kids,” he half-argued, but it dissolved as Sirius gave him a look. “Okay, fine,
it’s mostly for the queer kids, but they’re the ones usually in trouble and …” he glanced at Sirius
again, sort of quickly and a little bit sternly under a raised brow that should have reminded Sirius of
his time in Catholic school, but definitely didn’t. “And, yes, I just assumed.” When Sirius didn’t
argue, the priest began separating his produce, storing some of it in the refrigerator, for others,
making space on the counter. “And now, since I know you’re so fucking ancient, I’m trying to
figure out why you’re here.”

Amused by his casual swearing, Sirius laughed, “Jesus, do all priests have a mouth like you?”

With that brow still raised and that curious smirk still in the corner of his lips and a darkness to his
golden eyes that hadn’t been there before, he turned to Sirius only to say, “Nobody has a mouth like
me.”

In an instant, Sirius was crimson from head to toe, blood moving faster under his skin than he
thought was physically possible. Strange that two separate people could give him this same violent
rush, remembering the way ‘I’m flirting with you’ looked on the screen of his mobile lit up in the
dark last night.

Obviously noticing the furious flush under Sirius’ skin, the priest’s mouth fell open in his surprise,
and he backpedaled immediately. “Oh, God, I’m so sorry, I absolutely meant the swearing, I
should’ve said nobody swears like me,” he said, craning his neck as he loosened his collar, but he
quickly pulled his hand down when he noticed the rapid draw of Sirius’ attention to the skin
underneath that collar.

“I don’t know, Father, I feel like maybe you were coming onto me,” Sirius teased, smirking.

“No!” he nearly shouted, moving to hold his hands out in front of him, but curling them into fists
and pulling them back to his chest, though they anxiously began working up to his neck and over
his face, fretfully adjusting his glasses. “Certainly not,” he said, increasing the formality of his
speech, as if in some effort to make himself seem proper again. “I am … ordained, which means
that I’m –”

“Oh, so the celibacy thing is true, then?” Sirius continued his ruthless harassment, leaning over the
island countertop in the center of the kitchen that separated the two of them. The priest shot him a
look of narrowed eyes and pursed lips as he realised that Sirius was having a laugh at his expense.

“It is.” He turned back toward the refrigerator. “Stop fetishizing my profession.”

“I’m not fetishizing your entire profession, just the one professional in it,” Sirius grinned, leaning
down to place his face in his hands, propped up with his elbows on the countertop. “Besides, I’m
not the one who started the innuendo and I’m certainly not the one looking that good in a clerical
collar.”
At first, the priest turned, finger raised as if to argue, but when he realised Sirius had said he
looked good, he snapped his mouth closed rather quickly, ears spiking pink again. “Is there
something you needed from me specifically, or can I direct you to literally anyone else in this
church instead?”

“You’re just flustered because you got caught flirting with me,” Sirius smiled politely.

“I was not –” he began to argue, loudly, before stopping to take a breath. “Listen, you’re not the
first person to have the priest fantasy, okay, so if you’re just here to ogle me while I do my job –”

“I’m not here to ogle you,” Sirius said, holding his hands in the air, remembering the way Moony
had done it in that break in the Bayside cover the night before. “I was here to find out who would
have the audacity to whistle one of my favourite heathen songs in their place of worship, but now I
feel just awful for making you feel so objectified, so I think maybe a confession will clear my
conscience.”

“Fantastic, there’s another priest in the confessional booth right now,” he said, narrowing his eyes
in Sirius’ direction as he absently rolled a small blueberry between his fingers.

“That’s funny,” Sirius said with a hum, noticing that when he smiled, the priest naturally smiled in
return. “I just spoke to a lovely member of your congregation who said you were the only one
here.”

With a sly smile, the priest swore. Again. “Shit.”

“And that was an absolute bluff, which you totally fell for, so now I know you were also bluffing.”

“Shit,” the priest repeated, this time with a laugh. “You slick bastard.”

“So, do I confess all my hedonistic ways here in the kitchen or does it have to be in your funny
little booth?” Sirius asked smoothly. “Either way, you already know it’s me.” There was a curious
expression on the priest’s face, like he was trying to uncover Sirius’ motivation by sight alone.

“You say that, but I have no idea who you are.” With a funny grin, he spoke slowly, methodically,
watching Sirius in a way that seemed to imply that maybe that statement wasn’t totally true. It
made Sirius realise that this priest could probably clock him as being an obvious member of the
Black family.

“I’m Sirius. I’m sure you know my parents, and I sincerely apologize for that, because they’re
really just ... the worst. It’s Black, by the way, Sirius Black. As in Walburga and –” The Father
interrupted.

“Orion,” he said under a long outward breath, screwing his eyes closed, as if he had just made an
important realization. But his expression moved back into playful rather quickly. “Shame. I can’t
take your confession, it’s a conflict of interest. I’m the one delivering your father’s eulogy on
Friday afternoon.”

Sirius huffed. “He’s dead, what’s he gonna care?” At first, the priest opened his mouth to speak,
but a look crossed over his face, and he shut it again, glancing toward Sirius with caution.

“Wait, didn’t you say a moment ago that your dad is the one who hit you?” With lips pressed
tightly together, Sirius nodded. “How in God’s name did your dead father give you a black eye?”
Sirius grinned widely, but it was forced. The fact that he could recognize that it was forced made
him even more angry. The priest’s concern only deepened, and Sirius wasn’t sure if it was because
he could see the slip in Sirius’ masked bravado or because he worried he’d been flirting with a
murderer all this time.

“Don’t get excited, Father, it was a heart attack,” Sirius sighed. “I might’ve helped it along by
adding the necessary stress-induced catalyst, but it was probably the beluga caviar and fois gras.”

“He punched you in the face and then immediately died of a heart attack?” the priest asked,
blatantly trying to stifle a laugh, gauging Sirius’ face. “I take it you and your father weren’t all that
close.”

“I’m glad the sorry bastard is dead,” Sirius replied, and this time the smile was genuine.

“This might fall within the realm of that conflict of interest I was talking about earlier, but …” he
leaned in, over the island countertop, to finish with a loose, “I’m siding with you and karma on this
one.”

“My God, Father,” Sirius gasped, dramatically draping his hand over his chest like a woman in the
American South who just overheard the most scandalous gossip. And while he pretended not to
notice the slight rise in the priest’s brow, he felt a strange acidity move through his throat. “Hang
on, can I not call you Father? Clearly, I have Daddy issues, and it’s starting to make me want to
vomit a little.”

With a suspicious smirk, the priest replied, “Everyone else calls me Father Lupin. And if you’re
trying to get at my first name, you can keep trying.” Sirius snarled, teeth bared. The priest glanced
down at the movement of Sirius’ lips and Sirius noticed, this time, he wasn’t quick to overcorrect
his gaze.

“Fine, I’ll make you a deal,” Sirius countered, shifting slightly to the edge of the counter, a little
closer to the man in the collar. Father Lupin didn’t adjust to widen the distance. “I’ll just call you
any first name I can think of on the spot, but if I get it right, you have to tell me that I guessed it.”

His golden eyes narrowed in Sirius’ direction again. “This feels a little too Rumpelstiltskin.”

“Come on, it’ll be fun,” Sirius spoke in a playful growl. That left eyebrow rose again, and it felt
like every time Sirius watched it rise, he found something else to appreciate about it – the scar that
broke it into two separate halves as if it had once been unskillfully pierced, the rogue grey
peppering the otherwise dark, their thickness and unruliness making the man himself look a little
less tame.

“You can’t just … hang out in the church all the time. Don’t you have a job or something?”

“I’m off all week for the funeral,” Sirius said with a tight expression.

“Right, sorry,” Father Lupin replied, instantly apologetic. Without quite remembering who it was
he was speaking to, Sirius reached over and brushed his fingertips against the edge of the Father’s
sleeve, where it was fitted against his wrist. Quickly, Lupin looked up, but his expression didn’t
give Sirius the reminder of his place the way he expected it would. Instead, it made Sirius forget
his place entirely.

“I thought you were on my side,” Sirius joked, letting his hand naturally fall away. “And I’m glad
he’s dead, so don’t apologize. Better yet, figure out a way to work it into your eulogy.” The priest
let a quiet laugh move from his lips and the smile it left in its shadow had Sirius mirroring it
unintentionally.

“Considering all I’ve got so far is, ‘We are here today to honour the life of Orion Black,’ I could
probably use the material,” he sighed, moving his arm up to run his fingers through his already
mussed hair, coming away with another twig he uncovered within it. Of course, Sirius barely
noticed the flora because he was far too preoccupied with the unforgiving pull of the fabric that
tightened around the priest’s shoulder as he stretched and the way he leaned into his hand as it
rolled down the back of his neck. In a dangerous combination of attraction and boredom, Sirius
made a very stupid offer.

“It’s your lucky day, Benny –” he paused to address the confusion in the priest’s expression, “I said
I was going to call you by different first names, we’re starting now –” Surprisingly, Father Lupin
nodded in full (but playful) agreement, reminded of the deal that he technically hadn’t ever made.
“I’ve got a bit of writing experience and a journalism degree, so you can put me right to work.”

“Journalism, huh?” Father Lupin asked, eyebrow high. “What kind of journalism?”

“I don’t write gossip for The Sun, if that’s what you’re implying with that look, Father,” Sirius
huffed, secretly admiring the sharp rise of that unruly brow. “I’m the editor for a music magazine.”

“Which one? Anything I’ve heard of?” he asked, seeming suddenly and genuinely interested.

“Called Something Wicked. Mostly album reviews and –” Father Lupin interrupted. Well, it wasn’t
so much an interruption as it was total, uncontrolled laughter. Head rolled back and everything.

“If you’re trying to tell me you’re the editor-in-chief of Something Wicked,” he said, still having
quite a laugh, brows high on his forehead, hand on his ribs. “Then that is absolute and utter
bullshit.”

Sirius grinned arrogantly. “So, you’re familiar with my little publication.”

“Familiar enough to know that the founder is the current editor-in-chief,” Father Lupin argued,
moving around the island so that he could scornfully lean with one hip against the rounded edge.
“And not so clueless as to believe the founder of the biggest music magazine since Alternative
Press is hanging out in my church and making wildly inappropriate sexual advances toward me.”
He rose a brow.

“Well, Oliver, I was going to help you write a passable eulogy for that garbage bin of a person, but
if you think you can handle it on your own …” he trailed off, blinking innocently in the Father’s
direction.

With a sigh, he let his head fall forward. “Fine. Editor or not, you knew him better than I did. If
you think you can twist my words to make him sound like something close to a decent human
being …”

“Aw, so you do remember him,” Sirius cooed, earning a sheepish wince from Father Lupin.

“… then I’ll take whatever help I can get. And no, it’s not Oliver.”

“Or Benny?”

“Or Benny.” Unless Sirius was mistaken, there was a fond smirk tucked away underneath the dark
salt-and-pepper stubble on Father Lupin’s striking jawline. But it dissolved quickly as he looked
down at his watch, partially shifted underneath the edge of his long sleeve. “Shit,” he hissed under
his breath, moving back toward the door that led into the same hallway they’d come in through. In
two steps, he was instantly out of reach, his long stride accommodated easily by lanky limbs. “I say
Mass in ten minutes.”

“I know, I’m supposed to be attending Mass in ten minutes,” Sirius grinned, and he may have let
himself enjoy the surprise of watching Lupin smile back in that curiously familiar way.

“Meet me in the garden afterward, we can start working on the eulogy then.”

After a subtle pull of his bottom lip into his teeth, in a way that somehow made it look like it was
completely without intention, Sirius replied, “It’s a date.” He watched Father Lupin’s ears go pink
again.

Sirius walked back into the nave to find the pews now packed, noticing that his mother and cousins
were filling the third row on the right and that his mother was specifically leaving an empty space
for him, likely so she could berate him later in the day for not being in attendance. Still, he was
surprised they weren’t in the absolute front row, as he knew she liked to maintain her holier-than-
thou status.

Just before he moved along the wall to unpleasantly surprise his mother, his mobile vibrated in his
pocket, an immediate misfire in the previously steady beat of his calm heart. As he unlocked the
phone (that picture of Crookshanks bringing a beaming smile to his face), he took a preparatory
breath.

(Moony):

did the trained assassins murder you last night

or do I get to flirt with you some more

Leaning against the outer wall of the church, Sirius squeezed his eyes closed and pulled his tightly
pursed lips into his teeth to keep from letting out an indelicate and uncivilized whimper. A quick
glance to the pulpit assured him that services hadn’t begun yet, so he took the time to respond to
the text.

(Padfoot):

I hope you know how unfair that statement is

since we’re just flirting into the void

and I can’t actually date you

(Moony):

it’s very unfair, I know

we can stop flirting if it’s TOO unfair

 (Padfoot):

dammit you cornered me

you made me admit this

this is your fault

I like the flirting

(Moony):

shit

wait, I mean

no, i totally mean that

SHIT SHIT SHIT

i’m making this so much worse

(Padfoot):

listen I don’t care honestly

I want to keep flirting

I don’t get the no-dating thing

but I also don’t give a fuck

i’m having fun with you moony

you know. from a distance.

(Moony):

i’m having fun with you too, padfoot.

but believe me when I say

i wish you could have fun with me up close

there are a lot of things i’d like to do to you up close

(Padfoot):

okay so there’s flirting

 and there’s a BRAZEN COME-ON

like. god damn it moony

you realise that makes it worse

I can handle a little flirting

This is a blatant sexual advance

I CANNOT HANDLE THAT FROM YOU

(Moony):

from me specifically?

(Padfoot):

from you. very specifically.

you should already know why

(Moony):

indulge me.

(Padfoot):

because I am shamefully attracted to you

(Moony):

you don’t even know what I look like

(Padfoot):

okay first of all, looks aren’t everything

secondly, i’ve heard your singing voice. case closed.

JUST KIDDING CASE REOPENED BECAUSE THIRDLY

i’ve watched you play bass.

(Moony):

is the way I play bass … attractive??

(Padfoot):

That’s a joke right

in general, bassists just … ARE attractive

law of nature

(Moony):

i need specific examples

other than me, i guess

(Padfoot):

I’ll give you my favourite example

Kenny Vasoli, The Starting Line

(Moony):

But he’s got. That VOICE.

(Padfoot):

excuse me sir

do you hear yourself when you sing?

your voice does THINGS to me

not to mention

the way you play bass is

i mean, it’s downright sexual

(Moony):

Oh.

and you’re, em, you’re into that?

watching me play bass i mean

(Padfoot):

fuck yes

(Moony):

oh my god this is awful

(Padfoot):

If you’re uncomfortable with this, we can stop

(Moony):

no fuck the problem is

i don’t want to stop

but I’m leading you on

and it leads nowhere.

(Padfoot):

I’m okay with fruitlessly pining over you for now

at some point you’ll be sick of me anyway

and I’ll never get over you and die alone

it’ll be fine

(Moony):

i can’t imagine ever getting sick of you

but if you’re okay with this being

whatever the fuck it is

then so am i

Before Sirius could reply, Father Lupin emerged from a door at the side of the pulpit, and as much
as Sirius wanted to childishly snicker at the ostentatious vestments he had to wear to say Mass, he
couldn’t. Mostly because he was too busy swallowing the massive lump in his throat at the way the
cream-coloured collar highlighted the Father’s dark copper skin, and how the emerald and gold
satin of the robe influenced the deep amber of his eyes and accentuated the gold in those round,
quirky frames that sat just atop his prominent cheekbones, and the careless way his wavy, uneven
hair was swept all to one side. As Father Lupin looked up and found Sirius’ eyes in the crowd,
Lupin’s expression softened.

“Fuck,” Sirius whispered helplessly to himself, preceding a deep breath. When he had semi-
successfully composed himself, he moved into the pew, pushing past his grumbling cousins to
throw himself loudly onto the cushioned wooden bench next to his mother, who shot him an angry
look.

“Not surprised that you’re late,” she muttered under her breath, keeping her eyes forward. “But I
foolishly hoped you would’ve worn something a little nicer than … that.” And maybe it had a little
more to do with the fact that Father Lupin was speaking, and Sirius wasn’t able to hear what he
was saying over the petty hissing of his mother’s comments, but he wasn’t in the mood to listen to
her complain.

“I’m not here for you,” Sirius growled through clenched teeth, locking eyes with Father Lupin for a
moment. “I’m just making an appearance, so you won’t throw out any of my brother’s belongings.”

“I don’t see why it should matter to you, nothing in that room is yours,” Walburga snapped in reply
as Sirius squirmed in his uncomfortable seat, trying not to let his anger overwhelm him.

“More mine than yours,” he said, tightening his jaw. The only cousin he didn’t hate, Andromeda,
leaned over the other two (the obnoxious ones, Bellatrix and Narcissa), to whisper threateningly.

“Sirius, save it for after service,” she advised with a pointed glare. He sighed, nodding.

But apparently his mother wasn’t finished. “I don’t know why you care about the rubbish that’s in
that room,” she said, haughty and arrogant. “You didn’t care about it when you abandoned him.”
In his bitterness, Sirius put his foot down to turn to face his mother, the sound of it echoing in the
otherwise silence of the church. Even Father Lupin stopped speaking for a moment with a glance
of concern.

“I didn’t abandon him, I begged him to come with me.” He spoke through his teeth, clamped tight
with rage. “How dare you put that guilt on me when you were the one making his life unlivable.”

“Your father …” she emphasized, growing flushed with irritation.

“Don’t you blame this on him now that he’s dead,” Sirius barked, getting shushed by a few
parishioners in the surrounding pews. “You were right there with him. You were the one who led
Reg to cut himself every time his grades weren’t perfect, you were the one who encouraged him to
starve half to death when you told him he didn’t get that role in the school play because he was too
pudgy.”

“He made those choices himself,” she hissed, vein bulging at her temple. And Sirius thought, if he
were lucky, maybe he could induce another stress-related cardiac event in the last of his
progenitors.

“He was a child, and you ruined his life,” Sirius seethed, breath searing on his tongue. With a
quick snap of her head and wild dart of her beady eyes, Walburga faced him, unwilling to lose a
fight.

“Yet he chose to stay with me rather than live one day out there with you,” she said, the silver in
her eyes, so much like Sirius’ own, looking more sinister than it ever had. “Because you are
abhorrently unlovable, Sirius.” The broken breath moved from Sirius’ lungs before he could close
his lips to keep it in, and his mother looked victorious by his devastation. “Take whatever you want
from Regulus’ room,” she continued, reveling in her triumph by salting the wound. “That is, if you
want to live next to a constant reminder of the brother who never loved you because of your
immense failure as a human being.”

Still stunting his breathing to keep it from making him appear weak, he bit down hard onto the
inside of his lip to keep it from trembling. The blood tasted like warm metal. He said nothing.
When he stood, the church fell silent again, but he made not a sound as he stepped out into the
center aisle and moved toward the swinging doors in the back that led to the garden. As the doors
swung closed behind him, he never heard the sound of Father Lupin’s voice resume from the
pulpit. There was a lit cigarette between his teeth before he even made it outside. He thought God
might forgive him. Just this once.

“James, for the love of God, I’m fine. And I meant it the first fifty-seven times I said it,” Sirius
said into the phone, trying hard not to sigh again because he didn’t want James to worry even more,
which would ultimately result in James making the two-hour drive in a fury so that he could slap
Sirius’ mother across the face. As much as Sirius would love to watch that happen, it really
wouldn’t undo the damage of what she had said. It wouldn’t make Sirius feel any less like crying.
It wouldn’t make it any less true.

He was on his eleventh cigarette since stepping out into the garden. If he hadn’t made plans to
devise a rough draft of the eulogy with Father Lupin, he would’ve driven to his mother’s house,
packed up all of Regulus’ things that he could fit into his car, and gone home immediately. Well,
he’d already done the first part of that (the back of his car was crammed with stuff), but he hadn’t
gone home.

His hands were still shaking, even after taking the first big drag on cigarette number eleven. Of
course, he’d had nothing else to do since storming out of the church but sit on this little, rickety
bench along the brick of the church and obsess over what his mother had said to him. Well, besides
stealing most of Regulus’ stuff and taking a detour to flick spent cigarette ash on his mother’s silk
pillowcase.

Even hope for entertainment from Moony had flittered to dust. As of about an hour ago, Moony
was MIA. It could’ve been the way Sirius had desperately begged for his attention – that was
probably a bit off-putting. They weren’t even … they weren’t even anything. But Sirius had typed
out that frantic, reckless message (‘I need a distraction moony, flirt with me some more’) and hit
send before he could consider the implications. It wouldn’t surprise Sirius if he’d scared Moony
off entirely with his clinginess.
“Don’t ask me why I’m helping with the eulogy, okay, I just am,” Sirius said in a huff, knowing
that James would give him endless shit for vaguely trying to seduce a fucking priest. “Anyway, I’ll
bullshit my way through it and be home before dark. It probably goes without saying but …” he
trailed off, and James knew immediately what he wanted to ask before he asked it and told Sirius in
a single breath that when he said come home, what he really meant was come to his and Lily’s and
stay the night. James always seemed to know when Sirius didn’t need to be alone. “Thank you,” he
said softly into the line. He didn’t ask how the lovemaking had gone the night before. Just then, he
didn’t really want to talk about the creation of a new family when his own was such a shitshow.
Maybe that made him a little selfish.

At the very moment that he disconnected the call, his mobile vibrated in his hand again. While he
was relieved to see that it was Moony, he was slightly nervous about what his response would be.

(Moony):

fuck I got caught up in something

is everything okay??

what kind of distraction are we talking here

i can get really filthy if that’s what you’re looking for

(Padfoot):

damn you get right to business

wow. won’t date me but not against sexting

good to know VERY good to know

(Moony):

i was afraid that might be too heavy for you

but since you were asking for a distraction

i thought you might need a big one

(Padfoot):

Was that a euphemism??

(Moony):

i feel like i should say no

 (Padfoot):

i had no idea what i was getting into here

a horny bass player with an enormous cock

who I am not allowed to see or date

this is a nightmare honestly

(Moony):

at least you’re well distracted now

(Padfoot):

JESUS I’LL SAY

FOR FUCK’S SAKE

i’m probably blushing. GOD.

(Moony):

just for clarity’s sake, YOU said enormous

and you’re just assuming i’m horny

because I offered to be filthy

(Padfoot):

for clarity’s sake

ARE you horny right now

(Moony):

i mean

we’re discussing my cock

so

yeah, a little
 (Padfoot):

son of a bitch

honestly

you have shit timing

I am literally AT CHURCH

(Moony):

oh shit.

should i be sorry for offering to get you off in church?

i’m kinda not.

Faintly, Sirius could hear music coming from inside the church, and he wondered if the service had
ended. He had a strange, conflicting moment of guilt about his near-filthy text conversation with
his punk-bass-player-not-boyfriend when Father Lupin was about to come out with his clerical
collar round his throat. In fact, talking to them both, feeling about them both in a similar way made
him feel … odd.

(Moony):

wait then why do you need a distraction??

also, for future reference

that request did sound a little horny

“i need a distraction, flirt with me” ??

not entirely my fault that we went there

(Padfoot):

alright fine I concede fault on that

and I’m not at church out of my own desire to be here

well, that part is sort of complicated at this point

i’m here because of my mother.

(Moony):

RIGHT Marlene mentioned something about that

that’s how our mobiles got swapped?

cause your mother pissed you off

and you nearly broke your screen on my merch table

does this have to do with your black eye?

how is that by the way

i wanted to ask

but i didn’t really want to pry

(Padfoot):

yeah soooo I don’t have time to unpack my family baggage

at least not like right this moment

because I’m about to meet with this priest

he’s hot by the way

Just in case you wanted to be jealous

Also my eye is fine, thank you for caring

(Moony):

i’m glad your eye is alright

and i’m not gonna lie

i am a little bit jealous right now

are you going to seduce the priest

(Padfoot):

Oh I already tried, he’s not having it

(Moony):
why do people have a priest kink?

i’ve never understood that

(Padfoot):

If you saw this man in the collar you would

(Moony):

damn. describe him to me

(Padfoot):

curly sort of choppy black hair

copper skin tone like you except without

you know, the massive amounts of tattoos

slender sort of build, I guess

again, a bit like you, sort of lanky

(Moony):

is lanky a compliment?

(Padfoot):

for you, it is, yes. and for the priest.

got this salt and pepper thing going on with his hair

and in his beard. and in his eyebrows. JESUS.

wears the most adorable glasses

OH AND GOLD EYES

(Moony):

I think that’s called hazel

 (Padfoot):

no no no, hazel has a bit of green

my best mate’s eyes are hazel

This is just … gold.

Like light brown but … yellow??

(Moony):

alright I’m officially jealous

you’re practically swooning

(Padfoot):

If you’d let me date you this never would’ve happened

i might fall in love with this priest

(Moony):

pretty sure a priest isn’t allowed to date either

hang on did you fall for TWO blokes you can’t date?

(Padfoot):

why is my life like this

(Moony):

at least I’m open to sexting.

bet the priest doesn’t tell you that

speaking of which, you busy later?

text me when you get done with confession

and i can distract you.

 (Padfoot):

fuck

you make me want to bail on the priest

(Moony):

keep your date with the priest

i’ll be here when you’re good and frustrated

Just as Sirius let his mouth fall open, cigarette dangling heedlessly from his loose lips, the back
door of the church opened, and Father Lupin moved out. There was a quick glance of initial
surprise at the cigarette between Sirius’ open lips, moving into a curious peer at the screen of
Sirius’ phone.

“Are you alright?” Father Lupin asked, voice soft. He settled down next to Sirius on the bench, and
Sirius immediately locked his mobile screen so Lupin wouldn’t see Sirius’ conversation about him.

“It’s fine,” Sirius said, cigarette bobbing between his teeth as he spoke, surprised at how blatantly
Father Lupin’s attention was drawn to his mouth. “We already know I don’t get along with my
mother.”

“Or your father,” Lupin smirked. “Listen, I hate that you to have to keep another secret for me, but,
uh …” His eyes flicked down to Sirius’ mouth again, and this time, he licked his lips. Slowly. “Got
another one of those?” A smile of bewilderment moved over Sirius’ face as he patted his jacket
pocket.

“Be my guest, Father,” he said, handing his half-empty pack and his lighter to Lupin. His surprise
was less over the smoking (Sirius was already privy to that secret anyway) and more over the fact
that this priest seemed oddly comfortable in his presence, enough to share a cigarette with him.

“I thought you didn’t like to call me Father,” he mused, tapping the pack to coax a single cigarette
from the box and wrapping his lips around it before slipping it from the packaging. “You’re
welcome to keep guessing my first name, but I guarantee you’ll never get it right.” His words
began to mumble from his lip’s accommodation of the paper between them, and Sirius found
himself absolutely entranced by it.

“Now I know it’s an unusual name, so that narrows it down quite a bit, Gwilym,” Sirius said with a
small laugh, shifting his knee to knock it softly, playfully against Father Lupin’s leg.

“Just because a name is Welsh doesn’t mean it’s unusual,” Lupin laughed, lips still pursed together
from where he was lighting the cigarette between them. When it was lit, he took in a profoundly
deep breath, gifting Sirius with the changes it left in the angles of his sharply defined throat, though
most of it was obscured by his high collar, a sliver of white extending out past the surrounding
black.

“Whatever you say, Tobias.” As Lupin exhaled, Sirius tried desperately to ignore the soft,
pleasured moan he released with the smoke and the way he tilted his head back in uninterrupted
bliss.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Lupin asked delicately, his voice somehow sounding so much
deeper, so much rougher, so much more raw after only a single drag. His head was still leaned
back, he had pried a single eye open to look over in Sirius’ direction. Sirius was having a hard time
looking back.

“What, my mother?” Sirius laughed nervously. He really didn’t like discussing his family. He
barely talked about it with James. “What is there to say? It’s not anything she hasn’t said to me
before.”

At first, Lupin seemed to watch him, almost warily, uncertainly, and he habitually adjusted his
round frames, their golden rim catching the light from the sun. With a shake of his head, Sirius
realised Lupin had been arguing with himself about something and he’d come to a resolution of
that argument.

“Fuck it,” he finally said. Sirius took in a sharp breath. “This calls for alcohol,” he said as he stood,
reaching for Sirius’ hand. There was a breath of hesitation, but ultimately, Sirius took it. And his
hand was so soft, so warm, the way he squeezed Sirius’ fingers so reassuring and so comforting
and so delicate.

As Sirius stood, he laughed. “Are we about to steal Communion wine, Father?” Almost in
synchrony, they tossed their half-smoked cigarettes onto the pavement that led around the church
and Sirius used the toe of his boot to stamp them both out. After peeking through the back door to
make sure they wouldn’t be found out, Father Lupin pulled Sirius down the hall, and Sirius
specifically took notice of the way Lupin had furtively knotted his fingers into Sirius’ own. Once
they made it to the end of the hallway, they descended the stairs that Sirius had come across earlier
that morning, and without letting Sirius’ fingers slip from his, Father Lupin took a key from his
pocket and unlocked the door.

“Please, I’ve got better booze than that,” Lupin said with a haughty huff as he pushed open the
door and held it for Sirius to move through. Inside, it looked like a small studio flat – an inviting,
dark-blue sofa sat in front of a short coffee table, the uneven edge of which looked like it had been
sliced directly from the tree. In the opposite corner, a small but workable kitchen, a miniature
island with a granite countertop in the center of the open space. On the only remaining wall was an
oak door with a golden knob (the same colour as Lupin’s glasses), and Sirius could only assume it
led to his bedroom. Father Lupin motioned to the sofa as he reached for the kitchen cabinets. “You
look like you drink whiskey.”

“Fuck yes I do,” Sirius practically growled. He’d been itching for a drink all damn day. There was
a clipped laugh from Lupin’s lips, as if he knew he shouldn’t laugh at Sirius’ desperation for
liquor.

“Well, if you don’t want to talk about it, at least we can drink about it,” Lupin said with a cautious
glance in Sirius’ direction as Sirius finally decided to let himself relax, slinking down into the sofa.

“It just pisses me off that much more to say it out loud,” Sirius said behind a false bravado. And it
wasn’t untrue, but only half the truth. The deeper truth was that Sirius didn’t want to admit what
his mother had said to him out loud because he wasn’t sure how he would react to hearing himself
say it.

“I’m happy drinking, either way,” Father Lupin said with a glance over his shoulder, as if worried
the Pope himself was standing just behind him. Sirius couldn’t help but smirk at the playful worry
in Lupin’ expression, at the way his torso twisted as he tried to converse with Sirius with his back
still turned. “But just in case you were worried about it, I’m obligated to keep whatever you tell me
just between us.”
Sirius let out a soft laugh. “Even if it’s not in your funny little booth?” With a smile, Lupin turned
with two tumblers splashed with whiskey, both glasses held entirely within the span of a single
hand, the neck of the whiskey bottle in the other. He held out his hand for Sirius to take one of the
glasses, and he set the half-empty bottle onto the odd-shaped coffee table, settling into the opposite
corner of the sofa and crossing one leg over the other, ankle over knee. Holding the rim of the
glass, he upended the whole thing into his throat without so much as a wince and set the empty
glass delicately onto the table.

“Even if it’s not in the booth,” he confirmed with a solemn sort of nod, closing his eyes in some
show of sincerity. Sirius playfully narrowed his eyes in the Father’s direction, watching him in
suspicion.

“How do I know you’re not a spy for my mother?” he asked under a tight laugh, and Lupin must’ve
heard it for what it was because Sirius had barely finished speaking before Lupin replied.

“Because I hate your mother.” He put on a wide smile to cover up the animosity in his expression,
but Sirius could see it in the dull of his golden eyes, darkening to something that looked like dry
resin.

“Looks like we have a lot in common, Marcus,” Sirius smiled, lifting his glass to symbolically
toast to their shared hatred of Walburga Black, and he emptied the contents quickly, savouring the
sting it left.

“Your guesses are getting worse.” He used his middle finger to push his glasses up his nose.

“Well, if you gave me a better hint, maybe I’d be getting warmer,” Sirius replied, leaning closer
and letting his head fall backward onto the back cushions of the sofa. With a charged glance in
Sirius’ direction, Lupin shifted to grab the whiskey bottle (and his glass) and he refilled both,
heavy-handed.

To Sirius’ surprise, Father Lupin replied cryptically with, “Mythology,” alongside a raised brow
and a smile that looked far too mischievous and wild to belong on the face of a Catholic priest.

“Greek mythology?” Sirius tried to clarify, but Lupin just tilted his head.

“You’ve reached your maximum number of hints, I’m afraid.”

“Damn you,” Sirius grinned, taking an easier sip from his refilled tumbler.

“You’re welcome to come up with a nickname for me, if you’re tired of guessing,” Lupin
suggested with a strange smirk in the corner of his lips, as if he’d won the game. And it reminded
Sirius of Moony, which left him with a slight surge of guilt (despite that he and Moony were not
dating, despite that he and Moony couldn’t date, despite that Moony knew about the mysterious
priest). But it was a strange guilt, like feeling guilty for something he’d done in a dream, because
talking to Father Lupin was a lot like talking to Moony, so much so that Sirius began to forget
which one was intentionally flirting with him and which one had been accidentally flirting with
him. Their personalities were so similar that he was beginning to get one confused for the other,
and maybe that’s where the guilt was developing.

“You know,” Sirius said, trying to decide how much he wanted to say about this, but wanting to
say it, nonetheless. “You’re the second person I’ve met this week who won’t tell me their first
name.”

There was a quiet smile on Lupin’s face. “Is that so?” he asked, smile only growing. “At least I
have a legitimate excuse for maintaining a certain level of anonymity.” He gestured to his throat, or
at least Sirius’ gaze went to his throat, wishing he could see the sharp curve of his Adam’s apple
without a clerical collar in the way. “Or it’s because I’m intimidated by the most adorable first
name in history.”

“Did you just admit, out loud, that you think I’m adorable?” Sirius bit his lip to keep from smiling.

“Your name,” Lupin clarified, that deep rose blush moving through his cheeks, so different from
the bright red blush he found in James’ sun-kissed skin when Lily winked at him from stage or the
sharp pink of Lily’s freckled skin when she’d been drumming her arse off for the last two hours. “I
said your name was adorable, and that is in no way an admission of anything more.” His ears were
red, too.

“I think you’re adorable, too, Father.”

“Now you’re just calling me Father to belittle me.”

“Well, what the hell else am I supposed to call you?”

“What do you call your other friend with no name?” Lupin asked, taking a much smaller sip from
his whiskey glass but keeping his very pointed gilded gaze on Sirius from over the tops of his
glasses.

“Moony,” Sirius answered honestly, and he must’ve spoken it a little breathily, a little dreamily
because Father Lupin took in a sharp, quiet breath, covering it by adjusting his glasses again.

“Why Moony?” he asked, clearing his throat to level his voice.

“I just asked him what object was on his left and he was outside, so … the moon,” Sirius said with
a fond smile, but he shrugged it away. “I guess I could’ve named him something a little more
meaningful, but I haven’t gotten to know him that well yet.” Lupin shook his head, a quiet smile on
his lips.

“No, you should keep that one,” he nodded, watching Sirius closely again. “It’s … adorable.”

Sirius let out a loud laugh. “You keep throwing that word around, Father. It’s cute.” With a playful
roll of his eyes, Lupin stretched out a bit on the sofa, propping his feet onto the wood-slice coffee
table.

“So, how did you meet this guy? This Moony?” he asked, and as he snuggled down into the back
cushions of the sofa, leaning his head back, Sirius found himself doing the same, working in closer.

“At a show. He plays bass for … uh, this band, actually,” he said with a laugh, pinching the
shoulder seams of his T-shirt and stretching it out to display the Holyhead logo. Curiously, Father
Lupin leaned in toward Sirius’ chest to see it more clearly, and Sirius caught himself holding his
breath.

“Are they any good?” Lupin asked, still leaning in, glancing from Sirius’ shirt up to Sirius’ face,
over the tops of his rounded lenses. Immediately, Sirius forgot propriety and let out a sigh.

“They’re incredible,” he said under a half-moan, letting his hand drag down his chest as he
recalled the growl in Moony’s voice as he sang the lyric someone save me, someone save me.

“So, did you interview him, Mr. Editor-in-Chief?” Father Lupin remarked, tongue-in-cheek.
“No,” Sirius replied with sass in his throat. “We got our … phones mixed up, actually.”

“How the fuck does that happen?” Lupin mumbled onto the lip of his whiskey glass before taking
another long sip, and Sirius took the time to appreciate all the movement in his throat as he
swallowed.

With a heavy sigh, Sirius downed the rest of his liquor, too. “Another thing I can blame on my
mother. Probably the only positive influence she has ever had on my life, and it was by pure
accident.”

“What happened?” Father Lupin asked, a softness in his voice that hadn’t been there before. And
maybe it was the way he asked it, or it was the whiskey that dulled his apprehension, or maybe it
was because Lupin inched over a bit closer on the sofa. Whatever it was, Sirius said more than he
intended.

“She threatened me into coming to Mass this morning.” Sirius reached over to grab the bottle of
whiskey on the table, sloshing a more than generous refill into his glass. To his surprise, Father
Lupin held his glass up, so Sirius poured him another, too. “Then, I do exactly what she asks, and
she thanks me by telling me that I am … abhorrently unlovable. Said those exact words to me. My
own mother.” After a momentary tightening of his teeth, Sirius opened his mouth wide and threw
more liquor into it.

“You’re far from unlovable, Sirius,” Father Lupin tried to reassure him, but Sirius shook his head
with a bitter laugh, wrinkling his nose in an effort to stave off any unintended tears that might
appear.

“I appreciate the sentiment, but if you knew me, you wouldn’t say that,” Sirius said with a forceful
exhale, as if he could blow all the guilt and resentment out through his lungs. Before Sirius could
try to convince him to change the subject as he poured another glass, Father Lupin responded
swiftly.

“Then let me get to know you so you’ll believe me the next time I say it,” he said under a confident
grin that caught Sirius off-guard. Without another word, he emptied his glass, smirking.

“If you weren’t flirting with me before, you sure as hell are now,” Sirius observed with a hesitant
smile, wondering why the way Lupin spoke, his choice of words seemed so strangely familiar.

“Say what you want,” Lupin shrugged, grabbing the whiskey bottle as he continued. “And I don’t
care if she’s your mother, I don’t care if she’s a member of my congregation, she’s a total fucking
bitch.”

“Jesus, Lupin,” Sirius sputtered out a laugh, nearly spitting whiskey all over the priest.

“God, I hate that,” Father Lupin suddenly growled, leaving Sirius to raise a single brow. “I don’t
want you to call me Father and I don’t want you to call me by my last name. It sounds so …
impersonal.”

“Sorry, wasn’t that kind of the point?” Sirius’ laugh grew and strengthened. “Maintaining a certain
level of anonymity and all that rot?” With another low growl of frustration, Lupin let his head roll
back onto the sofa cushion, while the arch in Sirius’ brow rose even higher with the breath in his
chest.

“Keep guessing, that was fun,” he said with a puckish grin, pouring his third glass of whiskey.

“Give me another hint and we’ve got a deal.” At first, the Father narrowed his eyes in Sirius’
direction, and Sirius thought he wasn’t going to accept the terms of the new deal. Until he spoke.

“Italy,” he stated simply, seeming to enjoy watching Sirius as Sirius watched him.

“Damiano,” Sirius guessed with blind confidence, and Father Lupin rolled his eyes heavily,
struggling to subdue the laughter that was obviously forming on his tightly pursed lips.

“I’m not Italian, you numpty,” Father Lupin said, a fragment of that laugh slipping across his
tongue, clipped by his teeth. “My family is from Bengaluru. In India. Well, on my father’s side,
anyway.”

“Alright, so you’re half Italian. On your mother’s side,” Sirius playfully shrugged with a comical
smirk, really trying to get him to laugh again, because the sound of it was like an unfinished
symphony.

“Right, I got this noticeable Irish lilt from my Italian heritage,” Lupin shot back with a smile.

“It’s actually very subtle,” Sirius argued for no other reason than to keep the banter going, or
maybe to distract himself from the fact that he’d been smitten with the slight, delicate trace of that
accent in the breathy way Father Lupin softened the letter T at the end of many of his words
against the more hardened R in the back of his throat. “Wait, I missed most of the sermon, say the
word Jesus.”

“I absolutely will not,” he grinned, getting visibly drawn into Sirius’ antics.

“I mean it, your accent is so soft,” Sirius said, and he must’ve accentuated that word a little bit
more heavily than he meant to because Lupin raised his brow a bit. “Did you live in Ireland long?”

“It felt like a long time.” His eyebrows furrowed for a minute, as if he were arguing with himself
about how much of his heritage he wanted to reveal. “My parents lived in Bristol until …” he
stopped, reaching up to pull his hand along the back of his neck before starting over. “My
grandfather on my mother’s side took me in right after I turned eleven. I lived with him in
Baltinglass until I went away to uni,” he said, pausing to swallow deeply, and Sirius began to
realise, with a sharp pain, that he wasn’t the only one with significant family trauma. “Which is
why I was raised Roman Catholic instead of Hindu.”

At first, Sirius opened his mouth to respond, not sure what he intended to say, but knowing he
needed to say something, some show of solidarity. Instead, he said, “Roman,” in a soft, uncertain
tone.

“Roman?” Father Lupin asked, glancing at him curiously, uncertain smile just beginning to return.

“That’s my guess. Your name is Roman.” In his surprise, the Father’s mouth fell open, and for just
a moment, Sirius thought, by some miracle, he’d guessed right. Especially as Lupin blinked mutely
at him for several more seconds, his unruly eyebrows furrowing and unfurrowing the whole time.

“That … is actually a really good guess. You have no idea how strangely close that is,” he said
with a laugh of disbelief, sitting up to grab the whiskey again, this time taking a very long, very
heavy, very concerning swill straight from the bottle. With eyes wide, Sirius watched in both awe
and distress.

“I take it you don’t really want to talk about your family anymore,” Sirius suggested as Lupin
pulled his lips from the bottle with a very loud pop, dragging his hand across his saturated mouth.

“No,” he said strongly, before adding, “No more than you do.” In that show of solidarity he’d been
trying to come up with, Sirius swiped the bottle from Lupin and took a very long and very
concerning shot of his own, emptying the bottle that had been nearly half-full a conversation ago.

“Can we get super fucking drunk instead?” he asked, licking his lips. Under a deep breath and
careful calculation in his darkened amber eyes, the man in the collar pushed both hands through his
hair.

“Fuck it,” he said again, just as he’d said on the bench outside. “Let’s get super fucking drunk.”

“Lead the way, Father,” Sirius grinned as Lupin got up and made his way into the kitchen to
rummage through his cabinets for more alcohol. He was halfway there when he stopped.

“If we’re about to get drunk together, you absolutely cannot keep calling me Father,” he said,
turning to look at Sirius with a specific expression that Sirius had no way of interpreting.

“You said Roman was close. Is it close enough?” Sirius asked. That specific, untranslatable
expression morphed into something that Sirius had seen earlier, the same peculiar grin that had
been on Lupin’s face when he had said the words, ‘I don’t even know who you are,’ as if it wasn’t
true.

“It’s not as cute as Moony, but I’ll take it,” he said quietly, the grin overpowering his face so
intensely that he turned back to the kitchen in some apparent effort to hide it. But it was too late.
That grin had already spread to Sirius’ face. And he was fairly sure it was only going to keep
spreading.
 Tell Me That You're Alright. Yeah, Everything Is Alright.
Chapter Summary

Sirius and Roman get into some mischief together, then Moony gets Padfoot a little
hot and bothered.

Chapter Notes

ADDITIONAL WARNING FOR THIS CHAPTER:

There is an altercation with a police officer, who makes blatantly offensive, racist
remarks about "Roman". I believe the scene is important because it is something the
character has to deal with in his everyday life outside of his interactions with Sirius, so
I didn't want to gloss over the fact that, realistically, this is something he may have to
deal with. But it is also not overly relevant to the plot, so if you would like to skip that
scene, it is marked with ** before and after, so it can be easily avoided.

“Oh my God, why did I agree to this,” Father Lupin mumbled to himself, his breaths coming up a
little short, but considering they were both currently scaling the hedge fence that surrounded the
Black family property, Sirius tried to not pause to appreciate the way Lupin’s chest was rising and
falling underneath the black hoodie he threw on last minute to cover up his very obvious clerical
collar.

“Because you’re drunk as shit and I’m very convincing,” Sirius hissed in reply as he vaulted over
the top of the fence, landing surprisingly gracefully for how much alcohol was in his system.

“If I get caught doing this, I’ll be excommunicated, out of a job, out of a home,” he said with a
slight whine in his throat, though he continued to follow Sirius anyway, climbing a bit more
carefully down the other side of the fence than Sirius had. Then again, Sirius had climbed this
fence thousands of times when he was younger, back when he’d been locked in his bedroom
without food for days at a time.

“You won’t get caught, Fath– Roman,” he corrected, still having a hard time using that name,
knowing it wasn’t Lupin’s name, but having no better alternative. He was right. It wasn’t as cute as
Moony. In fact, Moony fit him far better than Roman, but he couldn’t really use it for both crushes.
Besides, he couldn’t quite describe why Moony seemed to fit the priest so well. It just sounded
right. “If anybody finds us, you bolt into the most convenient direction, and I’ll take all the
blame.”

“Knowing your mother, she would probably still press charges against you,” Not-Roman said with
a heavy sigh as they crept around the corner to the back of the house. It was strange that, after all
these years and all this animosity, his mother didn’t change the locks on the house to keep him out,
but just then, he wasn’t really concerned with why. There was something important he hadn’t
found earlier.
“Let her,” Sirius waved off as he rummaged through his pocket for his keys, his fingers within the
black fabric poking through the hole on his jeans that started at the top of his thigh. “I’ve got
outstanding lawyers on payroll, she won’t win.” As Sirius opened the back door, Roman watched
him curiously.

“Are you actually the founder of Something Wicked?” he asked in disbelief, standing still.

“We don’t have time for this, love, let’s goooo,” he crooned, taking hold of Roman’s arm and
pulling him through the open doorway, closing the thick door as quietly as he could behind them.

With quiet steps, they moved through the enormous, ancient house. Luckily, Sirius had memorized
the pattern of every creak of every floorboard, and despite it having been fifteen years since he
needed to sneak through these rooms, that pattern was still mostly the same. Strangely, as they
began this dance through the safe areas of the floor, he didn’t have to instruct Roman to step only
where he stepped, and Sirius wondered again just how much of their family trauma was the same.

They made it all the way up the stairs and into Regulus’ room, behind the closed door, before
Sirius let out the breath he’d been holding as Roman let out a similar breath, and Sirius watched
him let it out slowly and carefully so it didn’t make noise on its own. Was this why James had
mothered him all this time? Because knowing someone else had dealt with that same brand of
abuse left an ache in his chest.

“Okay, it’s in here somewhere,” Sirius muttered, mostly to himself, as he went rummaging through
the same drawers he’d been through that afternoon, now empty because everything that had been in
them was now in the boot of Sirius’ car. “Unless she set it on fire or something. You never know.”

“It’s a picture? Is that what you said?” Roman asked, beginning to open more drawers.

“Yes,” Sirius confirmed in a whisper. “Of me and my younger brother. Back in the dark ages when
we still had to use film, so it’s the only copy.” He opened the last drawer to find it also glaringly
empty.

“I was about to ask why your mother wouldn’t just let you have it, but I’ve met your mother,” he
said with an irritated huff, moving toward the wardrobe. Sirius looked back to see surprise on
Roman’s face at the full rack of clothes. “Does your brother still live here?” he asked, looking
toward Sirius.

“No,” Sirius said bluntly, not elaborating. Before Sirius could look away, something caught his eye
within the packed wardrobe. “Hang on,” he called softly, moving over to slip a particular black
cardigan from the hanger, letting it spread out within his hands, thumbing reverently over the
embroidery on the left breast pocket that read, in white thread, Regulus Black, Drama Club. Sirius
let out a careful sigh, pulling the fabric up to his face and taking a deep breath in through his
nostrils. It still smelled like Reg.

“Sirius,” Roman said gently, reaching out to run his hand down Sirius’ shoulder, gripping softly.

“Keep looking,” Sirius sniffled with an intentional clearing of his throat. Obviously not wanting to
bring up anything Sirius didn’t want to talk about, Roman did as he was told, kneeling to rummage
through the boxes left in the bottom of the wardrobe as Sirius closed his eyes, still holding the
jumper.

“I think this might be what you’re looking for.” Roman stood, glossy rectangular paper in between
his fingers. With a sharp intake of air, when Sirius looked at the photograph, immediate tears
sprang into his vision. Sirius couldn’t have been more than ten years old at the time, which meant
Reg would’ve been about seven or eight. This had been taken by their Uncle Alphard the summer
before their mother and father forbade them from visiting him, which Sirius found out later was
because Uncle Alphard’s friend William (who adored the boys and had doted on them all summer)
wasn’t just Alphard’s friend. They didn’t know then, but that was the last time they would see
Alphard. He would succumb to a very aggressive cancer that their parents had never even told them
about, that Alphard had never even told them about. And their parents attended the funeral without
them, to keep them away from William.

But there was no borrowed misery in those boys’ expressions. You couldn’t see it in Regulus’ grin,
with both his front teeth missing from where he and Sirius had pulled the already lose ones out a
little early with fishing wire so Regulus would have tooth fairy money to spend at the sweet shop. It
wasn’t in the careless way Sirius’ arm was slung around his younger brother’s neck, his smile
more like a snarl, showcasing all his tiny, ferocious teeth when his Uncle Alphard had told him to
‘smile hard!’.

“Yeah,” Sirius said, furiously wiping away the couple tears that broke through his blockade and
barreled rebelliously down his reddened cheeks. “This is it.” Careful not to crease it, he slipped the
photo into the inner pocket of his jacket. “Grab those boxes, will you?” he nodded toward the
shoeboxes in the bottom of the wardrobe where Roman had found the picture. He quietly did as he
was asked.

“Your brother isn’t … with us anymore, is he?” Roman asked carefully, setting the boxes onto the
edge of Regulus’ bed so that he could free one hand to push the errant hair from Sirius’ face.

“No,” Sirius replied in a hollow voice, tears still threatening to spill. “He’s not.” To Sirius’
surprise, as soon as he closed his eyes, his eyelids pushing the tears onto his cheek, he felt Roman’s
arm move tenderly around the back of his neck, pulling him in close. And Sirius was more
surprised that he let him.

“How long ago?” Roman asked as Sirius’ trembling fists found their way into the fabric of the
hooded jacket that Roman had put on to hide the glaring collar he was still wearing around his
throat.

“Thirteen years.” Sirius’ voice was thick with the tears he’d been choking back, muffled from the
way he was burying his face into Roman’s collarbone, feeling the starched edge of Roman’s stiff
clerical collar against his cheekbone. Sirius burrowed further in, needing to feel the way Roman’s
arm tightened around the back of his neck, drawing Sirius in as close as he could. Sirius’ fists
began to unclench.

“Regulus? Is that the name I saw on his jumper?” Roman asked, his voice low and even and warm.
Sirius could only nod, burdened by the gentle way Roman spoke that name, his eyes welling to the
brink again. “Thank you for letting me be here for this. For letting me be here with you.”

With a weepy smile, Sirius adjusted his gaze, but didn’t pull out of Roman’s embrace. “Are you
thanking me for letting you help me break into my mother’s house and steal from her?”

“Absolutely,” Roman gushed, closing his eyes tightly to show his emphasis before glancing down
at Sirius still pressed to his chest. “I don’t know if I’ve made myself clear on this subject yet or
not, but I despise your mother.” He paused for a moment to take in a short, breath before adding,
“And to make my position on the matter even worse, I find myself feeling quite the opposite about
you.” It wasn’t a blush that Sirius felt moving through his skin, like it had been when he’d heard
this priest say, in blunt confidence, ‘Nobody has a mouth like me’ – this was something sweeter,
something softer, something less incendiary, but warm, all the same. It made Sirius want to live
within this embrace.
“You’re such a flirt, Roman,” Sirius replied under a sheepish half-smile, moving back to bury his
face into Roman’s chest again, his unclenched fists spreading out flat across Roman’s back.

Before Sirius could remind himself that this was a priest, practically his priest, Roman continued to
surprise him by loosening his grip, his fingers moving to the back of Sirius’ neck, up into the coils
of Sirius’ hair, his thumb sliding upward along the back of Sirius’ ear. It sent a pleasant, but
nervous shiver down Sirius’ spine. Now, unexpectedly, the pain of losing Regulus was no longer in
the forefront of Sirius’ mind. Suddenly, it was Roman’s affection, his tenderness, his sincerity, his
warmth, his skin, his touch.

Knowing, surely, this wasn’t going the way he thought it was leading, Sirius straightened his back
to level his face to Roman’s, to examine whatever expression he would find there. His surprise
magnified as Roman didn’t bother pulling away. Instead, he leaned in, his golden gaze, deepened in
the dark to the same colour as the whiskey they’d gotten drunk on in Roman’s basement flat,
scattering across Sirius’ face, darting inconsistently down to Sirius’ lips and back up to his eyes,
covering every space. From where Sirius’ arms were still wrapped around his waist, he could feel
the uneven rise and fall of Roman’s chest, nervous with breath puffing out from lips he licked in
anticipation. His eyes steadied onto Sirius’ gaze.

“I shouldn’t do this,” he whispered, swallowing heavily, but pushing forward despite himself, until
his forehead was pressed to Sirius’ own, his anxious breath falling into Sirius’ waiting mouth. The
fingers that were on the back of Sirius’ neck shifted again, ghosting down the sharp edge of Sirius’
jaw until his fingertips met Sirius’ lips. Sirius let his lips fall open to accommodate their
movement.

“Do you … want to?” Sirius asked, pressing a delicate kiss to Roman’s fingertips.

“Oh, God, do I want to.” His voice was desperate and deep, dredged from the hollows of his
heaving chest. Separating Sirius’ already slightly parted lips, he dragged his thumb down them on
his way to hold Sirius’ delicately by the chin. “Stop me, Sirius, please,” he begged, in voice alone,
as his body continued to betray him, deliberately tilting his head so that he could brush his warm
lips to Sirius’ own.

“I don’t think I can,” Sirius spoke into Roman’s open mouth, breathing in the taste of the whiskey
on Roman’s tongue. Finally, Roman slipped his fingers into Sirius’ hair, his grip decisively
tightening at the base of Sirius’ skull as he coaxed Sirius’ head back, taking full advantage of the
height difference he had over Sirius, and he pressed in with his whole body, mouth open, primed to
pull Sirius’ lips into his.

An audible shifting of the floorboards stilled them both in place, open mouths hovering, breathing
halted. Their eyes met, charged in the silence. Roman’s fingers still tucked into Sirius’ hair drew
absent and delicate circles at the back of Sirius’ neck as Roman studied him, blinking slowly from
behind gold frames. They both waited for a signal from the other, a sign to continue or to retreat.
Finally, it came.

When Roman screwed his eyes tightly shut, the slight wrinkle in his nose shifting his rounded
glasses, Sirius knew. The Father would take that slight interruption as a sign from God, and maybe
he would be right, because this, whatever this was, would never work. And Sirius wasn’t worth it
anyway.

They separated quickly and awkwardly. “We should probably …” Roman started.

“Right,” Sirius agreed immediately. “My mother will kill me if she catches us.” Without another
word, Roman picked up the boxes of photos he'd set on the edge of Regulus’ bed, and they moved
back down the stairs in much the same way they’d moved up them, in careful steps and memorized
patterns.

Once safely back over the hedge fence (after some wisely plotted climbs and careful tossing of the
boxes of photos), they started back in the direction of the church, only for Roman to take Sirius by
the shoulder, stopping him in his place. As Sirius looked over, Roman took an unsteady breath.

“Listen, I …” he started to say, fidgeting a little, his grip on Sirius’ shoulder sliding up to his
collarbone. And Sirius thought he knew where this conversation was leading – with Roman
apologizing for nearly kissing him and explaining why he couldn’t kiss him and reasoning that
maybe they shouldn’t see each other anymore after all – but when Roman’s touch moved to Sirius’
neck, his thumb stroking gently down the length of his throat, Sirius’ grip on the boxes in his hands
tightened significantly, eyes widening.

**

The sound of a siren and the lights of a police car startled them both from another near moment, as
Roman’s hand instantly moved from Sirius’ neck to shield his eyes from the headlights of the car.

“Is everything alright here, sir?” the officer directed his question to Sirius as he stepped from the
car, moving to stand between him and Roman. The man was holding one hand out to Roman, as if
keeping him away from Sirius, the other shining a torch specifically into Roman’s face. In his
confusion, Sirius looked to Roman to find him looking at the ground, his hands half-raised at his
sides.

“Everything’s fine,” Sirius stated emphatically, assuredly, stepping closer to Roman.

“Is he bothering you?” the officer asked, and Sirius was sure the bewilderment was evident on his
face as he glanced toward Roman again. His hands were still at his sides, palms facing out. “Is he
threatening you?” the officer rephrased, eyes shifting nervously in Roman’s direction, arm still
level.

“What?” Sirius barked, incredulously. “No. No,” he repeated, more sharply. “Why are you – he’s
my priest. Roman, tell him.” It wasn’t exactly the truth, but Sirius felt the need to bring up
Roman’s occupation quickly because, for whatever reason, this man seemed to view Roman as a
threat.

“A priest?” the officer asked Sirius in a tone of disbelief, glancing quickly at Roman with heavily
furrowed brows. “Where are you from?” he asked, as if that were at all relevant to the situation.

There was blatant sarcasm in Roman’s tone as he flatly answered, “Ireland,” in a heavier Irish lilt
than Sirius knew was in his natural speaking voice. The muscles in his jaw twitched as he tensed.

“I meant where is your family from?” the officer clarified, looking rather irritated.

“Baltinglass,” Roman repeated, enunciating clearly, fingers spread and palms out.

“Dammit, stop being smart with me,” he threatened, taking a heavy step forward toward Roman,
who instinctively straightened his back, his hands moving further up, further back. “What are
you?” he barked, and Sirius finally realised what the fuck was going on here. It was because of
Roman’s skin.

“Do you not hear him?” Sirius growled, insistent. “He said he’s Irish.” He had to bite back every
curse word he knew, because they were all building in his throat, anxious to slip over his tongue.
“My father was originally from India,” Roman spoke quickly to dissolve the rapidly escalating
tension, casting a cautiously stern expression in Sirius’ direction, as if trying to tell him to back
down.

“Was that so hard?” the officer asked, a stupid laugh in his voice as he looked back to Sirius with a
conspiratorial grin. “Knew he looked Arab.” It was a good thing he’d looked away when he did
because Sirius watched the automatic clench of Roman’s jaw that left a blatant snarl in his bared,
gritted teeth. He reluctantly pulled his lips into his teeth as the arsehole looked back. “Aren’t all
you people Muslim?”

Roman took in a short breath, blinking rapidly. “I was raised Catholic. In Ireland,” he repeated with
slight emphasis as Sirius silently fumed because it was exactly what Roman fucking said in the first
goddamn place. Roman continued. “I’m wearing my collar – I can show you, but I have to unzip
my jacket.” When Roman spoke, he did so in a voice that was intentionally subdued, deliberately
steady.

“Slowly,” the officer ordered in a biting tone, still holding his arm out, level to Roman’s chest. In
slow, obvious movements, with one hand still held in place with his palm visible, Roman tugged at
the zipper underneath his throat to display his white clerical collar. The officer seemed to let out a
breath of relief, but his rigid stature didn’t indicate any change in his trust of Roman’s character.

“What’s wrong with your eye? And why was he holding you by the throat?” he asked, turning to
Sirius again to pelt him with more questions, as Sirius began to take specific notice of the
differences in the way this man looked at Sirius compared to the way he looked at Roman.
Whenever he looked at Sirius, it was with concern and compassion, but when his face was turned
to Roman, he looked at him with fear and suspicion, like Roman intended to murder him on the
spot. Even in his fucking clerical collar.

“He wasn’t holding me by the throat,” Sirius growled, getting angry, but hoping that the officer
wouldn’t notice that he specifically didn’t answer the first of those two questions. “He was holding
me by the … shoulder. We were …” he paused, not wanting to add homophobia to the tension, “…
praying.”

“Why did he make you come out here to pray in the dark?” he pelted Sirius with another obviously
leading question and Sirius stifled a snarl. Why did he make you come out here, he’d asked.

“He is walking me back to the church from my house,” Sirius told another lie, pointing to his
mother’s house, hoping to God he was not going to have to wake his mother to prove it. She would
not help this situation at all. The officer glanced toward the dark house and then back to Sirius
again. “My name is Sirius Black, this is my mother’s house. I’m in town for the week for my
father’s funeral.”

“Oh, you’re Orion’s boy?” he asked, an uptick in his voice that made Sirius’ blood curdle. No
wonder this guy was such a fucking dick, he was friends with Sirius’ father. Roman remained
silent.

“Yes, exactly, that’s me,” he said, probably his biggest of all the lies, because he had never in his
life referred to himself as Orion’s son. “And I’d just found this box of old family photographs, so
we were going to go back to the church for a bit to sort through them, since Father Lupin is
delivering the eulogy.”

“Wait, Father Lupin?” he asked, leaning in to get a better look, finally speaking to Roman with
something other than a threat in his voice. Through a forced smile, Roman nodded, and as the
officer patted him on the shoulder, Sirius could see the way Roman tensed at the man’s touch.
“Gosh, didn’t recognize you in the dark, Father.” He laughed, boisterous and loud, as if anything
were funny.

“Right, we’d better get to work before it gets too late.” Sirius forced a smile, too.

“Well, I’ll see you boys on Friday, then. You stay safe out there, it’s dangerous walking around at
night!” Again, he laughed, and the sound of it left Sirius gritting his teeth. With one last whirl of
his siren, he drove off in the opposite direction. Immediately, Roman let out a breath, running his
fingers through the black and grey stubble on his face, pulling his mouth open as he let his head
fall back.

**

“Are you alright?” Sirius asked carefully as he watched Roman run his fingers through his hair.

“Yeah, of course,” Roman replied with an overcompensating grin as he nodded for Sirius to follow
him back to the church. Sirius fell into step, hustling to keep up with Roman’s long stride.

“I’m not surprised a racist arsehole was friends with my father,” Sirius grumbled.

“Now you know why I don’t take the collar off,” Roman said with a careful sigh, but he continued
right after. “Honestly, I should’ve seen this coming when I agreed to break into your mother’s
house.” He laughed, but it was sarcastic and biting. “I’m lucky he didn’t catch me climbing the
hedge.”

“I shouldn’t have asked you to do that. Is it … do you get treated like this a lot?”

With another deep breath, Roman continued, “This place isn’t the most … I’ll say progressive.”

“Then why do you stay here?” Sirius asked, genuinely curious. Hell, he’d left fifteen years ago and
had never missed this place. There was kind of a sad honesty on Roman’s face as he answered.

“Who else would help these kids?” he asked, lowering his head to rub the back of his neck, all of
his hair falling forward into his face. “When I met Teddy – that kid I was telling you about – he
was living on the street. Kicked out of his house at thirteen because his foster dad found out he was
gay.”

“He was lucky you were there,” Sirius smiled.

“But is it just luck?” Roman asked with an inquisitive glance in Sirius’ direction, his expression
somewhere between a smile and uncertainty. “Four years of seminary and six years of practice and
I still couldn’t tell you if I believe in divine intervention or not. Despite what I’ve been taught to
preach.”

“A priest with no faith?” Sirius questioned, eyebrow high.

“I never said I don’t have faith,” Roman grinned widely as they walked up to the church, though he
led them around the church, back to the garden. “I don’t believe doubt is the opposite of faith. In
fact, I don’t think you can have faith at all without it. Otherwise, it’s just a fact, isn’t it? Facts
require no faith.”

“How so?” Sirius asked, lowering his voice as Roman peeked through the back door, but he didn’t
go inside. Instead, he leaned against the exterior of the church and took in a deep, calming breath.

“I don’t have to have faith in the sun for it to warm the Earth, it’s there. I can see its light, I can feel
its heat. The sun is a fact.” With a mischievous grin, Roman leaned over and began patting the
pockets of Sirius’ jacket until he found the pack of cigarettes and he didn’t hesitate at all reaching
into Sirius’ pocket himself to take it, his fingers wriggling against Sirius’ waist. A cigarette
between his teeth, he lit it, stoking the flames with his breath before continuing. “On the other
hand,” he said, pausing to inhale a deep breath of smoke and nicotine, “my mother’s love? I have
some evidence of it, letters she’d written me before my parents died, pictures of us together, but I
have to maintain a certain level of faith that she loved me because I can no longer see it or feel it.
At the same time, there is a constancy of doubt that I can never eliminate because her love is now
just an idea, just a memory. And if I try to remove that doubt, then I remove everything that gives
that faith meaning. Otherwise, it’s just blind submission.”

Stealing back his own pack of cigarettes from the priest, Sirius lit one, taking in a deep breath as he
looked back to Roman. “My problem is I’ve got all the doubt and none of the faith. Hard to believe
in a benevolent higher power when I had to watch my Bible-thumping father beat my younger
brother until he was bruised for getting a bad mark in maths.” On his hollow exhale, he winced a
bit as he saw the concern in Roman’s expression. “Sorry, I’m complaining to the wrong audience,
aren’t I?”

“You’re forgetting about the fact that I upended a whiskey bottle when we got on the subject of my
family,” Roman said with an acrid laugh. “My doubt outweighs my faith constantly. The only
difference is I’m required to pretend it doesn’t because of my … chosen profession.” By the way
he spoke, with a pause and a flash of his thick brows and an irritated purse of his lips, Sirius knew.

“You didn’t want to be a priest, did you?” With a laugh, Roman immediately shook his head.

“God, no,” he groaned, throwing his head back dramatically to let it burn through his throat.

“Then why stay? Why do it?” Sirius asked, taking another long drag, trying not to pay attention to
the way Roman had let himself drift a bit toward Sirius, where they leaned against the church
building.

“So that I can subvert my grandfather’s intent by nurturing the queer kids in this community
instead of shipping them off to straight camp, like he used to do.” An uncomfortable mass moved
into Sirius’ throat as he thought about the meaning in those words matched to the anger in
Roman’s face.

“Is that what he did to you?” Sirius asked carefully.

“Nearly,” Roman said with a pained smile. “The only reason he didn’t is because he was the priest
then, and he didn’t want people knowing his grandson was bent. Sent the boy I got caught with,
though.”

“So, you got caught in the act, too?” Sirius said with a knowing wince.

“Kissing a boy behind the stands at a municipal rugby match,” Roman answered, and Sirius could
swear there was arrogance in his smile before he took another drag on his cigarette. “You?”

“Caught with my shirt half off in my bedroom with the boy I was supposed to be doing a science
project with,” he laughed boisterously before holding his hand over his mouth to cover the noise of
his own laughter. “I’m surprised I didn’t kill my father with a heart attack right that moment.”

“You got there in the end,” Roman winked, then winced with his whole face, like he thought he
shouldn’t have said it. “You should’ve heard my argument. I tried convincing my grandfather that I
kissed that boy to prove to myself that I wasn’t gay. You can imagine how well that worked out for
me.” When he laughed, it was soft and light and subdued, but Sirius could hear the depth in his
chest that told him of how much bigger that laugh could be, how much fuller, how much more joy
he had left to put into it.

“I didn’t have an excuse,” Sirius said, shaking his head. “It was exactly what it looked like.”
Before Sirius could put the cigarette back to his lips, he let slip an untimely yawn, trying to cover it
quickly.

“Jesus, it’s two in the morning,” Roman said with a groan as he glanced at his watch.

“Oh, there it is,” Sirius said with a victorious grin at the way Roman let slip a very Irish
pronunciation of the word Sirius had been trying to get him to say earlier. “Say it again, I like that a
lot.”

Instead, Roman just rolled his eyes, but the coy smile on his face betrayed him. “Where are you
staying? Do you live close? God, please don’t tell me you’re being forced to stay with your
mother.”

With a shrug, Sirius answered. “I’ve just been driving in every day. My flat is just outside London,
so it’s not really that far of –” Before he could say more, Roman stood, watching Sirius with a
raised brow.

“Sirius, that’s nearly a two-hour drive,” he stated sternly, tossing his own cigarette onto the
pavement and leaning in to take Sirius’ cigarette straight from his mouth, not shy about the flagrant
way his fingertips brushed against Sirius’ lips. As he looked back to Sirius after flicking the
cigarette onto the pavement and stomping the embers out with his heel, he held out his hand the
same way he had that morning, and somehow, it felt like a lifetime ago. The hesitation that had
been there this morning was absent, and Sirius took Roman’s hand in full, reveling in its warmth
and strength and comfort.

And when Sirius stood, Roman didn’t take a step back to accommodate his presence. If anything,
he moved in, letting their entwined hands drift lazily down to their sides. “Stay with me tonight,”
Roman requested in a hushed voice, absently pushing his fingers between Sirius’ own, his honey
eyes searching Sirius’ face. But when Sirius’ brows raised and eyes widened, that deep burgundy
blush drove through Roman’s skin, the full moonlight highlighting freckles that Sirius hadn’t seen
in the sun. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for that to sound as salacious as it did,” he laughed lightly, but
he didn’t step away in the slightest.

“You’re such a flirt, Roman,” Sirius repeated, taking Roman’s other hand in his own.

“I might have to change my name now, I really like the way you say that one,” he exhaled heavily,
edging his face a bit closer to Sirius’ again, until their foreheads were nearly pressed together.

“Be honest, if I kissed you right now, what would you do?” Sirius asked, craning his neck so that
he could very purposefully, but very delicately, brush his lips against Roman’s, enjoying the
unsettled way Roman breathed in response to the soft stimulation. His expression was just short of
torturous.

“I’d …” he said, pausing to take several heaving breaths as he tilted his head forward to feel Sirius’
lips against his again. “I’d enjoy it immensely.” And when he spoke, he pressed a desperate moan
into his words and into Sirius’ open mouth. But before Sirius could surge forward, he added, “For
a few good seconds,” he said, closing his eyes tightly, “before the overwhelming guilt induced a
panic attack.”
“Dammit,” Sirius said with a soft laugh, speaking against Roman’s lips, and the helpless agony in
his expression only intensified. “I would just feel dreadful if I kissed you into a panic attack.”

Wordlessly, Roman blinked dreamily at him. “I’m still weighing risk versus benefit, and I really
want to say it would be the most worthwhile panic attack I’ve ever had.” His lips drew into a half
smile.

“My only concern,” Sirius teased, licking his lips so that his tongue would deliberately wet
Roman’s lips, “is that you would find out how good a kisser I am, and I would inevitably lead you
astray with my godless seduction.” In his impatience, Roman pressed forward just enough to let the
bridge of his nose slide down Sirius’ own, his hands moving from Sirius’ fingers up to Sirius’ face,
holding him just underneath the edge of his jaw with both hands. The way he tilted Sirius’ head
back felt decisive.

“Christ, say godless seduction to me again,” Roman laughed, and this time, it was the laugh that
Sirius knew lived in his lungs, heedless and deep and dangerous, and it sparked a growl in the back
of his throat that left Sirius leaning further into his body to feel the way it rumbled within Roman’s
chest.

“Better yet, tell me your first name, so I can moan it into your ear,” Sirius bargained, his hands
drifting up Roman’s chest, gripping tightly onto the zipper of his jacket. With a seething breath of
frustration, Roman’s grasp on Sirius’ throat strengthened substantially as he pressed Sirius heavily
into the wall of the church, letting all of his weight rest against Sirius, hips first and everything
between.

The surprising change in pace moved the breath from Sirius’ lungs all at once, and as he raised his
head to try to draw it back in, Roman nuzzled his face into the space along Sirius’ throat. “What
the fuck are you doing to me?” Roman whined, but his body’s intentions didn’t follow the worry in
his voice as Sirius felt him roll his hips against Sirius’ in order to nestle into the space between
Sirius’ legs.

Sirius wasn’t sure what did it. Maybe it was the feeling of Sirius, rigid against him. Maybe it was
the way Sirius panted a name that wasn’t really his. Maybe that guilt he’d been worried about had
finally overcome him. Whatever it was, Roman’s shoulders lost their tension all at once, and Sirius
felt his feet touch the pavement, though he hadn’t even been aware that Roman was holding him
off the ground.

Despite the resolve in his touch, despite the dilation of his dark eyes, despite the heave of his
chest, with a deep breath of new air, he pulled back a bit, his hands still on Sirius’ face, and placed
a tender kiss to the tip of Sirius’ nose, letting out a heavy exhale, followed by a quiet, apologetic
smile.

“The guilt won.” He smiled, but it was practically angry. He ran his hands through his hair, letting
his fingers drag down the underside of his jaw, ruffling the thick, unkempt stubble that covered his
face, and Sirius smiled at the way his unmanageable curls swept in around both ears. If they hadn’t
been standing under the moonlight, Sirius was fairly certain he would’ve seen the pink in Roman’s
ears.

“Maybe I should go,” Sirius offered, reasonably, because Sirius was only making this worse by
being here, and it could get exponentially worse if Sirius stayed over, after all the liquor they’d
consumed.

“Don’t,” Roman said quickly, taking hold of Sirius’ hand again. “Please.” To avoid looking at the
weakness in Sirius’ expression, Roman brought Sirius’ hand up, looking at the chipped black paint
on his fingernails and the red, heart-shaped tattoo he had on his middle finger. “I promise I’ll
behave.”

“It’s not you I’m worried about, Roman,” Sirius spoke insistently, closing his fingers around
Roman’s hands. “I’ve got nothing to lose if I give in right now, take you to your bedroom and …”
he stopped himself, suddenly aware of the despairing way Roman was waiting for Sirius to admit
just what he wanted to do with him. “I’m putting you in an awkward position, and I shouldn’t be.”

As Roman’s eyes fell closed, and a delicate smile moved over his features, he leaned in and
pressed a soft, lingering kiss to the heart on Sirius’ middle knuckle. “Remember when you said
once I got to know you, I would no longer find you lovable?” he paused, looking up at Sirius over
the tops of his golden glasses with his golden eyes and heavy lashes. “That was the biggest fucking
lie I have ever heard.”

Sirius couldn’t stifle the laugh that barreled out through his teeth. “Dammit, Roman, I’m trying to
be quiet. Aren’t there other people who live in the church?” he hissed in a loud whisper as Roman
opened the back door again and pulled Sirius into the dark hallway, down the pitch black of the
stairs.

“There’s a nun named Mary who lives upstairs, but she knows I’m a degenerate, so it’s fine,” he
said with a slight laugh, tugging at Sirius’ hand. In the dark, without seeing which stair he was
currently standing on, Sirius lurched forward. And apparently, Roman had already opened the door
and turned, because Sirius stumbled directly into his chest, his face colliding with the starched
edge of the collar around Roman’s throat. Without missing a beat, Roman said, with Sirius still
heavy against him, “See, this is the other reason I don’t take the collar off, my neck is my weak
spot. That would’ve ruined me.”

“You shouldn’t admit that while I’m still this close to you,” Sirius warned, adjusting slightly so
that he could press an open kiss to the corner of Roman’s jaw, just above the collar. In the dark,
Sirius couldn’t see the expression of surprise on Roman’s face, but he could hear the burdensome
breath that Roman exhaled hard through his nostrils, he could feel the way Roman’s hands
tightened on his waist.

“Fuck,” Roman groaned loudly, nuzzling his face against Sirius’ for a moment. “I thought you just
said you shouldn’t be putting me in an awkward position, and yet, here the fuck we are.” Just in
case Roman couldn’t do it, Sirius pulled himself away, smiling like an idiot as Roman turned on
the lights.

“Listen, I’m drunk, too,” Sirius argued. “And I get handsy when I’m drunk.”

“Oh my God,” Roman growled, pulling his hands through his hair as he made a wide circle around
where Sirius stood to prevent any further contact. “I have to go lock myself in my bedroom for a
while.”

“Does the celibacy thing include –” Sirius started to ask, but Roman interrupted quickly.

“Yes,” he said, emphatically, through tightly clenched teeth as he leaned out of his bedroom door,
giving himself one last glance of longing at Sirius, all the way down and all the way back up again.

“Are you sure it’s okay for me to stay? Maybe I should go bunk with Mary,” Sirius offered, biting
down on his lip as he watched Roman want him. But Roman’s desperation turned into a laugh.

“There are blankets and pillows in the cupboard behind you,” he nodded, the misery in his voice
laxed into something a bit more comfortable. “Sleep in as long as you like. I’ll try not to wake
you.”

“I wish you would,” Sirius grinned foolishly, glancing at Roman from over his shoulder as he
pulled a blanket and pillow from the cupboard behind Roman’s front door. “I’d really like to wake
up with you.”

“Fuck me,” Roman howled, vowels lingering, as he shut his bedroom door less than gently. From
the opposite side of the closed door, he called, “Good night, Sirius. You godless seductor.”

As he settled onto the couch with an arrogant grin, Sirius called back, “Good night, Father.” But
before he could let himself drift off to dreams of Roman, he had a text to send.

(Padfoot):

So. Turns out.

I’m sleeping over at the priest’s

(Moony):

first of all

hi I missed you

second of all

i thought priests were celibate

(Padfoot):

oh no he’s totally celibate

tried to kiss him. TWICE actually.

shut down both times

I’m on the sofa

(Moony):

that’s rough buddy

you sure you don’t need some …

release?

sounds frustrating

i could get you off VERY quickly

 (Padfoot):

oh god on the priest’s sofa??

with him in the next room

Jesus can you imagine

side note

GODDAMMIT MOONY

(Moony):

i said what i said

maybe he’d be into it

listening to you come, I mean

(Padfoot):

jesus fucking christ

(Moony):

does celibacy include masturbation?

(Padfoot):

You know. I tried to ask him that.

And I believe I got a yes

(Moony):

ehhh honestly

i bet it doesn’t even matter

who’s gonna fucking know

 (Padfoot):

GOD

(Moony):

oh. right.

sucks for your priest

(Padfoot):

Well

He is kind of a rule breaker

I mean. He SMOKES. And drinks.

(Moony):

you wanna test that theory?

how loud are you?

(Padfoot):

I am NOT masturbating on the priest’s sofa

(Moony):

i’m just saying

maybe he’s masturbating to you

right now. right this moment.

(Padfoot):

are you TURNED ON by this scenario?

(Moony):

hey you’re the one with the priest kink

hang on, listen, this is a foolproof test

if he makes you breakfast in the morning

he definitely wanked over you

(Padfoot):

Fuck offfff

maybe he’s just nice

(Moony):

oh my god

you’re expecting him to make you breakfast aren’t you

just how far did you get with this kiss??

(Padfoot):

IT DIDN’T EVEN GET TO THE KISS

(Moony):

sounds fake but okay

wait be honest

were you panting into his open mouth yes or no

(Padfoot):

oh my godddd moooonyyy

(Moony):

that sounds like a yes

 (Padfoot):

fuck.

it’s a yes

(Moony):

shiiit i fucking knew it

the priest is into you babe

well done padfoot

(Padfoot):

i’m confused, aren’t YOU into me?

(Moony):

oh I’m REALLY fucking into you

i’m just trying to get you horny

and if the priest does it for you

hell, I’ll reap his benefits

as long as you’re into me, too

(Padfoot):

you know I am you slick bastard

(Moony):

more than the priest?

(Padfoot):

the priest is not even an option

AND TECHNICALLY NEITHER ARE YOU

 which means you are not allowed to be jealous.

(Moony):

you slick bastard.

alright, I’ll stop trying to get you off

on the priest’s sofa

but leave tomorrow night open for me

(Padfoot):

If you text me tomorrow

The way you’ve been texting me today

I’ll come apart

(Moony):

i don’t want you to come apart

i just want you to come.

(Padfoot):

Fuck

GOODNIGHT MOONY

I HAVE TO STOP TEXTING RIGHT NOW

LIKE. IMMEDIATELY.

(Moony):

ooohhh padfoot, love

am I getting you hard?

(Padfoot):

GOODNIGHT MOONY
(Moony):

goodnight loverboy

Christ, this was getting complicated. Nearly kissing Roman (twice), being solicited to have phone
sex (text sex?) with Moony, and Sirius didn’t even know which of them he liked more. The way he
spoke to them felt so similar, the way he felt about them was so similar, but they were such wildly
different people. Not to mention, he couldn’t really be with either one of them. How could he have
gotten in so deep with both of them after only a day? Before he could give it more thought, he’d
fallen asleep.
 When You Go Away, I Get So Low
Chapter Summary

Sirius thinks he has come to an important realization before seeing Holyhead play
again.

The song Holyhead covers during their set is "Stay Where I Can See You" by (of
course) The Starting Line, which you can listen to here! :)

“What’s wrong with his face? Did he fall over drunk? Why isn’t he waking up? Does he have a
concussion? I’m legitimately starting to think he’s dead.” Sirius vaguely heard, coming from
somewhere on his left, just prior to feeling a soft stabbing sensation in his left cheekbone. He pried
open his right eye.

“It’s none of your business, he’s not drunk, he’s not dead. And for God’s sake, stop poking him,
why are you so fucking weird?” Sirius heard Roman say, off some distance in front of him, and he
was pretty sure his voice was coming from the kitchen. Sirius blinked a few more times to clear his
vision.

“Well, good morning, sleeping beauty,” said an unfamiliar voice attached to an unfamiliar face and
that unfamiliar face was covered in a head of electric blue hair, growing in dark at the roots.

“Hi,” Sirius croaked out, blinking against the sunlight coming in from the high window in the
basement wall from somewhere behind him. Sluggishly, he sat up, his head sort of pounding.

“Take a couple aspirin, Father Lupin set them out for you,” offered the unfamiliar face (that Sirius
now noticed had a nose ring and a bar through the top of his ear). The tablets were pressed into
Sirius’ hand before he even had time to get fully upright, a glass of water delicately arranged into
his other hand.

“Morning, Sirius,” he heard Roman call and Sirius looked up with a tired smile to find Roman just
where he expected. In the kitchen, making breakfast. While he was, of course, wearing his clerical
collar, he somehow looked so much more comfortable then. His dark, wild curls were absolutely
chaotic around his face, his tawny complexion glowing in the morning sun, round glasses a little
crooked on his nose, the heavy, dark circles underneath his amber eyes accentuating and enhancing
their colour and flash.

Sirius pulled his lips into his teeth as he vaguely began to remember what Moony had said the
night before. If he makes you breakfast in the morning, he definitely wanked over you. Just as
Moony had predicted, Roman was standing over the stove in front of two pans (that Sirius selfishly
hoped was eggs and bacon, but with the way his stomach was carrying on, he would be happy with
damn near anything).

“This is Teddy, by the way. Sorry, he doesn’t understand the concept of personal space,” Roman
laughed before it transitioned into a fond smile. “Your eye looks better this morning.” As he turned
his attention back to breakfast, Sirius looked over at Teddy again to find him looking back with a
devious sort of smirk, of which Sirius was pretty sure he knew the implication, given that Sirius
obviously slept over.
Still, it surprised him that Teddy came right out and asked, “Are you sleeping with Father Lupin?”

“Teddy!” Roman yelled from the stove as Sirius went still, blinking sharply.

“No,” Sirius assured him quickly. This kid couldn’t be more than sixteen. Maybe seventeen.

Teddy shrugged, unaffected. “Just curious.” But as soon as Roman’s back was turned to the stove
again, Teddy leaned in again while Sirius swallowed the aspirin. “Don’t fuck him up, okay?”

“Teddy, what the fuck are you saying to him?” Roman grumbled, currently flipping the bacon in
his pan (thank God, bacon). “I swear to God, you meddlesome little shit, when I get over there …”

“He downplays it, but this church is really important to him,” Teddy said under his breath to where
Roman couldn’t hear him. “So, if you are sleeping with him, be discreet, alright? If they take this
church away from him, there are a lot of kids who would have nowhere left to turn.”

“I’ve heard about the kids. Like you,” Sirius indicated, and Teddy nodded vigorously.

“I lived here for a month,” Teddy said with quiet emphasis, while Sirius could indistinctly hear the
sounds of Roman struggling to talk over him in the background. “After my foster dad kicked me
out.”

“You lived here? With …” He just barely stopped himself from saying Roman, “Father Lupin?”

Teddy sort of nodded, sort of shrugged. “Sort of. He slept in his office the whole time, let me have
the whole flat. Came down to cook me dinner at night and clean up and do my laundry and shit.”
With a fond furrow in his brow, Sirius looked back up to Roman, who was looking a bit flushed, as
if he knew the talk that Sirius was currently getting from Teddy. “And he would do that for any of
the kids that come through here. He keeps the kitchen stocked with emergency packs to give to the
ones who are in trouble, the ones who have nowhere else to go. Fills them with snacks, bottles of
water, blankets, first aid kits, pamphlets for a local crisis center – pays for all that shit himself.
Handwrites a Psalm to go in each one.”

“Wow, I …” Sirius let the breath fall from his lips. “I knew he helped, but …”

A soft smile moved over Teddy’s face. “I didn’t find out until I moved in with Dora – that’s my
new mum – but the whole time I was staying with him, he was fighting with the foster service
people because they were trying to send me back to my foster dad who didn’t even want me.” An
irritated snarl moved in to unsettle the smile on his face, but it reappeared quickly. “While he was
trying to find me a permanent home, he bought me all new clothes to replace the ones my foster
dad threw out, he went with me to meet mum the first time – hell, he helped her fill out all my
adoption paperwork.”

“He’s …” Sirius paused to take a breath. “He’s pretty remarkable, isn’t he?” Teddy nodded again.

“We all would’ve been dead to rights without him. So just –” he paused, glancing over his shoulder
to give Roman the finger as Roman turned off the stove, “don’t let him get caught.” As soon as
Roman came stomping over, Teddy stood and began throwing fake punches in Roman’s direction.

“Go,” Roman urged, handing Teddy a couple slices of bacon off the plate he set on the table in
front of Sirius before grabbing Teddy by the collar and shoving him toward the door. “Dora gets
fussy with me when I spoil your breakfast too often and you already ate all my cinnamon rolls
yesterday.”

“You mean the cinnamon rolls you made specifically for me?” Teddy grinned, leaning on the door.
“Goodbye, Teddy,” Roman said with a roll of his eyes but a smile of fondness on his face.

“Bye, Teddy,” Sirius called, and when Teddy looked at him pointedly, Sirius nodded subtly before
Teddy shut the door, his footsteps pounding up the stairs. With a sigh that spoke of a night that had
stayed too long coupled with a morning that came too early, Roman settled onto the sofa next to
Sirius, on top of the blankets that Sirius had just managed to smooth over on top of the sofa
cushions.

“Eat,” he said with a belligerent grin, watching Sirius out of his peripherals. “You look like shit.”

“Did you … make me breakfast?” Sirius asked with a brow that was raised in insinuation. For the
briefest of moments, there was a look on Roman’s face that was unquestionably prideful.
Arrogant, even.

“Of course,” he said, that look quickly replaced with an easy shrug of his shoulders, as if he
wouldn’t have even considered not making Sirius breakfast. “Did you sleep alright?”

“Would’ve slept better after a kiss goodnight,” Sirius attempted, watching Roman closely. A sad
smile moved over Roman’s face as he picked up the plate and handed it directly to Sirius.

“We were both drunk last night,” he explained, motioning for Sirius to eat, and Sirius was happy to
comply. “And I am very lucky that you are a gentleman and didn’t do something you knew I
shouldn’t have been trying to do in the first place.” With another sigh, he let himself fall into the
cushions.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been told by someone that they were lucky I didn’t kiss them,” Sirius said
with a playful grumble, shoving a forkful of bacon and eggs into his mouth and moaning at the
taste.

“Probably because you’ve never had to keep from kissing someone who was trying very hard to
break their own very fragile moral code.” With food still in his mouth, Sirius turned and spoke
anyway.

“Is it your moral code, though? Or it is the church’s moral code?” he asked.

“My profession dictates that they, ideally, should be the same,” Roman replied with a laugh,
propping his stocking feet up onto his coffee table, folding his hands peacefully over his chest.

“Did you eat?” Sirius asked, shifting his wrist to move the plate in front of Roman’s face, who
eyeballed the remaining food on the plate with what could only be described as voracity. Which,
incidentally, was very similar to the expression Sirius had seen in his face the night before.

“Em, yes, I did,” he blatantly lied, so Sirius rolled his eyes, stabbed a clump of scrambled eggs, and
held the fork just in front of Roman’s pursed lips. At first, Roman parted his lips to argue, but the
hunger defeated him, and he opened his mouth wide, letting Sirius place the fork tines between his
teeth.

“Where do you keep your utensils?” Sirius asked, handing off the plate in a way that left Roman
with no choice but to grab it, unless he wanted eggs all over his floor. He sighed, vanquished.

“In the drawer to the right of the stove,” he half-called, through a mouthful of eggs. Quickly, Sirius
grabbed a second fork and went back to the sofa. With one leg folded onto the couch, Sirius sat
facing Roman as they shared breakfast, with Sirius leaning in close to keep from spilling his eggs.

“I guess you’ll have to figure out the eulogy without me.” Sirius asked as he motioned with his fork
for Roman to take the last slice of bacon. Instead, Roman halved it and handed half to Sirius.

“What? Why?” Roman asked, his voice spiking in pitch, sounding panicked. “I can’t do it without
you. I need you.” The way he said it left a fluttering deep in Sirius’ stomach. He swallowed to
dispel it.

“Is it a good idea for me to hang around after last night?” Sirius asked with a sigh that came out far
too desperate and wanting and forlorn. “It seems pretty obvious that we … that we’re …”

“You can say it,” Roman shrugged, eyeing Sirius as he said, “I am really fucking attracted to you.”

“Jesus, Roman,” Sirius sputtered, feeling his cheeks surge with a wild rush of blood. Funny how
similar it was to the way Moony had said, in just last night’s text, oh I’m REALLY fucking into you.

“Are you surprised by that information?” Roman laughed loudly, a look of bewilderment on his
expression. “I had you pressed to the wall of the church last night. Like you said – it’s pretty
obvious.”

“Based on the way you were talking about your moral code a minute ago,” Sirius said, leaning back
onto the arm of the sofa, still facing Roman with one leg crossed over the sofa, “I kinda figured we
were going to start pretending that last night never happened and chalk it up to a drunken accident.”

“No accident,” Roman stated very softly, almost despondently, but the corners of his lips turned up
madly as he added, “I’m sober as shit right now and I’d still love to have your tongue in my
mouth.”

“Goddammit,” Sirius seethed, throwing his head back over the sofa cushion.

“But,” Roman continued, firmly. “We both know I can’t let last night happen again.”

“I know,” Sirius said with a deep breath in, deep breath out. “Which is why I should go.”

“We’re adults,” Roman said in a loud voice, as if trying to convince himself as much as he was
trying to convince Sirius. “We should be able to write your dad’s fucking eulogy without wanting
to tear each other’s clothes off.” With a loud bark of laughter, Sirius rolled over on the sofa in
hysterics.

“It’s a eulogy for God’s sake, it should not be leading to this much sexual tension,” he managed to
get out through laughter that was so deep, it shook his whole body. “What the fuck is wrong with
us?”

Next to him, Sirius could feel Roman leaning over, holding his sides, and he could hear the soft
wheeze of laughter so full, it was practically inaudible. “It’s the euphoria of your dad’s death.”

“God, that makes me sound like such a dick!” Sirius roared, tears pooling at the corners of his
eyes. “I’m so elated that my arsehole of a father is dead that I want to celebrate it. Carnally.”

“Christ, don’t use the word carnal, you sound like my grandfather.” As Roman stuck out his
tongue in an overly dramatic gag, he slid down the sofa cushion, his head resting on Sirius’
shoulder.

“I don’t even know what help I’ll be for writing this stupid thing, I have nothing good to say about
the man.” Sirius absently snuggled in closer to Roman, nuzzling the top of Roman’s head with the
stubble on his own cheek. “I only offered to do this so I could spend more time with you. Because
you’re hot.”

“I’m honestly relieved to hear that,” Roman hummed before letting a yawn slip through his teeth,
unsettling where Sirius was resting his head. “You know, because I said I was really fucking
attracted to you and then you didn’t return the sentiment, so I was worried this pining was all sort
of one-sided.”

“Roman,” Sirius said solemnly, his eyes fighting sleep. “I’m really fucking attracted to you.”

“As much as I like the way you say Roman,” he whispered, growing heavier against Sirius’ side. In
his drowsy oblivion, Sirius slipped his arm around his shoulder and Roman fell forward into Sirius’
chest, but Sirius didn’t correct it, just settled back as Roman softly admitted, “My name is Remus.”

“Remus,” Sirius repeated in an airy, dreamy voice, finding great satisfaction in that name, like it
was a secret he’d been trying to discover all his life. “Oh, that suits you so much better. Remus.”

“God, I like the way you say that even more,” Remus sighed blissfully, shifting his position until
he was lying between Sirius’ legs, and he took his glasses off and set them gently onto the table so
that he could rest his head softly onto the center of Sirius’ sternum, closing his eyes. “Say it again.”

“Get some sleep, Remus.” He buried his lips in Remus’ hair. “So I can wake up with you this
time.”

It couldn’t have been more than an hour, maybe a bit more, before Sirius roused from his nap on
Roman’s – sorry, Remus’ sofa. When he woke, the priest he now knew as Remus Lupin was still
asleep in the same place, on Sirius’ chest, with one hand curled loosely around Sirius’ hip, his
fingers budging up just a bit underneath the hem of Sirius’ Holyhead T-shirt (the one he’d now
been wearing for two days).

As the rhythm of the breath in Remus’ chest became lighter and shallower and more deliberate,
carrying the indication that Remus was moving out of sleep, Sirius let his eyes fall closed again.
And maybe it was a little bit devious, but he wanted to see how Remus (God, that name was so
fucking cute, it somehow made Sirius’ attraction to him so much worse) would react to waking up
on top of him.

At first, nothing changed. Remus didn’t move at all. Sirius nearly opened his eyes to see if he’d
been wrong, to see if Remus was actually still asleep. Before he could peek, he felt Remus move
his head, and Sirius was fairly certain Remus was glancing up at him. This position was short-lived
– Sirius felt Remus rest his face over his chest again, his fingers flexing at the sliver of Sirius’ bare
skin under his shirt.

“I’ve got to stop doing this to you,” Remus whispered, his breath warming Sirius’ belly to such an
extent that Sirius expended all of his physical restraint to stifle the shiver in his skin. “On both
sides.”

In his sudden surprise and confusion at this confession being spoken into his skin, Sirius took a
breath. Luckily, he was able to cover it, using the inhalation to stretch and writhe and wriggle
underneath Remus. When he looked down with sleepy eyes and a tired smile, he was more than
pleased to find Remus doing exactly the same, reaching for his glasses on the table before slipping
them onto his nose.
“Good morning again, Moony,” Sirius mistakenly said in his sleep-deprived, lovesick delirium. At
first, Sirius didn’t realise his error, but when he did, he sharply realised that Remus didn’t respond
to being called the wrong name the way Sirius would’ve expected. In fact, despite being exhausted,
despite the dark circles under his amber eyes, the smile on Remus’ face was rapturous, as if he
reveled in it.

“Mm, morning, Pa–” He stopped mid-word, immediately clamping his mouth shut, golden eyes
drawing wide. “Wait, what did you just say?” At this point, it was Sirius’ turn for his eyes to
widen.

“Shit,” was the first thing that fell from his lips. He tried to think of something else to say. “Shit.”

“Oh my God,” Remus said in an exhale, mouth falling open, but his eyes brightening wildly, his
cheeks widening into a grin of absolute delight. “You just called me Moony, didn’t you?”

“No? Fuck,” Sirius groaned, letting his head fall back onto the arm of the sofa.

“You did.” His voice was practically giddy – why was he so happy about this? Still between Sirius’
legs, he dragged himself further up the sofa so he could look into Sirius’ face, and Sirius had to call
back all that restraint he’d wasted before, as he felt Remus’ hips align to his own, his legs spread
around them.

“I was half asleep, I must’ve been dreaming,” Sirius rationalized, worrying his bottom lip, and
hoping that Remus wouldn’t keep adjusting because it was beginning to feel a lot like thrusting.

“You must really like this Moony to be dreaming about him with another bloke asleep on your
chest,” Remus teased, attention drifting down to where Sirius was still anxiously nibbling on his
lip.

“Are you jealous, Father?” Sirius used his title to make him squirm, but in retrospect, that was an
absolutely fucking terrible idea because squirm is exactly what he did. Right between Sirius’ legs.

“I shouldn’t be, should I?” Remus’ voice dropped low as he recognized the undoing in Sirius’
expression, the nervous way Sirius swallowed and arched away from him. “Neither of us can have
you.”

“Remus,” Sirius said unsteadily, breath moving from his lips in scattered pieces.

“Oh,” Remus sighed torturously. “Please don’t say my name that way.”

“What way?” Sirius asked absently, still focused on consciously trying to minimize the way his
body was responding to Remus between his legs, Remus speaking low, Remus wearing that
expression.

“The way I imagine you would say it when you’re –” Sirius didn’t get to find out if he was going to
admit to something very incriminating or hide behind sarcasm because Remus stopped speaking
rather suddenly. In the same moment, he carefully shifted weight to place one foot onto the ground
in what Sirius was sure was an effort to get off the sofa, to separate himself from Sirius. However,
his socked foot slid out from underneath him, and in his attempt to catch himself, he went toppling
forward, steadying himself against the arm of the sofa and bracing with one hand on either side of
Sirius’ head.

With the whole of Remus’ weight pressed closely against him, there was no ambiguity. Sirius’ legs
were spread, Remus was settled firmly between them, and his want was explicit. In their surprise,
both of them with blushing cheeks in different shades, they went dreadfully still, eyes darting back
and forth.

And then, Remus did the one thing that Sirius never would’ve expected him to do, the one thing
that Sirius knew he couldn’t let himself do. Mouth slightly ajar, amber eyes taking in every slight
transition in Sirius’ expression from below him, Remus arched into Sirius, rolling his hips
deliberately and slowly.

The obscene, breathy moan moved from Sirius’ lips before he even knew his mouth had fallen
open, a similar sound echoing out from Remus’ throat at the unexpected but welcome contact.
Before Sirius could say his name again, in that unsteady way that evidently made Remus feel a
little more untamed than usual, Remus stood quickly, sliding awkwardly in his socks on the wood
floors.

“Oh, God, yeah, okay, you were right, I can’t fucking do this,” Remus rambled, driving both hands
into his hair as he turned his back to Sirius, walking into the kitchen toward the furthest wall away
from Sirius in the tiny basement flat. In his despair, he closed both arms around his face to let out a
growl.

“Remus, I’m sorry,” Sirius called softly, sitting up on the sofa, locking his hands in his lap.

“After last night,” Remus started, speaking quickly, holding his hands behind his head, his elbows
jutting out to each side, “I thought I’d just had too much to drink and I could control myself around
you in the daylight, but you’re too fucking soft and too fucking pretty and I want to do things to you
that are godless and vile and profane and I’m – I’m – I’m a fucking priest, for Christ’s sake.” He
stuttered through his distressed rant, voice rising and rising until it was nearly a shout. And Sirius
sat there, hands in his lap to cover a rapidly dwindling erection, like he was back in Catholic
School, in trouble for kissing a boy.

“I am so sorry,” he said again, wincing at the way Remus paced back and forth in the kitchen.

“This isn’t your fault!” Remus practically shouted, coming out as a helpless and bitter laugh. “It’s
not your fault that you’re soft and pretty and kind and funny, and it’s not your fault that I’m
inherently drawn to you because you’re charmingly mischievous or because your mouth is nearly
as filthy as mine.”

Sirius blanked out his expression to try to pretend he wasn’t pleased by any of this. Before he could
apologize again, Remus continued, his voice softening as he watched Sirius with dedication. “I
have never had this problem. Not in all of seminary, not in any of my six years in this church.” He
took a few cautious steps forward but fell to his knees halfway to the sofa. “In less than three days,
you have destroyed my conviction.” His fingers slid tightly down his throat, catching on the
starched edge of his clerical collar and for a moment, the snarl in his sharpened teeth looked like he
might tear it off. Instead, his fingers went still, and he watched Sirius with wild, fearful eyes. “And
that scares the shit out of me.”

“Then I’ll go,” Sirius decided for him, slipping on the leather boots that he’d discarded at the edge
of the sofa the night before, but not wasting the time lacing them. He stood, nodding in
determination, not taking his eyes off of Remus. The terror in Remus’ expression augmented as
Sirius readied to leave.

“I want to stop you, Sirius,” he replied with an audible whine in his throat. “I want to drag you back
into this flat and tell you the truth and kiss you ruthlessly.” There was an unholy growl in his voice,
words spoken through teeth clenched in violent wretchedness. “I want it so bad that it hurts. I want
you so bad that I have thought of leaving the church no less than a hundred times since last night,
just so I could know the taste of you.” An unexpected blush moved through Sirius cheeks, a flutter
in his stomach.

“And I want you badly enough that I wouldn’t even try to stop you,” Sirius admitted under a heavy
swallow. “Which is why I think it’s probably time for us to work on this eulogy separately.”

“You would’ve been miserable, you know,” Remus said solemnly as Sirius’ fingers moved over
the doorknob. “If you’d stayed any longer, the waiting would’ve made you hate me eventually.”

With a cheerless smile, Sirius replied, trying to avoid looking longingly at Remus as he moved
through the open door. “Nah. The waiting was nearly the best part.” He shut the door behind him.

The drive home felt longer than usual. It was probably the despondent pit that had made itself a
home in the bottom of his gut. Logically, he knew this made no sense. He knew when he met
Remus that he was unavailable, he knew it would end up like this. What he hadn’t anticipated was
how attached he would become to him. Even as he’d called him by the wrong name, even after
each time Remus had turned down Sirius’ advances, little by little, he had grown far too enamored
with him.

His mobile rang, interrupting the current song playing on Sirius’ phone, displaying James’ name on
the center console of his car. As Sirius answered, James’ voice emerged from the speakers.

“You didn’t come home last night,” James said immediately, and Sirius smiled at his use of the
word home. “Did you stay with your mother?” James asked, shock and disgust in his voice.

“No,” Sirius said with a dreadfully deep sigh. “I stayed with the priest.”

“You slept with the priest?” James shouted, his voice surely spiking three octaves.

“I said I stayed with the priest,” Sirius clarified, enunciating more clearly. “I slept on his couch.”

For a beat, James was quiet. “Sorry, did you know this priest before yesterday?”

“Not really,” Sirius said, knowing he was being vague, knowing he was giving short answers that
James probably interpreted as angry, but he didn’t really feel like discussing the last twelve hours.

“I feel like I’m missing something here, Sirius,” James said with a laugh, obviously trying to
lighten the heavy mood of the conversation. At the same time, his voice softened, the way it did
when he knew something was wrong. This time, it was Sirius’ turn to fill the conversation with
awkward silence.

“I told you I was going to help him write Orion’s eulogy for this Friday,” he trailed off, trying to
figure out the right way to phrase this, “but it turns out we’re both too gay to work together.”

A series of unintelligible verbalizations stuttered through the line until James finally took a breath
and decided to go with, “Did he … make a pass at you or something?” Sirius let out a sharp laugh.

“I made multiple passes at him, which was really fucking stupid because he’s a goddamn priest and
even if he reciprocated, which he does, he is not allowed to date me. Or see me ever again.”

“Oh,” James said on a lingering sigh. “Shit, Sirius, I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah, it’s fine, I brought this on myself,” he groaned angrily.

“Maybe this will cheer you up,” James said with a curious tilt in his voice. Sirius went still.

“Oh my God, Lily’s pregnant.”

James laughed obnoxiously loudly. “I mean, maybe? We won’t know for a while, Sirius.”

“Oh. Well, fuck. Whatever your news is, I ruined it, because that would’ve been way better,” he
said in a bit of a huff while James continued to laugh, until Sirius badgered him into continuing.

“You remember the show Lily is having tonight, right? At Gringotts?” James asked.

“Shit, that’s right. Is that the pub that Bill Weasley owns? Two streets over from my place?”

“That’s the one,” James said, his voice getting higher, more excited. “Another band backed out at
the last minute, so guess who took their slot?” For some reason, at the thought of Moony, Sirius’
heart didn’t flutter in the way he expected it. Strangely, it felt heavy in his chest. Like it did for
Remus.

“It’s Holyhead, isn’t it?” he asked, unable to raise the flatness of his voice.

“I thought you’d be more excited!” James whined pathetically. “You’re still texting him, right?”

“Yeah, we’re still texting,” Sirius confirmed, but the more he thought about it, the more he realised
that Moony hadn’t texted him all day. And neither had he texted Moony. Were they even still
texting? All that had been going on with Remus had overshadowed this thing with Moony. And it
wasn’t like it mattered all that much anyway, he couldn’t be with Moony either. God, this was
frustrating. So frustrating that he voiced his grievances. “But I can’t date him either, for reasons
unknown.”

“Right,” James responded with a sigh. “Maybe three days of texting you has changed his mind?”

“Yeah, like that h–” He stopped suddenly, struck with a sudden realization. “Say that again.”

“You met him three days ago, right?” James repeated, his voice bordering unsure. “Wait, that was
three days ago, wasn’t it? What’s today? Did I lose a day?” Sirius unintentionally ignored him.

“He said less than three days,” Sirius whispered aloud, to himself only, his mind carrying on in the
background as James continued to speak, entirely unheard as Sirius thought back to his
conversation with Remus earlier. In the middle of his existential crisis, Remus had said ‘In less
than three days, you have destroyed my conviction,’ but it hadn’t been the thing Sirius focused on.
After all, it had been less than three days, because he’d only known Remus a day and a half. Why
would he say three instead of two?

If it had been the only strange thing Remus had said that morning, Sirius wouldn’t have noticed it.
But when Remus spoke into Sirius’ skin under the impression that Sirius was still asleep, he’d said,
‘I have to stop doing this to you, on both sides,’ and Sirius didn’t understand what he’d meant by
that.

Afterward, with Remus between his legs, when Sirius asked if he was jealous and he’d replied
with, ‘I shouldn’t be, should I? Neither of us can have you,’ Sirius should’ve realised then that he’d
never told Remus that he wasn’t allowed to date Moony. He’d only complained to James about
that.
When Sirius had accidentally called him Moony, the look on Remus’ face had been elation. Sirius
had been so flustered by getting caught calling him the wrong name that he’d overlooked it
entirely, but now that he thought about it, when Remus started to respond, he’d nearly said
something in response.

“Padfoot,” Sirius breathed out as the awareness came surging in like a thunderstorm. That’s the
word that had nearly moved from Remus’ lips then. He had nearly called Sirius Padfoot in
response to Sirius calling him Moony. And the only person in the world who knew that name …
was Moony.

“Sirius? Still there? What are you talking about?” James’ voice became clear.

“James, I … fuck, I think Moony and the priest are the same guy,” he stammered out, running
through everything over again in his head. When Moony had admitted he was not available, he
never said he didn’t want a relationship. His exact phrasing was he was not able to date. Not
allowed to date.

“Okaaay,” James said in obvious disbelief. “But Moony is covered in tattoos. He has throat
tattoos.” For a moment, it left Sirius hesitating, wondering if this was a little too much wishful
thinking.

“And Remus never takes off his clerical collar,” Sirius said, the reasoning piling up. “Over the last
two days, I never saw him without it, and I never saw him in anything other than long sleeves.”

James was silent again. “I’m really wondering what you’ve been doing with this priest over the last
two days that you find it strange that you didn’t see him without the collar and long sleeves.”

“Mostly getting drunk and breaking into my mother’s house.”

“Sirius, what the fuck.”

“James,” Sirius said emphatically. “He smokes, he drinks, he swears more than I do, he whistles
Pink Floyd in the church, and he knows more about Something Wicked than a priest should know, I
am telling you …” he stopped to let out a breath of relief. “Father Lupin is the bass player of
Holyhead.”

“You sound like you’re excited about this.”

“I shouldn’t be, should I?” he said, recognizing that it was the same thing Remus had said to him
about being jealous of Moony. Now, Sirius knew why he shouldn’t be jealous of Moony. “I still
can’t date him, either way, but … it means I’m not cut off. I still have Moony, and Moony is still
Remus.”

“Jesus, you’ve got it bad for this bloke, don’t you?” James said, his grin audible. Just as Sirius
parked his car in front of his flat, a notification vibrated the phone tucked underneath his thigh. On
the screen of his car, it showed the sender of the message, but not the content. It was Moony. And
it had been exactly two hours from the time that he left Remus’ church. Remus, who knew it took
Sirius two hours to get home. It could’ve been pure coincidence, but Sirius suddenly found that so
unlikely.

“It’s Moony, he’s texting me now.” Sirius felt the excitement burning into his veins.

“Don’t say anything,” James advised. “What if you’re wrong?”

“First of all, I’m one hundred percent right,” Sirius argued. “But, yeah, I’m still not going to say
anything because it changes nothing. But also, because I want to fuck with him a little.”

“And hey, now you know what Moony looks like!” James said with a happy, little hum.

“Correct, which means you owe me ten quid, mate. Because he’s a fucking smokeshow.”

“Goddammit.” James’ happy little hum turned into a grumble as he disconnected the call.

It took Sirius a little while to check his phone because he had all of Regulus’ things still in his car
from the day before and he wasn’t about to leave it there for another day. Besides, after Remus had
kept this secret from him (begrudgingly, Sirius could understand why he had), he could stand to
sweat a bit.

Finally, once all of Regulus’ things had found new homes inside Sirius’ flat (including the Drama
Club cardigan that Sirius hung on the back of the chair in his office), he finally threw himself onto
his bed and looked at the message on his phone with a knowing smirk in the corner of his mouth.

(Moony):

haven’t heard from you today

still with the hot priest?

(Padfoot):

not with hot priest

i’m not allowed to see him anymore

just like I’m not allowed to see you

i’m literally in hell

(Moony):

horny hell

(Padfoot):

considering I woke up

with the hot priest between my legs

yeah.

horny hell.
(Moony):

damn that priest must really like you

Sirius couldn’t decide which emotion surged in first, because he felt them all rather simultaneously
– giddiness, disappointment, resentment. He started to realise, quite obviously, that Moony had
never texted him when Remus was in sight. Their conversation right before Mass, their
conversation right after Mass, talking about getting off on the priest’s sofa – it had all been Remus.

It made Sirius rethink every single thing Moony had ever said to him. When he implied the priest
would make him breakfast the next morning, it was because Remus had already been diabolically
planning to make Sirius breakfast anyway. And Moony had been pretty insistent that the priest was
surely behind those closed doors pleasuring himself to the thought of Sirius. Had that been a
confession?

(Moony):

hang on that wording is a little unclear

did you actually sleep with the priest???

is that why you’re not allowed to see him?

OH MY GOD DID YOU GET CAUGHT

(Padfoot):

no.

that might be easier to accept.

he just. had a change of heart.

(Moony):

oh.

if I had to guess

the guilt got the better of him

he made vows and shit, right?

(Padfoot):

yeah I mean I can’t blame him

 sucks for me tho

(Moony):

you liked him quite a bit didn’t you

(Padfoot):

Yeah.

(Moony):

be honest

you like him more than me?

(Padfoot):

i mean

that’s hard to say

since he was a human being

and you’re practically imaginary.

(Moony):

DAMN

OUCH

low blow

(Padfoot):

what do you want me to say moony

if I could nearly kiss YOU several times

and wake up with YOU between my legs

THEN I WOULD STILL FEEL LIKE SHIT

 BECAUSE I CAN’T HAVE YOU EITHER

goddammit

(Moony):

valid point

you want me to say something filthy to cheer you up?

(Padfoot):

I can’t decide which is worse in this situation

(Moony):

which WHAT is worse?

(Padfoot):

physically being with the hot priest

but not being PHYSICAL with him

or being distanced from you

while being VERY physical

(Moony):

technically I wouldn’t be physical with you

YOU would be physical with you.

to the idea of me

(Padfoot):

Exactly.

(Moony):

come now padfoot

cheer up

you know i love it when you get excited

(Padfoot):

not a whole lot to get excited about

also I’m sure that was a euphemism

but I’m electing to ignore it

(Moony):

listen I’ll make a deal with you

i’m playing a show tonight

at Gringotts

come and watch me

i’ll make it all up to you.

(Padfoot):

oh that’s cute.

you’ll make it up to me.

you plan to kiss me through the surgical mask or

(Moony):

we’re playing a new cover song

and i think you’ll approve.

(Padfoot):

is that all I get?

FOR ALL MY SUFFERING

(Moony):
well i TRIED to talk dirty to you

(Padfoot):

alright fine

you talked me into it, you perv

give me something obscene

to get me through until tonight

(Moony):

generally obscene or specifically obscene?

(Padfoot):

Does specific mean

Specific to you?

(Moony):

Specific to me.

(Padfoot):

Yeah. i want that.

i want you.

(Moony):

fuck me

thank you for giving me something to work with

(Padfoot):

you’re welcome
(Moony):

since we’ve been texting just now

i WAS going to get in the shower

i’ve slowly been taking off all my clothes

but i didn’t want to stop texting you.

and now i’m just lying in bed naked

thinking of you, asking me to be obscene

telling me you want me specifically.

(Padfoot):

fuck you’re good at this

(Moony):

it was just inattentive touching at first

fingertips ghosting over naked skin

wishing they were yours.

the more i wished it was your touch

the heavier it became

and now i’m stroking my cock, lazy and slow

wishing it was yours.

(Padfoot):

good fucking god

I shouldn’t have asked for specific

fuck fuck fuck

I’m going to have to see you tonight

and know that I can’t even kiss you

can’t even see your face

goddammit
(Moony):

shit this was supposed to cheer you up

or distract you

or something

god i’m sorry i’ve made it worse

(Padfoot):

it’s only because I like you so damn much

(Moony):

even more than the priest?

(Padfoot):

you’re SO competitive with the priest

but, em, well

the priest doesn’t talk about stroking my cock, so.

(Moony):

bet he would if he could

i’d bet he thinks about it

(Padfoot):

he was definitely thinking about it

while he was between my legs

he was thinking about it really hard

(Moony):

christ, he’s either a fucking saint

or a fucking idiot.

to be hard, to feel YOU hard

and just … walk the fuck away

(Padfoot):

he’s a bit of both tbh

(Moony):

i guess that makes two of us

because i’m doing the same damn thing

(Padfoot):

except you’re not a saint.

(Moony):

far fucking from it

but i AM definitely an idiot

because as difficult as this is for you

just know that i am in AGONY

to be this attracted to you

and unable to do anything about it

except get you horny over a text

(Padfoot):

i’ll take what I can get

besides, I get to watch you play tonight

and when you finger that bass line

i’ll wish it was me

(Moony):

godfuckingdammit

(Padfoot):

i’ll leave you to it

i’m sure it’s hard to text with one hand

(Moony):

you joke but i’m being very literal here

i’m getting in the shower to finish

want me to say your name while I come?

(Padfoot):

FUCK.

Yes. Please.

(Moony):

i’ll see you tonight.

text me after the show, i’ll return the favour.

With a weighted sigh, Sirius threw himself onto the bed, profoundly contemplating following in
Remus’ footsteps, getting in the shower, and taking care of the growing problem between his legs.
But it was oddly difficult to reconcile Moony with Remus, especially with how heedless he was in
his provocative texts, compared with how conflicted Remus had been over a brushing of covered
skin.

Maybe it was because the attraction was distanced through text. Maybe he could convince himself
that he wasn’t breaking any vows as long as he didn’t touch Sirius and Sirius didn’t touch him in
return, as long as it remained semi-anonymous, as long as they were physically separated.

Still, that conversation with Moony made Sirius doubt how certain he was that Moony was, in fact,
Father Lupin. After all, when Sirius left Remus’ flat, Remus was morose, but when Moony texted
him, it was like nothing had happened. And maybe nothing had happened with Moony. Because
maybe he wasn’t Remus. If Sirius was honest with himself, if Moony wasn’t Remus? Well, that
changed things.
He and James arrived early to the show, as they did every show, to help Lily and the rest of the
band move in all their equipment and set up their merch table. There was a knot in Sirius’ stomach
that he couldn’t ignore, and he’d lied to himself, pretending he didn’t know why it was there, but
he knew.

It was stress. The stress of seeing Moony again for the first time since everything happened with
Remus, the stress of trying to figure out if they were the same fucking person, the stress of how he
would react if they weren’t the same person. Because, ultimately, given the choice between the
two of them, there wasn’t much of a choice. Not like it mattered, he wasn’t allowed to be with
either one of them.

Sometime after the first band’s set had already started (a local group of teenagers who had a lot of
spirit but not a lot of experience), Holyhead arrived. Sirius was standing along the back wall when
the door opened, flooding the otherwise dark venue with bursts of dying sunlight. First through the
door was Marlene, pulling Dorcas along behind her, their fingers intertwined, and Moony was
closely in third, ducking his head slightly to get through the aged, sunken doorframe. Sirius went
still at the sight of him.

Just like the last time Sirius had seen him, he was covering the bottom half of his face with a black
mask, still paper, but a little more form-fitted to his face. There were still sunglasses obscuring
eyes that Sirius could only hope were golden in colour, but they were different than the last show,
trading in the giant, oversized frames for heart-shaped lenses. His dark hair was tucked into a
slouchy knitted cap, this one black, and Sirius realised this choice was intentional to conceal the
defining wild curl of his hair.

As the three of them walked into the pub, it was like watching a celebrity entourage move through
the crowd. Whispers dispersed through the mouths of the onlookers as they passed, their subject
material oblivious and imprudent. With Moony towering behind them, it made Marlene and Dorcas
look like heiresses in the company of their intimidating bodyguard (with heart-shaped glasses).

Like the last time, Moony wore an ironic black T-shirt under blue plaid, the sleeves rolled up to
showcase his full sleeves of tattoos on both arms. This time around, his T-shirt read, ‘Jesus listens
to pop-punk, the Devil listens to rock and roll’ with a stained glass pattern behind it, and Sirius had
never wanted to steal an item of clothing so badly. When his attention drifted up past the collar of
that shirt to the tattoo completely encircling Moony’s throat, Sirius pretended like he wasn’t
visually measuring it to see if it would fit underneath a clerical collar. On closer inspection, he
realised it was a tattoo of a moth, with blue stars and silver crescent moons hidden within its black
and gold wings. It started down at his collarbone, most of it hidden by his layered shirts, the
delicate antennae twirling up over his Adam’s apple, nestled within forest green ivy and turquoise
ferns and wrapped up in tiny white flowers.

Before Sirius could spend any more time identifying and analyzing and memorizing Moony’s
tattoos, the trio strode past him, instruments and equipment in hand. At first, it almost seemed like
they hadn’t noticed him, his black wardrobe blending into a dark background. But he just barely
managed to capture the look shared between Marlene and Dorcas as they swept past him – he
turned his head to look after them as they glanced back in his direction. With his face turned, he
wasn’t looking at Moony.

In the next moment, he felt Moony’s hand cup the curve of his jaw, his callused fingers slipping
over Sirius’ ear, his thumb sweeping across the residual bruising at the bottom of Sirius’ eye
socket, just like the first time. But Moony didn’t stop walking. Instead, he let his touch slide down
Sirius’ jaw, fingers ghosting across Sirius’ face, his arm trailing behind him in an effort to keep his
skin against Sirius’ skin for as long as he was able. In response, Sirius craned his neck, nuzzling
his cheek against the inside of Moony’s palm as it swept across him, even going so far as to lift his
hand to hold it over Moony’s in an effort to keep it there that much longer. As he passed, he spun
on his heels to watch Sirius’ expression.

If there was a familiar smile on Moony’s concealed face, he didn’t see it. If there were amber eyes
behind those heart-shaped lenses, Sirius couldn’t tell. But there was one thing he knew, the only
faith in his life without the doubt beside, and that was the certainty in recognizing Remus Lupin’s
touch. It was him. He could feel it in the fondness of his caress, the confidence in his grasp, the
sincerity in his reach.

It was Remus. It was Remus who was covered in massive amounts of tattoos. It was Remus with
the bass slung low over his hips. It was Remus who named him Padfoot. It was Remus who said
he couldn’t imagine ever getting sick of Sirius. It was Remus who encouraged him to masturbate in
his own living room. It was Remus who said he was in agony being so attracted to Sirius with no
outlet.

And Sirius had never in his life felt so relieved. Whether he recognized it or not, this was the
fruition of a fantasy before he could even dream it up. Because, realistically, in the beginning, he
couldn’t have hoped that Moony and Remus were the same person because the thought never even
entered his mind. But every moment spent with Remus felt exactly the same as every text from
Moony, every pleasant tug at the bottom of his gut, every anxious flutter in the depths of his chest,
every provoked shudder in his skin. Somewhere in his subconscious, he knew all along – he
wanted it all with Remus.

Holyhead disappeared toward the back as Fidelius set up on stage. Sirius wanted to support Lily
and Frank and Alice and Kingsley, but his heart was wherever Remus was. Despite the pull in his
chest to go find Moony, to find Remus, he instead pushed through to the front of the crowd, where
James was standing, smiling dreamily at his wife, who was currently testing the mic against her
bass drum.

Throughout the set, Sirius found himself glancing around for a sign of Moony but was always out
of luck. He was so distracted that James hit him multiple times, Lily threw a drumstick at his face
(and smiled innocently when he looked over), and Kingsley played his bass solo directly into
Sirius’ ear. All of this unfazed him, he barely took heed of them at all. Fidelius always played a
phenomenal show, he didn’t need to pay attention to know that. Besides, there was something very
important vying for his focus.

By the time Fidelius finished and Holyhead moved onto the stage to set up, Sirius had worked his
way to the very front of stage, on the right side, where Moony had been the last time. At first, as
Moony was setting up, he didn’t acknowledge Sirius (of course, how would Sirius know if he did,
since Moony didn’t ever speak to him directly and covered the entirety of his face whenever he
was in public).

“Hi,” Sirius finally said when Moony knelt to fiddle with his pedals. In his response, Moony
reached out and held Sirius tenderly by the chin with his long fingers curled over Sirius’ jawline,
though his other hand remained busy with amp plugs and pedal boards. When he had to pull away
to finish what he was doing, he let his fingers trail softly up Sirius’ throat and underneath his chin,
tilting Sirius’ head back as he drifted away (or maybe Sirius had tilted his own head back in bliss
out of touch starvation).
After they finished setting up and sound testing (Sirius noticed that Marlene had tested Moony’s
mic, because he’d been waiting to hear that speaking voice), Marlene leaned into the mic and said,
“Hi, how the fuck are ya, we’re Holyhead,” just the same way she had a few nights ago. And
again, they dove right into their first song with no count and impeccable precision with their timing
to one another.

As they played, Sirius’ eyes were fixated on Moony, trying to decide if he could imagine Remus
moving the way Moony moved, merging the way Moony rolled his hips into the back of his bass
to the way Remus had rolled his hips into Sirius’ own, only hours before. It wasn’t hard to see the
similarities.

His fingers moved over the frets and Sirius leaned in to see the patterns drawn across his
fingernails – his ring finger painted solid, matte black, a smiley face with the eyes crossed out on
his pinky, a single black line across his thumb, an off-center cross on his pointer. And FCK on his
middle.

With Marlene’s voice in the background, Sirius focused on the flawless bass lines, feeling every
thrum of the strings move through him like electricity. To put emphasis on a final note, Moony
tore deliberately at the strings, his fingers flying up to his shoulder, like releasing an arrow from a
bowstring. In the slower sections, he bent over entirely, letting the bass hang precariously from the
strap at the back of his neck, his long arms stretched to their full capacity to reach the strings. And
Sirius’ admired them.

On the inside of his left forearm, there was a black-and-white tattoo of an elephant head, rays of
golden light shooting out from behind the portrait. It was wearing a theatrical crown of white
lotuses with earrings down the sides of both ears and red markings between the eyes and down the
trunk, a broken tusk on one side. In the background was a paisley design that looked like lace and
beads and jewels, overlapping loops of beads across Moony’s wrist, a teardrop-shaped jewel
hanging next to his tendon.

‘Which is why I was raised Roman Catholic instead of Hindu,’ Sirius heard Remus say in the back
of his mind, back when Sirius had called him Roman for the first time. If this was Remus, and the
evidence was beginning to become overwhelming that it was, he had rolled his sleeves up for this
show with intention, knowing Sirius would see this tattoo, leaving Sirius these clues to the truth of
who Moony was.

In complement of the faith of that deity, but for a very different culture and religion, on the
opposite forearm were the words ‘Bind my wandering heart to Thee’ in beautiful, flowing script,
surrounded by a wreath of ivy and jasmine. If Sirius closed his eyes (which he was trying not to do,
because he didn’t want to miss a moment of watching Moony, watching Remus), he could hear the
choir voices singing the line of that hymn in the same church where Remus was now the priest,
though Sirius’ memories of that song in that church next to his pious parents were much less
beautiful than the words.

That lyric of a sacred hymn was buried within the brighter colours of newer tattoos, some of which
seemed to be in strict opposition to the sanctity of a religious carol. If he turned that same arm, on
the other side of his forearm was an image of two hands, pressed together as if in prayer,
surrounded by flames with the words ‘everything is fine’ written underneath it. And on the other
arm, opposite to the elephant-headed god, was the black-and-white skull of a ram, surrounded by
flowers, some bright in colour and others shaded to look dead and dying, behind a banner that read,
‘no gods, no masters.’

Before Sirius could try to decipher the edges of tattoos unseen, the ones that crept up underneath
the rolled sleeves of Moony’s dark-blue plaid overshirt, Marlene’s voice caught his attention.

“We’re going to cover a song that is a little more … sappy than you’re used to from us, but our
bass player is in his feelings, and we love him, so we’re making the sacrifice.” With a cocky grin,
Marlene looked over at Moony, giving him a wink, and he replied with the finger, FCK painted on
his fingernail.

Without another pause, her fingers moved over the strings of her guitar in a flurry, and Sirius
immediately recognized the tune, his eyes darting over to Moony, who had obviously been
watching him for a reaction, as he tilted his head. Sirius imagined he was smiling, and it was
Remus’ smile he pictured.

Behind Marlene’s trill, Dorcas came in on the drums, and after a few beats, Moony followed with
both his voice and bass, leaning into the mic to sing. “For months, you’ve been away, you’re here a
couple days. I’ve got all of the time in the world to do with what we please. If it were up to me,
we’d have all of the time in the world,” he crooned, singing in a slightly lower register than the
original singer (which was Kenny Vasoli, because of course Moony would choose The Starting
Line to cover after their whole conversation about his voice and his bass and how wild Sirius was
over both of those things).

Despite the fact that Sirius couldn’t see his eyes behind those heart-shaped frames, he knew Moony
was watching him as he sang those words. “Just … stay right where I can see you.” His voice
dipped low, sending a shiver all the way down Sirius’ spine, imagining Remus whispering it into
his ear.

When he continued into the chorus with, “When you go away, I get so low,” his voice moved in
between the notes of the last syllable and he shifted his shoulders in a half-dance that fell in time
with the melody, which left Sirius with the most ridiculous smile on his face. “Like temperatures
when they’re at their coldest. When you go away, I get so lonely,” his voice raised high to reach
the last note before he pressed in close to the mic, the push of his lips audible against the layers of
his mask and the unyielding metal of the microphone as his voice dropped deep to sing, “and I’m
stranded by the side of the bed.”

To make his blissful suffering as obvious as he could, Sirius pressed his hand heavy to his chest,
letting it slide up to his throat as he raised his head, and if he wasn’t mistaken, he saw a thick, dark
brow rise from beyond the tops of those heart-shaped glasses. Sirius pulled his bottom lip into his
teeth.

“I could name all fifty states, forty-eight get in the way from me being next to you,” Moony kept
singing, plucking out a short bass line under every lyric. “If it were up to me, we’d have everything
we need. You’d have me and I’d have you.” Between notes, as quickly as he could, he slipped his
hand to Sirius’ face again, and Sirius took just that split-second to revel in his touch before Moony
withdrew it.

“Just … stay right where I could be anyone you want. I’m glad I’ve got the job. We’ve got
something in mind. And I’ve got all this time,” he growled heavily into the mic, and Sirius (with a
blush in his cheeks) wondered if he imagined that hint of an Irish accent in the way Moony sang
that lyric. At the same time, Moony’s hand shot down the full length of the neck of his bass and
back up again, and Sirius went mindless over it, the motion reminiscent of the stroking Moony had
talked about earlier.

He moved into the chorus again, that dance in his shoulders moving down into his hips, his whole
body moving under the ferocity of the way he strummed, his knees bending so deeply that he had
to crane up to sing underneath where the mic was usually level to his lips. In the bridge, Marlene
and Dorcas simultaneously moved to their mics, singing an angelic harmony, all sound and no
words.

“Stay right where I can see you,” Moony sang, the beat slowing to match his voice. “Just stay right
where I can, I can see you.” The song began to soften, unhurried and sweet, as Moony slung the
bass around his back, shifting the mic stand downward as he knelt in front of Sirius, wide-eyed.

“When you go away, I get so low,” he sang, directly to Sirius, on one knee, his bass forgotten
behind him as he took Sirius’ face into his hands, Marlene strumming her guitar in regular intervals
in the background to keep the tempo of the song. “Like temperatures when they’re at their coldest.”
All at once, the song moved on without him, Marlene took his place singing the chorus, and
Moony leapt forward to claim Sirius’ lips in a kiss, right through the mask on his face. In that
second, Sirius could feel the shape of his lips, the warmth of his breath, the gentle pull of Moony’s
fingers on the back of his neck.

And before Sirius was ready to let go, Moony shifted the mic stand back upright, jumping back
into the lyrics with the “One, two!” as the chorus started again for the last time, rolling his hips to
shift his bass back into his hands, transitioning back into the song without so much as a pause or a
sour note.

The chorus repeated one last time and Sirius’ attention was devout on the movement of Moony’s
hands, of his hips, of his shoulders, as he sang, the intensity of the growl in his voice only growing,
especially as he sang, one last time, “When you go away, I get so lonely,” his rough voice raised to
a near shout as he reared back from the mic to let the power in his voice take over. The shiver that
had been in Sirius’ spine earlier returned in full at the zeal in Moony’s voice, and he couldn’t stifle
it, nor did he want to – he wanted to let Moony watch it roll entirely through his body, knowing he
put it there.

As the song ended, notes fading out gradually and becoming feedback in the speakers, Marlene
leaned into her mic and said, “Thanks for coming, we’re Holyhead and we fucking love ya.” Faster
than any of the previous bands before them, Holyhead cleared the stage. In the flurry of movement,
Sirius barely noticed Moony reaching his hand out toward him until James jabbed him in the ribs.
He shot his hand out so quickly, it went into the curve of Moony’s elbow, but Moony just let his
hand slide all the way down the inside of Sirius’ arm (there was that shiver again) until he reached
Sirius’ fingers. Again, he knelt, pulling Sirius’ hand to his masked face and pressing his concealed
lips to the red, heart-shaped tattoo on Sirius’ middle finger, exactly the same way Remus had done
only the previous evening.

When he moved off, Sirius turned to James with fire in his silver eyes. “That’s Remus. I swear to
fucking God, that’s Remus,” he breathed out, the air moving out in staggered pieces with its
intensity.

“Remus is the priest, right?” James clarified with a quietly victorious smile.

“Yeah. And I would know his touch anywhere,” Sirius said, his words moving out somewhere
between a sigh of relief and a growl of frustration, because now that he knew, it was going to make
giving Remus up that much harder. No, not hard. Impossible. Absolutely, definitively, super
fucking impossible.

“Are you going to tell him you know?” James asked.

“I wasn’t planning to before the show, but now?” His voice spiking sharply. “I don’t have the will
power not to. I need to see him. I feel like I might vibrate out of my fucking skin if I don’t.”
“Jesus, go,” James urged with a laugh, pushing Sirius to the side of the dispersing crowd. From a
distance, however, he could see the Holyhead merch table and Dorcas seemed to be the only one
there, currently signing a T-shirt with a fervent smile. Marlene and Moony were nowhere to be
seen.

He scanned the crowd, knowing that if Moony was still in the room, he’d be towering a head above
everyone else. Still, Sirius didn’t see him. Bursting through the front door, he heard a loud ‘shit’
from somewhere next to him and looked over to find Marlene with her hand to her chest, cigarette
between her red-stained lips. “Jesus Fucking Christ, you scared the shit out of me, Sirius.”

“Sorry, is …” he tried to decide what to call him. Moony? Would she know who he meant? Should
he call him Remus and make it obvious that his secret was uncovered?

“He couldn’t stay,” she said with a sad smile, patting Sirius on the shoulder. “But he told me to tell
you to text him so he could – what was it? – return the favour. Whatever the shit that means.”

“Fuck,” Sirius groaned, dragging his hands down his face. “Listen, it’s going to drive me crazy if I
don’t know,” he started, letting out a short breath. “What is his first name?”

“John,” she said immediately. Sirius’ heart sank just as quickly. “I know he probably doesn’t want
me to tell you but he’s obviously mad as shit about you, so you might as well know now.”

“John?” Sirius repeated on suddenly empty lungs, searching for Marlene’s face for a sign of
untruth. There was none. “I know this is kind of weird, but do you know what he does for a
living?”

“He’s a teacher,” she said with the same flat expression that told Sirius she wasn’t having a laugh
at his expense. “That’s why he has to keep his face covered, because he said he could lose his job
if the administration found out.” As Sirius’ heart crumbled in his chest and as the dust it left behind
began to permeate into his lungs, he found himself taking a very deep breath to compensate. “You
okay?” Marlene asked, leaning into his face, looking confused. And why wouldn’t she be? He
should be elated to know the first name of the man he’d been texting, the man who caressed his
face, the man who kissed him.

But he wasn’t. Because he wasn’t Remus. Maybe if he had never had the idea that Moony and
Remus were one and the same, he wouldn’t have gotten his hopes up, and he could keep doing this
thing with Moony and it would be fine. Moony was sweet and adorable and funny and charming
and super fucking hot, but in the end, he wasn’t Remus. The answer came when he felt so sure that
those hands, those lips, that voice, those tattoos all belonged to Remus. It became so clear who he
really wanted.

“Yeah, fine,” Sirius said with a forced smile that Marlene obviously took notice of, but he turned
and went back into the pub to find James, trying as best he could to stave off this sudden
devastation.

James had said the same thing when Sirius found him, arm around Lily’s waist, standing behind
the Fidelius merch table. “You alright, mate?” he’d asked. Sirius had barely even heard him speak.

“I think I’ve had a bit too much to drink, I need some fresh air, I’m gonna walk home, yeah?” he
said all in one breath, trying to keep talking so he didn’t have to think. Before James could even
argue about how Sirius hadn’t taken a drink all evening, Sirius was out the front door. He walked
for quite some time, almost all the way back to his flat, before he felt his mobile buzz in his pocket.
He pulled out his phone to find a text from Moony. His throat immediately went dry, full of the
dust in his aching chest.
(Moony):

i’m so sorry

i had to leave

did you see marlene?

(Padfoot):

yeah she told me

(Moony):

are you okay?

it was the kiss wasn’t it

(Padfoot):

sort of.

(Moony):

Should i … not have done it?

(Padfoot):

no it’s not that

i mean it is that

fuck I don’t know what I mean

(Moony):

i think i get it

you want more

and i can’t give you that

 (Padfoot):

fuck you’re so adorable and so sweet

and so hot and so INTENSE

and i want that

but i want it IN PERSON

(Moony):

i know. god i’m sorry.

more than you know.

but, hell, if you’re ever up for

idk guilt-free sexting. whatever.

hit me up. no strings attached.

(Padfoot):

yeah maybe someday

I had a lot of fun with you, you know

(Moony):

yeah. me too.

i’ll miss you padfoot

quite a bit.

(Padfoot):

i’ll miss you too moony

By that time, he’d reached his bedroom, not bothering to turn on any of the lights in his flat. With a
frustrated sigh, he let himself fall into bed, burying his face into his pillow to scream into it. Maybe
someday, this whole thing with Remus would blow over (of course, it had to because Sirius wasn’t
going to get to see Remus ever again) and Moony (John?) would be available and they could pick
it up right where they left off. Just then, with Remus taking all the space in his heart, Sirius thought
it unlikely.
 I Could Still Be Ruthless, If You Let Me
Chapter Summary

Sirius recognizes that he can't stay away, an emotional conversation about loss and
grief and religion and faith follows before Sirius finds himself waking in an
unexpected place.

Chapter Notes

Because it's featured early in the chapter (and because it's also the title of this chapter),
you MIGHT want to listen to Ruthless by Something Corporate before reading, and
you can listen to it here.

Sirius didn’t sleep all night. And when he did, he had fitful dreams. It was either a dream of Moony
tearing off his mask to reveal Remus’ face underneath or Moony tearing off his mask to reveal a
ram skull underneath or Moony tearing off his mask to reveal Sirius’ face underneath. It was
dreadful.

So, he stayed up. Instead of sleeping, he worked on the stupid eulogy for this stupid father because
he promised the stupid (adorable, wonderful) priest that he would help. With malice in his pen and
a gag in his throat, he gushed about how much money Orion gave to the church (neglecting to
mention that he was only wealthy because his company paid their workers less than a livable
wage), how he was a loving husband for nearly forty years (leaving out his numerous affairs), how
he raised one wildly successful son (while ignoring the fact that he directly contributed to the death
of the second).

It was a great bunch of lies – perfect for a eulogy. In his bitterness and unspent energy, he penned
the whole thing in an hour. When he threw himself back into bed, he found the distraction had done
nothing to ease the ache in his chest. He still couldn’t sleep. And when he couldn’t sleep, he found
himself making terrible decisions. Like driving two hours to Remus’ church in the middle of the
night.

With a very large travel mug of black coffee and a hand-written eulogy, he did the one thing he
knew he wasn’t supposed to do. He went back to Remus. After a very long and confusing evening,
in which he had been kissed by another bloke, he still went back to Remus. In fact, the longer he
thought about it, the more he realised – it was probably always going to come back to Remus in the
end.

Realistically, he knew the plan didn’t make sense – hell, it was well after three o’clock in the
morning when he pulled into the carpark of the church. Despite that, he was surprised to see the
front double doors open wide, though there were minimal lights on inside the building.

Eulogy in hand, he moved toward the church, the surprise and confusion increasing as he heard
quiet music drifting in from somewhere inside the open doors. As he grew closer, he could tell it
was coming from the grand piano that was perched on the right side of the pulpit. Carefully, he
peered inside.

Just as he said he knew it would always come back to Remus in the end, there he was, sitting alone
in the wide, empty church, head bowed low over the keys, both hands moving solemnly across
them. The soft yellow glow of the hanging gothic pendant lights against the high, vaulted ceilings
of the cathedral made the whole spacious room look like it was lit with flickering candlelight. It
danced across the stained-glass windows high in the walls, the coloured reflections making Remus
look like a deity.

Standing still, leaning on the propped open door, Sirius listened. Because Remus was singing. And
if he hadn’t just discovered that he and Moony were separate people with separate names and
separate lives, he would’ve been straining to hear the similarities in their voices. Instead, he was
straining to hear anything, Remus’ voice barely a whisper from where his forehead was pressed to
the fallboard.

“But there you go for the last time,” Sirius finally heard in Remus’ softened voice, breath
stumbling out clumsily as he reinvented the rhythm for the song, letting his voice choose the
melody and his fingers following the lead. “I finally know now what I should’ve known then. That
I could still be ruthless, if you let me.” As he listened to Remus sing, Sirius remembered what
Remus had said, what was only hours earlier, ‘I want to drag you back into this flat and tell you the
truth and kiss you ruthlessly.’

“But there you go, and I’m not done.” His voice wavered as he paused his fingers to give himself
time to take an overly deep breath, an effort to correct the unsteadiness in his voice. “You’re
waving goodbye, well, at least you’re having fun. The rising tides will not let you forget me.” With
one last single note pressed quite deliberately with his middle finger, ringing out as he spoke,
bluntly. “Forget me.”

“See, I tried that,” Sirius called from the back of the church, expecting Remus to be startled by his
voice. Instead, a knowing smile moved over Remus’ face, still partly hidden from where he was
resting his forehead on the fallboard. He simply turned his head in place, without lifting it, wearing
that same smile as he watched Sirius move down the center aisle between the pews. “Didn’t work
out so well for me.”

“It’s been less than twelve hours,” Remus argued, but his smile didn’t diminish in the least.

“I didn’t say I tried very hard,” Sirius quipped with an arrogant grin, leaning on the end of the first
pew as Remus turned on the piano bench, surveying Sirius much like he had the night Sirius stayed
over.

“Sirius,” Remus started to say with a sigh, pushing his fingers through his untamed curls.

“I want this,” Sirius interrupted, keeping his eyes locked to Remus’ amber gaze. “Whatever this is,
even though I know it can’t ever be anything else but what it is.” He took in a shaky breath. “I want
it.”

With his heart pounding in his throat, he swallowed, waiting for some sign on Remus’ face, some
miniscule change in his expression that would let Sirius know that Remus wasn’t going to send him
away again. What he got instead was a sigh. An uninterpretable sigh and Remus hanging his head.

“I know, Sirius,” he said with a growl in the back of his throat, his dark hair billowing down in
front of his face as he adjusted on the piano bench, his long legs jutting out to either side. “I want
it, too. You know that.” Pausing, he looked up, pushing his hair out of his face. Sirius swallowed
heavily at the sight of his amber eyes, clouded in the shadow of his hair but brightened by the
flickering cathedral lights. “But I also just want you, far too much, and I don’t think I can just be
friends with you.” Another pause as Sirius watched Remus’ gaze move down his torso, his Adam’s
apple moving sharply. “In fact, I know I can’t.”

His cheeks felt hot just then. “I don’t suppose having a secret affair is an option.” One of Remus’
very dark, very thick eyebrows twitched slightly with the idea of rising, a short breath to match.

“If it was, I wouldn’t have let you leave earlier,” Remus replied honestly, gaze still tight to Sirius’
face, the colour in his eyes looking more orange than it ever had, sign of a fire he was fighting
internally.

“Listen, I’ll stay away from innuendo, I’ll sit on the floor in your flat instead of the sofa, I’ll keep
my hands to myself, whatever you want,” he rambled, moving to the steps of the pulpit to kneel
onto them, “but I realised today that you’ve become too important to me to just let you go without
a fight.”

A smile forced its way onto Remus’ face before he could stifle it. “Dammit, Sirius.”

“Please tell me that’s a ‘dammit, Sirius, you’ve mesmerized me with your undeniable charm’.”

“That’s exactly what it is,” Remus grumbled, playfully rolling his eyes. “Alright, fine, stay if you
want,” he said, throwing his hands up in defeat as he stood from the piano bench. As he walked
down the steps, keeping his distance from Sirius, he voiced his added requirements. “But no more
drinking, no more falling asleep in each other’s arms, no more breaking into your mother’s house
together.”

“Deal,” Sirius agreed far too quickly. That unwilling smile appeared on Remus’ face again as he
moved past Sirius, motioning for Sirius to follow him as he closed and locked the two double
doors in the front of the church and made his way through the swinging doors in the back that led
to his flat.

“But, well, since you came all this way,” Remus reasoned, despite the grumble in his voice that
sounded intentionally annoyed to cover his blatantly pleased smile. “We might as well get a
takeaway.”

“This is too nice, Sirius,” Remus said through a mouthful of orange chicken, tossing the pages of
Sirius’ handwritten eulogy onto his table and letting his body fall back into the sofa cushions.

“I mean, you can’t just get up there and proclaim that my dad was a raging dickwad,” Sirius
shrugged, unconcerned, adjusting his chopsticks to take another large bite of chow mein noodles
with tofu, leaning toward the table from where he was seated on the floor, just like he promised.

“It’s a sin to lie, isn’t it?” Remus mumbled, raising his hand to run his fingers through his hair, and
Sirius specifically corrected his gaze so he wouldn’t be caught ogling the curve of Remus’ bicep,
or admiring the alluring way his dark hair swept over his face, or watching the way he swallowed.

“My mother has friends, Remus,” Sirius said with an annoyed sigh. “If you say something she
doesn’t like, she will find a way to make sure you never set foot in this or any other church ever
again.”
“That certainly would solve our other problem,” Remus said under his breath, watching Sirius from
under a slightly raised brow, and Sirius almost let himself smile at the implication.

“Hey, you said no innuendo,” he admonished Remus, despite himself.

“That was hardly innuendo. Besides, you were the one who said no innuendo.” With a playfully
victorious glance, Remus adjusted in his place, leaning against the arm of the sofa and tucking his
feet underneath him. And Sirius had to remind himself not to tilt his head fondly in the same
direction in which Remus was leaning on the sofa. However, as the smile on Remus’ face turned
mischievous, Sirius couldn’t help but swallow in anticipation. “Not to mention, you were the one
who showed up in the middle of the night just to tell me you can’t live without me. If there is
innuendo here, you prompted it.”

With a sheepish wince and a streak of pink across his cheeks, Sirius lowered his head. “Believe it
or not, I used to be very fucking debonair before you showed up and turned me into this … heap of
emotions and shit. Listen, I turned down a standing appointment for sexting in favour of you.”
Where Sirius thought Remus would laugh raucously at Sirius’ self-made misfortune, instead he
went very quiet, his mouth opening as if he meant to speak but couldn’t decide what to say. He
blinked slowly, then spoke.

“Is that with this Moony you’ve been telling me about?” he asked, voice suddenly softened.

“Yeah,” Sirius shrugged, trying to show it wasn’t that important. When Remus didn’t speak, when
Remus kept looking at him like that, Sirius felt compelled to explain. “It’s fine, we were just
texting back and forth, I didn’t really know him that well, but I really thought …” he stopped
quickly before he could admit that he’d genuinely thought Moony was Remus for a few hours.
“Eh, it wouldn’t have worked out.”

“Why not?” Remus pressed, much to Sirius’ surprise. And Sirius replied honestly.

“Because, as it turns out, he wasn’t you.” There was an immediate, sharp pull of air into Remus’
lungs, his thick, dark brows shooting up in surprise from behind his gold frames. Quickly, he
tucked the expression down into something that looked like a wince, burying his face into the sofa
cushions.

“So, that’s why –” he began and then restarted. “So, you stopped texting him completely?”

“Honestly, it probably wasn’t a good time for either of us, anyway,” Sirius said, trying not to show
how truly broken he was about it, because he couldn’t feasibly explain that he was broken by it
because it hadn’t been Remus behind that mask. “I couldn’t date him either, just like I can’t date
you.”

“Then why pick me over him?” Remus asked, strangely emphatically.

“Because I like you?” Sirius said, brow raised sharply to show his confusion. “And don’t get me
wrong, I’m also very fucking attracted to you.” Remus’ copper skin went flush. “But I’d rather
spend time not having sex with you than actually having it with someone else.” That flush grew
and brightened.

“Okay, new rule,” he said with a deep breath and a desperate laugh. “Turns out, you can’t even say
the word sex around me ever again. Didn’t think I’d have a hard time with that, but here we are.”

“Got it,” Sirius replied with a dutiful nod but an impish arch in his brow. “Not having sex, not
thinking about having sex, not saying the word sex, not –” He was interrupted by a sudden sofa
cushion to the face, which knocked him back onto the hardwood floors, and he stayed there,
laughing wildly.

“I knew I shouldn’t have said anything,” Remus groaned to distract from his stifled laughter.

“If I had known about this ahead of time, I could’ve written it into the eulogy an awkward number
of times for you to read in front of the entire congregation,” Sirius said, staring dreamily at the
ceiling.

“I only have a problem listening to you say it. In your stupid, carelessly seductive voice,” Remus
reminded him, and just as Sirius sat upright to add another implicit comment, Remus cleared his
throat and moved on abruptly. “Anyway, speaking of the eulogy, it’s total rubbish and we’re
starting over.”

“Rubbish?” Sirius practically shrieked. “I spent an hour writing that rubbish.”

“You make him sound genuinely decent,” Remus said in disgust, picking up the pages he’d thrown
across the table and shuffling through them. “I mean, ‘He independently funded the restoration
and reshelving projects for the local library last year.’ Is that even anywhere close to the truth?”

Sirius clenched his teeth and let out a breath between the spaces. “If by restoration and reshelving
projects, you mean getting all queer books banned and finding a technicality that required them to
let go of the current librarian because he found out that she has a wife, then yeah.”

“See, I want to say that,” Remus said, throwing himself back on the sofa again for barely a second
before leaning back in to point at another line. “And here, you mention him being a devoted
husband.”

“Because you can’t say that he’s had about a dozen affairs – and that’s just the dozen that we know
of – most with married women, most with married women in the church,” Sirius enunciated
clearly.

“But we can’t portray him like this either, we can’t let people keep believing that he was kind and
loving and doting when he physically abused you and your brother,” Remus said, kneeling at the
table and leaning over it, as if his closeness would cushion some of the harsh words moving from
his lips.

“Most people knew he did,” Sirius said with a smiling grimace. “They just didn’t care.”

“Sirius,” Remus said on an exhale, reaching over the table to hold him by the wrist.

“It doesn’t matter at this point, Remus,” Sirius replied with a short laugh, but it barreled out of his
teeth, sounding calloused. “I stopped giving a shit after –” As his voice began to grow thick, he
stopped cold, mid-sentence, not wanting to repeat what happened the other night at his mother’s
house.

Knowingly, Remus moved from the place where he knelt, settling down next to Sirius and winding
their fingers together, fingertips brushing fondly over the heart-shaped tattoo on Sirius’ middle
finger. He didn’t speak. He didn’t prompt Sirius to speak. But he did move in close enough that he
could rest his head onto Sirius’ shoulder, as if showing that he was there, that he was listening.

“That was the fight we had the night he gave me that black eye,” Sirius mumbled, partly to himself
and partly to Remus, but Remus remained silent, an unspoken encouragement for Sirius to continue
speaking. “He told me it was my fault. Said when I left that house at sixteen, I left Regulus there to
die. And he was right, because the next time I came back, it was for his funeral.”
There were tears welling in his eyes, but he blinked them back. It wouldn’t do him any good. And
he was glad that Remus’ face was underneath his because he wasn’t sure he could handle it if he
saw anything that looked like accusation in Remus’ eyes, because he would never be able to blink
that away.

“I’m so sorry, Sirius,” Remus finally said, his voice barely more than a whisper, as he brought their
joined hands up to his mouth, pressing a delicate, lingering kiss to the heart on Sirius’ knuckle.

“I left Reg in a life that I knew was unlivable and he proved me right.” Sirius spoke through his
tightened throat and the tears he was choking back. “I abandoned him to a verbally abusive mother
and a physically abusive father and it killed him. I killed him.” With a trembling breath, Sirius
lowered his face, holding his forehead in the palm of his other hand, trying to convince himself not
to cry. The drops of moisture slipping down his wrist told him he’d failed at that, too. Just like he’d
failed Regulus.

Before Sirius could try to dry the tears, pretend this hadn’t happened, apologize to Remus for
ruining yet another evening, Remus straightened his back, slipped his hand out of Sirius’ fingers so
that he could slip it around the back of Sirius’ neck, and he gently pulled Sirius’ face to his
shoulder.

“It wasn’t your fault, Sirius. It wasn’t your fault,” he repeated, over and over, as Sirius’ hands
found their way around Remus’ waist, curling tight fists into the fabric of Remus’ long-sleeved
shirt. And Sirius let himself sob into the curve of Remus’ throat, holding onto Remus like he was
the only thing keeping him from crumbling, because he was. His arms tightened. He pulled Remus
closer.

“They almost didn’t have the funeral in this church, you know,” Sirius said, the bitterness moving
into his voice to replace the sorrow. “Such good Catholics, my mother and father, they said it was
shameful that Regulus took his own life. Made up some story about him being drugged by kids at
school, but not to hide the fact that they were the one who bullied him into suicide. No, they just
didn’t want anyone thinking their progeny would go anywhere but straight through to the pearly
gates.”

He felt like he was screaming into Remus’ skin, and maybe he was, but Remus was taking it all,
silently and sacredly, holding Sirius as tightly as he could to his chest. Remus’ fingers were still
opening and closing in a rhythm at the base of Sirius’ skull, patiently waiting until Sirius finished
screaming.

“I’ve found many more bad Catholics than I’ve found good ones,” Remus finally said in the silence
where Sirius had stopped speaking. “The good ones will never tell you that suicide is automatic
eternal damnation, because nothing can irrevocably separate you from the unfailing love of the
Father.”

With a sarcastic laugh, Sirius looked up. “And are you considered a good Catholic or a bad one?”

“I’m somewhere in between,” he smiled with wide assurance. “And I don’t know if there is a God
or a Heaven or an afterlife, but if there is …” There was a short pause as Remus took a breath, and
Sirius found himself matching it, “I don’t believe a person should be kept out of such a place just
because their circumstances in this world were too much for them to bear.” Another hesitation,
Sirius was sure Remus was taking the time to choose his wording carefully. At the same time, his
hold on Sirius’ still unsteady frame only strengthened. “If anything, those are the people who
should be let in first.”

Despite himself, Sirius asked, “What do you believe? Do you think there’s something after this?”
After another one of those breaths of careful consideration, Remus let it out as a rapidly ebbing
sigh.

“I choose to believe there is,” he emphasized sharply with a delicate nod, inattentively nuzzling at
the top of Sirius’ head, burying his lips into Sirius’ hair. “Because there are people I want to see in
it.”

“Please don’t tell me you mean your grandfather,” Sirius scoffed, less than cautiously.

“Oh, fuck no, that old bastard is still alive, and I don’t even want to see him in this life,” Remus
said with a laugh that was so full and so strong that Sirius felt himself smile in response to it. “I
mostly mean my parents. They …” he paused to let out a sigh as he and Sirius adjusted to some
position that was less awkward, less holding on for dear life and a little more holding on just to be
close. “I lost them both to a car accident when I was eleven. Kind of a long custody battle over me,
from what I’ve heard, but my parents didn’t have a will, and my grandfather was a priest, after all,
so the courts thought a religious environment meant a stable environment. And he … groomed me,
essentially, to become a priest.”

“Why didn’t you do what I did? Why didn’t you leave?” Sirius asked as Remus pushed the coffee
table aside so that he could lean back against the edge of the sofa, with Sirius still pressed to his
chest.

“Back then, I didn’t know how toxic that environment was, I just thought I was a bad kid,” Remus
said with another sigh that housed a lot more emptiness and depth than Remus let out. “I thought I
was a sinner, and I needed my grandfather to tell me how to live right, I needed the church to tell
me how to earn my way into Heaven.” His fingers found their way into Sirius’ hair again. “When
he told me he was going to send me to seminary at the same university he’d attended, I thought I
was finally good enough.”

“I take it seminary is not where you incorporated the word fuck so frequently into your
vocabulary,” Sirius said with his ear to Remus’ chest, just to hear the way his laughter echoed
within it.

“I had to finish an undergraduate degree before starting seminary,” Remus said with a satisfied hum
that reverberated against Sirius’ ear. “When I finally got away from my grandfather and started
spending time with people my own age, people who weren’t Catholic – it changed things. My
grandfather would say I lost myself. Started smoking, listening to secular music, binge drinking,
sleeping around. Literally anything I thought would piss him off enough to give up on trying to
send me to seminary.”

“I see it didn’t take,” Sirius said, glancing up at Remus to find a sad smile.

“One too many nights of getting so drunk I didn’t know how I got home or who was in bed next to
me. Scared me straight for a while. Well, not straight,” he said, his smile growing pleased at his
own wit.

“Thank God for that, honestly,” Sirius said under his breath. Remus pinched him.

“It took me a while to figure out who I was and what I wanted, and even though I still didn’t want
to go to seminary, I found out how to make it work for me,” he said, his arms inherently tightening
around Sirius in some effort to draw him closer. “A little at a time, I figured out how to take the
faith I learned as a child and mold it into something that made sense for me as an adult, as someone
with massive faults and staggering doubt, as someone the church calls perverse because of who he
loves.”
Carefully, Sirius adjusted to keep his eyes on Remus. “How do you do it? How do you practice a
religion that hates who you are as a person? How do you believe in a God whose people, people
like your grandfather, are the same ones who send their kids, kids who are like you, to torture
camps?”

“I won’t pretend like it’s not a daily struggle,” Remus answered honestly, shifting his knee so that
Sirius was resting between his legs. “But my faith is mine alone. It is whatever I make of it. At the
end of the day, the church is made up of people, and people are deeply flawed. I don’t look to them
to give me reason to believe because they will let me down.” An angry sort of growl moved
through Sirius’ throat at that response as he placed his hands onto the wood floors to push upward,
to look Remus in the eye.

“Doesn’t God let you down? Isn’t he the one who let your parents die? Isn’t he the one who let
Regulus die? Isn’t he the one who let my parents beat us half to death?” he asked, teeth clenched
and jaw twitching in its tightened constraint. But Remus just replied with a smile, sad and soft and
solemn.

“That’s the hardest part of the whole damn thing.” Remus said, closing his eyes and swallowing
heavily. “Because I can’t tell you why those things happened. And there isn’t comfort in hearing
people say that bad things happen for a reason or God lets them happen for a reason. If I’m going
to be perfectly frank … that shit pisses me off so fucking much. How dare you say that to a child at
the funeral of both of his parents? That God let them die for a greater purpose? Fuck you.” The
clench in Sirius’ jaw was now mirrored in the furious twitch of Remus’ own, in the orange fire in
his amber eyes, in the subtle tremble of his bottom lip. But he continued nonetheless, speaking
through the cruel waver in his voice and the crushing tension in his jaw. At the same time, his
fingers, still in Sirius’ hair, began to push through, combing through it as he spoke. “And I was
angry about that for a long time, angry that God let them die, angry that they died alone on an
empty motorway in an overturned car.” He took in a shaking breath.

“How do you get over something like that?” Sirius asked. “How do you stop being angry?”

For a long time, Remus was quiet, taking deep breaths and letting them out, until finally he
responded with, “To be honest, I find myself still angry about it. A lot. After all these years. I don’t
know that I’ll ever stop being angry. And I don’t think it was fair, I don’t think it was for a reason
or a higher purpose or whatever bullshit the church wants to sell me.” His head fell backward onto
the sofa cushion.

“Then what do you do? How can you believe in something that leaves you that bitter?”

“Because it’s the same thing that gives me comfort,” Remus said, and before Sirius could jump in
to argue with that logic, Remus was laughing. “It’s contradictory, I know. But back when I was
struggling in undergrad, drinking so much that I would lose entire days, I once stumbled into a
church in the middle of the night. I met this nun and I asked her why. Why God would let my
parents die, why he would let them die alone.” In his place between Remus’ legs, from where he
was still half-reclined on Remus’ chest, Sirius sat up, leaning back against Remus’ knee from
where Remus’ foot was planted against the wood grain, watching the unfocused shimmer in
Remus’ eyes as he continued. “She just looked at me with this sad smile, took my hand and said,
‘But they weren’t alone, were they?’ And I can’t explain it, but even now, that idea, that memory
fills me with a profound kind of … peace. It sort of defies my own logic.”

“You’re right, it is contradictory,” Sirius huffed. “Because if God was with them in their last
moments, couldn’t he have prevented it from happening altogether? Couldn’t he have saved
them?”
“I don’t know,” Remus answered, flattening his lips into something like a half-smile. “Maybe God
isn’t all powerful like they say he is. Maybe once the chaos of the world was set in motion after
free will took over, it all went to shit. I don’t know. But if I think for a moment that maybe, just
maybe, if there is a God that watches over the entirety of a vast universe, that maybe he stopped
everything to hold my mother’s hand so that she wouldn’t be alone when she died, then I …”
Abruptly, he stopped speaking and Sirius looked over to find Remus had buried his face into one
hand, his fingers pressed tightly underneath the round rim of his golden glasses, askew on his face,
tears slipping through his trembling fingers.

“Remus,” Sirius breathed out, immediately twisting to put his knees on the floor. With one hand, he
gently slipped the glasses from Remus’ face as he wrapped the other around the back of Remus’
neck, carefully pulling him in, pulling him to his chest. It wasn’t a long time before Remus stopped
crying, but the whole time, Sirius felt as helpless as he ever had, only able to whisper his apologies
into the wilds of Remus’ dark curls, only offering affectionate kisses placed onto the crown of
Remus’ head.

“God, I haven’t cried about my parents in years,” Remus said with a sniffle and a sarcastic,
irritated laugh barking in the back of his throat. “I’m sorry you had to be here for it.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Sirius said first, amending it slightly. “In fact, thank you. For letting me be
here for this. For letting me be here with you.” It was the same thing Remus had said to Sirius
when they broke into Walburga’s house together. There was another laugh from Remus’ throat, but
this one was much more sincere than the last. With his face still pressed to Sirius’ chest, he moved
in closer.

“You’re such a flirt, Sirius.” With a deep breath, he pulled away to scrub his tear-stained face with
both hands before replacing his glasses back onto his nose. His eyes had never looked so bright.

“I learned from the best.” There was a secret smile shared between the two of them, before Remus
took in a sharp breath through his nostrils, gathering the papers of Sirius’ eulogy again.

“I think I know exactly how to start this eulogy,” Remus said, glancing over at Sirius with a grin so
mischievous, Sirius couldn’t imagine it on anyone else’s face. “Of all of the men in this world,
Orion Black was one of them.” With a snort, Sirius leaned over his shoulder to look through his
own notes.

“Not telling enough of his character,” Sirius corrected, his chin on Remus’ shoulder. “He believed
in the God of the Old Testament who used murder and plagues and captivity to motivate his
people.”

“Hang on, I’ve got this,” Remus added, snuggling back against Sirius’ frame, and Sirius naturally
adjusted, pressing his hand into the floor to hold Remus in place. “Orion always said he modeled
himself after men from the Bible, and that must have included King David, who, as we know,
impregnated a woman against her consent and then had her husband – and his friend – murdered to
cover it up.”

“Jesus, that does sound like something my dad would’ve done, I’m not even exaggerating,” Sirius
said, moving his head so that he could forcefully plant his forehead against Remus’ shoulder in
disgust.

“Orion Black was a good man to men who were good to him.” Remus heaved a sigh, as if saying
something vaguely positive about Sirius’ father was poisonous to his throat. “If anyone was
unlucky enough to have crossed Orion, God help them, because He would then be the only one
who could.”
“I think you’ve found your opening line,” Sirius grinned wickedly. And Remus did just the same.

At some point, just before dawn, they finished writing the eulogy, and it only took four smoke
breaks, a half of a fifth of whiskey, and a lot of otherwise unnecessary touching. Still, Sirius was
afraid that once it was over, he would lose his excuse for seeing Remus so often, that Remus would
remind him that they weren’t even supposed to see each other to begin with, that Remus would ask
him to leave.

Remus didn’t do that. Instead, he moved close to Sirius in their place on the sofa and gently put
pressure to Sirius’ opposite temple until Sirius, under the weight of his own stress and exhaustion,
let his head fall over onto Remus’ shoulder. They fell asleep on the sofa, but not in each other’s
arms.

Once he woke up, however – well, that was a different story. He woke in a different room than the
one he fell asleep in, and the room he woke in was unfamiliar. In fact, it was so dark that he
couldn’t see anything in the room at all. Not at first. As his eyes began to adjust, they also began to
widen.

He’d woken up in Remus’ bedroom. And he only knew that because Remus was lying in bed
beside him. Well, to say they were in bed was a stretch – they were lying on top of a still-made
bed, still in all the clothes they had fallen asleep in, still not in each other’s arms. But Remus’ hand
was idly stretched across the mattress space between them, just so his fingers could make contact
with Sirius’ fingers.

At first, Sirius allowed himself this hallowed silence to watch Remus as he slept. To watch the
calm, even rhythm of his chest as it gained and spent air, to admire the careless way his dark curls
were tossed entirely to one side where they spilled like ink onto his pale blue pillowcase, to
appreciate the childlike way he slept on his side, curled into himself, with one hand tucked
underneath his pillow. His features told the story of his fatigue – dark circles underneath darker
lashes that bled out against his golden skin like the black eye Sirius had on his face when they first
met, thick brows that were furrowed in worry even in his slumber, greys peppered at random into
his black hair and into his beard.

Eventually, Sirius’ attention turned to the room. Where there were blank walls in his living room
with no art, no paint, none of the vivid personality Sirius had come to expect from Remus, his
bedroom did not follow that trend, and Sirius was certain it was because this space was entirely his
own.

On the wall behind Remus, above the writing desk in the corner, were dozens of frames, with what
looked like handwritten letters on aged paper. In the dark, and from a distance, Sirius couldn’t
make out any of the contents, but scattered between the letters were photographs. His eyes fell on
one of the photos toward the middle – a man with short, dark hair with his arm around a woman
with light-brown hair, and a boy squished between them, with a skin tone that looked like a perfect
blend of the two adults. It was Remus and his parents. Every photo was of them. The letters had to
be those that Remus had briefly mentioned that night they broke into Walburga’s house. Letters
from his mother.

The wall behind the bed was home to art of all kinds – enormous floral prints, complicated
geometric patterns, painted landscapes, sketched portraits, and a bird skull surrounded by
overgrowth that looked eerily like the tattoo that Sirius had seen on Moony’s arm. If he’d seen that
a day ago, it would’ve been added fuel to the fire of his suspicion, but now, it was just a poignant
art piece. At the bottom of each drawing or painting or abstract was a signature that looked like it
read P. Pettigrew.

There was an elaborate tapestry on the wall behind Sirius, handwoven stars filling a dark
background with repeating phases of the moon sewn around the border. In the center was an
intricate mandala design with eight large petal-like points that housed eight more pieces, and eight
more within that one, the spaces of each filled with colour and lines and circles, all in perfect
symmetry.

Finally, the last remaining wall had sepia prints of three hymns, their tattered edges looking as if
they had been ripped straight from the hymnal. The black ink of the quarter notes on the sheet
music was so faded with age that the color was practically grey, the lines mere smudges as a
guideline between them, the treble clef looking wobbly and wrinkled. Sirius quickly realised that
Remus had written notes and stuck them to each frame. The title of the first hymn proclaimed, in
bold lettering, ‘How Great Thou Art’ with a bright pink Post-It that read ‘then sings my soul’ in
Remus’ half-cursive penmanship, the word my underlined twice. The second was another that
Sirius knew, he’d heard ‘Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing’ sung many times in this same
church as a child. Just like the last, in Remus’ handwriting, another note (this one neon blue) which
read, ‘prone to wander, Lord, I FEEL it’ and Sirius realised he had likely never heard that song (or
the one before it) the way it was meant to be sung. The last was one that Sirius couldn’t seem to
recall from his years of mandatory worship titled ‘This Is My Father’s World’ and on Remus’
purple sticky note, he’d written the words ‘why should my heart be sad?’ and it was clear from the
creases and folds of the paper that he’d written over it again and again, to bold the ink.

The conversation from the night before moved into Sirius’ mind again, and he began to realise
why Remus took comfort in his faith, why these words meant so much to him, why he
painstakingly wrote out the lyrics to centuries-old hymns as a reminder to himself. And for a
moment, Sirius wished for conviction like that, in something, in anything, because the last
remnants of whatever he believed in had died with Regulus thirteen years ago. Still, it was oddly
refreshing to find someone who had gone through something just as traumatic as Sirius had and
managed to come out the other side choosing to be unwaveringly kind, decisively faithful, and still
live authentically as himself, unfiltered and unashamed.

Just as Sirius found himself watching Remus with profound adoration and reverence, Remus’ eyes
began to squeeze firmly together, his mouth opening wide in a yawn as he stretched and groaned as
his fingers tightened in Sirius’ own. At the unexpected contact, he pried open his eyes. Somehow,
they were brighter in the dark, the amber within his fanned lashes like a torch at the mouth of a
sunless cave.

“Morning,” he said in a rough whisper, his fingers moving up Sirius’ wrist.

“Morning,” Sirius replied with a smile. “Please tell me I didn’t sleepwalk into your bedroom.”

“You didn’t,” Remus laughed, wiping at the saline pooling at the corners of his eyes from the
magnitude of his yawn. “I carried you to bed after you fell asleep. You’re a really heavy sleeper.”
Blinking dumbly, Sirius was struck by the way Remus had said he had carried Sirius to bed, so he
mentioned it.

“You carried me,” Sirius emphasized. “To bed,” he emphasized heavier, with full implication. And
just like he expected, that typical maroon blush moved through Remus’ cheeks, visible even in the
dark.
“It sounds salacious when you say it like that,” Remus said with a slightly sheepish laugh. Despite
himself, it seemed, he still brought his hand up to caress Sirius’ face, fingers dancing softly across
what Sirius assumed was the last of the bruising on his face, prickles of red and pink and yellow
along the top of his cheekbone. There was a small stab of guilt in Sirius’ gut at how the last person
to touch that same skin with that same fondness had been Moony. To alleviate (or ignore) it, Sirius
changed the subject.

“Well, since you didn’t kick me out after our night of unbridled passion,” Sirius grinned wickedly,
while Remus buried his face in his pillow, “It’s only right that I cook you breakfast. Any
requests?”

“Now, hang on,” Remus grumbled, fumbling for his glasses on the bedside table before hurrying to
follow after Sirius as he started toward the kitchen. “I feel like I should be the one cooking you
breakfast. Since you’re … I mean, you’re still sort of a guest?” He slipped the glasses onto his
nose.

“I practically live here at this point,” Sirius hummed contentedly, rummaging through Remus’
cabinet for bowls and pans and utensils. “Besides, you made breakfast yesterday. It’s my turn.”

“You’ve slept over two nights, that’s hardly enough to start charging you rent.”

“I feel like I could pay you … in other ways.” Sirius waggled his eyebrows, Remus furrowed his.

“Yeah, see, that one was innuendo.”

“… Shit.” A delicate laugh moved from Remus’ throat in response to Sirius’ indelicate language,
but at the same time, he started helping Sirius in the kitchen, rather than arguing with him.

“Fine, if you let me help, I’ll let you in on my mum’s secret recipe for the best French toast you’ll
ever have in your goddamn life,” Remus said as he pulled a small notebook from a drawer. With
barely a glance, he opened it to a particular dog-eared page and set it on the island countertop in
front of where Sirius was leaning. Sirius rose both brows to show his interest, glossing over the
recipe.

“I’m a sucker for a guy who can cook French cuisine,” he grinned to himself, purposefully not
looking over at Remus because he knew Remus was already looking over at him. Instead, he
nudged Remus’ hip with his own before turning to the fridge to gather an armful of ingredients.
“And before you say that was innuendo, I was just making a generalized statement, it has nothing
at all to do with you.”

“Right, of course,” Remus said with a quiet smile as he helped Sirius unload the absurd mountain
of things he’d retrieved from the fridge. For a while, they worked in a comfortable silence, only
speaking in regard to the recipe with Remus taking the lead in guiding Sirius through the steps and
Sirius assisting in pouring and stirring and cracking eggs. Once there were a few slices of thick
bread soaking in the eggy mixture, Sirius turned his attention to slicing some of the strawberries
picked from Remus’ garden.

“Not that I’m complaining, but don’t you have a job or something?” Sirius asked brashly, waiting
for the reaction. When Remus laughed loudly, Sirius got to watch the way he threw his head back
into it.

“Mary and I – you remember, that’s the nun who lives upstairs –”

Sirius interrupted. “Since I’ve never met Mary, I honestly think she’s a ghost at this point.”
Remus laughed again. “Anyway, for the most part, Mary takes mornings and I take evenings. I
have certain designated hours for confession during the day, but otherwise people just make an
appointment to speak to me. It keeps the church open for more hours of the day, gives people more
time to come in when they need somewhere to go.” As he spoke, Remus carefully fished the bread
slices from their soak and moved them into a sizzling pan. “Except when a handsome rogue shows
up in the middle of the night to tell me he wants to be my friend.” Remus rose the eyebrow closest
to Sirius for effect.

“Which was true, I do want to be your friend,” Sirius nodded sagely. “But you keep letting me
sleep over, and then you carry me to bed, and now you’re making me breakfast – I’m just saying.”

“That’s not fair. You can’t possibly understand my struggle because you don’t have someone of
your caliber of cuteness hitting on you at every imaginable moment.” In typical dramatic fashion,
Sirius set the knife he’d been using on the strawberries down so forcefully that Remus had to look
over.

“Are you actually implying that you are not as cute as I am?” Sirius asked, mouth wide.

Remus stifled a laugh. “And that you hit on me much more frequently than I hit on you.”

“I’m not even going to address that last one because the bullshit is so egregious that I have no
choice but to interpret it as a joke, but I am compelled to argue about the whole being-less-cute
thing because it’s so genuinely offensive to me, I don’t even know where to start, for fuck’s sake,”
Sirius rambled, and in response, Remus let out a playful groan, throwing his head back just as
dramatically.

“Oh, God, what have I done?” he wailed, abruptly pausing his theatrics to check the French toast.

“Would you like me to start listing your adorable attributes, or will you take my multiple sexual
advances as proof enough of your raw animal magnetism?” As Remus removed his perfectly
golden-brown French toast from the pan, Sirius gave it a drizzle of honey and set his sliced
strawberries on top.

“I’ll take your word for it,” Remus said as they moved to the sofa. “ Well,” he drawled under a
mischievous grin as Sirius settled onto the sofa and Remus followed, sitting down next to Sirius
but much too close. “I guess you could list one thing, if you really want to.” Sirius spoke before
Remus was done.

“Your hair,” Sirius said instantly. Remus’ smile immediately widened, but he tried to cover it up
by taking an overly generous bite of his breakfast, a dribble of honey running down one corner of
his lips.

“What’s special about my hair?” he asked, and before he could clean the honey moving down his
chin, Sirius reached out and ran his finger across Remus’ skin to catch it. Without thought, he
slipped his fingertip into his open mouth, only realizing he’d done it when he noticed Remus’
devout attention.

With a careless (yet somehow equally as arrogant) shrug, Sirius continued his praise of one of his
favourites of Remus’ physical features. “First of all,” he said, indicating with his empty fork, “the
grey.”

“The … grey?” Remus asked in obvious confusion.

“The grey,” Sirius confirmed in a tone that was nearly solemn, but definitely confident. Before he
elaborated, he stabbed a forkful of the sweetened French toast and brought it to his lips. When he
took a bite, he paused, closing his eyes and letting out a very satisfied breath through his nostrils.
When he opened his eyes to remark to Remus that it was, in fact, the best French toast he’d ever
had in his goddamn life, he wasn’t overly surprised to find a rather appetizing expression on
Remus’ face, magnified by the way Remus was watching him from over the tops of his gold-
framed glasses, eyes heavy.

“Good?” he asked, his attention flittering down to Sirius’ lips, which Sirius intentionally licked.

“So good,” Sirius said under another half-moan that left Remus drawing in a breath. “What was the
secret? I was too busy watching you that I forgot to pay attention to the recipe.” A bashful grin
swept over Remus’ face, and he tried to cover it up with an eye-roll, but when put together, it
looked even more endearing than the grin alone. Especially when he blushed in that way that
turned his ears a little pink.

“A little cinnamon, a little sugar, a little vanilla,” Remus listed, taking another bite and watching
Sirius as he took another bite. Indulging him, Sirius pulled the fork out from between his lips quite
slowly.

“You like things that are just a little bit too sweet, don’t you?” Sirius asked with full implication.

“Well, I like you, so I guess I must,” he replied with a coy smile. Sirius felt his cheeks get warm.

“Speaking of me being sweet, I didn’t get to finish waxing poetic about your hair,” he said,
between bites of his sweetened breakfast. “The greys are only the first thing on a very long list.”

“What else is on this list?” Remus asked, curiosity in equal parts to concern.

“I mean, you’ve got the perfect body,” Sirius gushed and when Remus blinked at him in explicit
surprise, Sirius corrected. “Your hair has perfect body.” He thought for a moment before turning
the corners of his mouth down, amending that statement again. “But I think I was right the first
time, too.”

Remus cleared his throat, ears pink. “We’re going to assume you won’t get to find that out.”

“Funny how you worded that,” Sirius said under a sinful grin. “You could’ve said I would never
get to find that out, but you didn’t. You said assume because you’re not entirely sure I won’t get to
find out.”

His ears were red now. “Hang on, you’re inferring a lot here,” he said emphatically.

“Then correct me,” Sirius challenged, setting his empty plate onto the coffee table, watching
Remus under a narrowed gaze. At first, Remus returned his glare, but it fizzled quickly.

“Goddammit,” he growled playfully, breath seeping out through clenched teeth.

“I knew it!” Sirius laughed, throwing his hands into the air. “You still think there’s a chance.”

“There’s not a – it’s a very small percentage,” Remus admitted honestly, followed with a terrible
wince that Sirius took great delight in watching form across Remus’ whole face. “Infinitesimal,
really.”

“I’ll take it,” Sirius said quickly. “I’m all for being friends, but I live for the sexual tension.”

“The tension is all you’ll ever get,” Remus warned, tightening his jaw in resolve, but it was short-
lived as Sirius pulled his bottom lip into his teeth, using his tongue to guide the way (with
absolutely no devious intention, of course), and he watched the way Remus unwittingly mirrored
the movement.

“Maybe. And if that’s true, then I’ll be happy with it, because I’m happy just being with you,” he
replied with an exceptionally tender gaze in Remus’ direction and the smile that moved over
Remus’ face indicated that he returned the sentiment. “That being said,” Sirius continued with an
innocent grin, “if you decided to give into the throes of passion, I’d also be very happy with getting
absolutely fucking railed, so it’s really a no-lose situation for me.” Remus immediately choked on
the bite of French toast he was in the process of swallowing and Sirius sympathetically (but
patronizingly) patted him on the back.

“Jesus Fucking Christ, Sirius,” he finally said after gasping in a lungful of air, and Sirius’ grin only
intensified at the added thickness of Remus’ delightful Irish accent when he was caught off guard.

“Oh, sorry, do you want to be the one getting railed?” he asked politely, hand on Remus’ back. “I
just assumed, you have this kind of quietly commanding sort of personality, so I just thought –”

“Can we please stop talking about either of us getting railed?” Remus groaned, burying his face
into his hands. “Also, you do realise I haven’t had sex with anyone else in …” he paused to do the
math in his head, “ten years? Which means I am undoubtedly shite in bed.” Sirius just kept
smiling.

“I notice that you said anyone else.”

“Oh, God, don’t read into this.”

“A man can only be so righteous.”

“Fuck, I knew we would come back to this eventually.”

“Just tell me then.” Sirius nodded to encourage compliance. “Does celibacy include masturb–”

Remus interrupted, speaking quickly and comprehensively. “From the perspective of the church,
yes. Since you’re going to ask, I know this because I specifically asked about it during seminary,
and in answer to your follow-up question, no, this is another rule of the church’s that I don’t strictly
adhere to.”

“Oh,” Sirius said, looking pleased. “Good to know.” With a frustrated groan (which Sirius found
far too appealing), Remus pushed his fingers through his hair and glanced down at his watch,
standing.

“My confession hours don’t start for another fifteen minutes, but I have to get the fuck away from
you before you start asking me if you can talk me through it the next time.”

“Fuck, can I?” Sirius practically begged, a whine in the back of his throat, and he stood to follow
Remus to the door, wondering if that meant he was going to have to leave. He wasn’t quite ready.

“Sirius. Please,” Remus said in a stern (but whimpering) voice. As he opened the door, he looked
back at Sirius still in his flat, surely realizing that this meant Sirius would have to go home. “Stay,
if you want. Come and confess, if you want. But before you try it, no funny business in the
confessional.”

“Damn,” Sirius said with a smile, snapping his fingers in defeat.

“I’m going to be up there for a couple hours, so you’re welcome to stay, sleep, eat, whatever the
fuck you want, but it won’t hurt my feelings if you’d rather drive home. We finished the eulogy,
after all.”

“Is ‘we finished the eulogy’ code for you not wanting to spend time with me anymore?” Sirius
asked, pouting his lips a little bit to make Remus feel guilty. And, God, did it work. So well, in
fact, that Remus, with an expression full of concern and care, took Sirius firmly by both shoulders,
squeezing softly.

“You are such a fucking idiot,” he said, much to Sirius’ shock, in a voice that was far too sweet and
affectionate for the content. “You and I both know the eulogy was an excuse for us to see each
other.”

“But now we don’t have any excuse,” Sirius reminded him. Remus calmly adjusted his glasses.

“We don’t need one,” Remus said with a shrug, looking indifferent. “We’re friends now.” A
strange expression moved over his face as he added, “The church doesn’t need to know about the
rest.”

“The rest, huh?” Sirius insinuated. Surprisingly, Remus didn’t blush this time.

“I don’t think people who are just friends spend this much time talking about having sex with each
other, so …” he trailed off, but only so he could worry his bottom lip, attracting Sirius’ attention.

“Do friends sleep in each other’s beds? I’m not ready to go home quite yet,” Sirius said, watching
Remus with a roguish smirk. Inevitably, the smile reflected on Remus’ face. He did nothing to hide
it.

“Please do,” Remus agreed, looking acutely at Sirius. “Then maybe it’ll smell like you the next
time I break one of those priesthood rules that I don’t strictly adhere to.” His smile was villainous.

“Jesus, Remus,” Sirius breathed out, a little awestruck. Remus made it infinitely worse by using
Sirius’ sudden silence (and stillness) to lean in and press a delicate kiss to the tip of Sirius’ nose.

“Enjoy your nap, darling, I’ll be home soon,” he said intentionally, leaving Sirius to hang on the
door as he watched Remus move up the full flight of stairs. Sirius took pleasure in viewing every
step.
 While My Heart Stands Still
Chapter Summary

While Father Lupin is in confession, an unexpected visitor derails Sirius' plans for
funny business in the confessional.

He’d done exactly as Remus had asked him. After watching Remus walk up those stairs (it was like
a sin, honestly, how good Remus looked walking away), and after sitting on that bench in the back
garden for a few minutes to smoke and appreciate the work of Remus’ horticulture, Sirius had
gone right back into Remus’ bedroom and curled up in his bed. Well, after giving himself a
moment to admire all the art on the walls with the lights on and glancing at the letters and photos
above Remus’ desk and appreciating the antagonism of sophisticated swoops to hastened scribble
of his handwriting on the sticky notes.

When he’d awoken the first time, he’d been so enthralled with being in Remus’ bedroom, waking
next to Remus, being allowed a glimpse into his very guarded personal life that he hadn’t taken the
time to appreciate the fact that he was lying in Remus’ bed, where Remus slept every night, where
Remus had probably broken those priesthood vows that he didn’t strictly adhere to. Sirius buried
his face in the pillow, the one Remus’ head had been resting upon, and he took in a deep breath.

There wasn’t much of a scent – nothing like cologne or aftershave, and Sirius vaguely wondered if
there was a rule about that, too. But there was something there. Something that Sirius could
immediately identify as Remus. Something lightly floral, like budding strawberries in his garden;
something woody, like the walls of the aging church he had spent his whole adult life within;
something sweet, like his mother’s secret for making the best French toast Sirius had ever had in
his goddamn life. And underneath it all, there was something else, something deep and nameless
and inexpressible, something that evoked memories of embraces that never should’ve happened, of
curses from lips that were meant to speak Scripture, of cigarette smoke and empty whiskey bottles
and secret whispers and stolen kisses.

In his breathing of everything that he felt every time he was with Remus, Sirius drifted off to sleep
sooner than he expected, during which he dreamt of ways to convince Remus to allow just a little
funny business in the confessional. Still, it felt as if he had just closed his eyes when an insistent
pounding came to Remus’ front door, sending Sirius jolting up in a panic. He glanced at his phone
– it had been an hour since Remus left, which meant it would be at least another hour before Remus
was done with confession. Did anyone else have a key to Remus’ flat? Should Sirius even bother
trying to hide?

Carefully, Sirius crept to the front door, trying to listen for a sign of who it might be (not that he
knew anyone in Remus’ life). With his ear to the door, he heard soft swearing, heavy breathing.

“Father, it’s Teddy, are you home?” Sirius heard. Teddy’s voice was strained, worried. Without
another thought, Sirius opened the door to find Teddy standing there, tucked underneath the arm of
another kid, a much younger kid, one whose face was half covered in blood, the other half black
and blue.

“Teddy, what the fuck,” Sirius hissed, leaning down to heave this stranger’s free hand over his own
forearm so that he could help them both inside. “What the fuck happened?” They hobbled over to
the kitchen, toward the sink, so that Sirius could wet a cloth to try to clean some of the blood to get
a better idea of what he was dealing with underneath it all. It looked a lot like Regulus’ face that
time Orion came home to find that Regulus had failed a maths exam because of his difficulty with
numbers.

Teddy remained strangely silent, except to say, “Where is Father Lupin?”

“He’s in confession,” Sirius answered quickly, adjusting the chin of the child now sitting on
Remus’ island countertop, moving the wet rag across blood-stained skin. “What’s your name,
kid?”

There was a weighted pause. Teddy and the kid exchanged glances. “Harriet.” As Sirius darted his
eyes over to Teddy, searching for some sort of indication why they were being so secretive, his
eyes fell onto a round pin on the collar of the kid’s denim jacket. It was spackled with blood, but
Sirius could clearly see the pattern – a single white line in the center, then two pink lines, then two
light blue lines.

“Is that the name you want me to call you?” Sirius asked carefully. Hazel eyes, very reminiscent of
James’ eyes, immediately shot up to study Sirius’ face before they darted over to find Teddy’s
gaze.

“I like Harry better,” came the response and Sirius softened a bit. Teddy seemed to relax, too.

“Harry,” Sirius repeated with an easy smile. “I like that. Very brave. I’m Sirius. It’s nice to meet
you.” For another moment of silence, Sirius cleaned the blood from Harry’s skin, finding the
wound from which it originated. He kept talking to make sure Harry was comfortable with him
while keeping a careful eye on the skin of Harry’s brow, split wide open and still gushing a
concerning amount of blood. “Harry, if I was talking about you to someone else, would you rather
me refer to you as he, or she, or something else?”

A small sigh of relief. “He,” Harry answered quickly, adding a polite, “please,” afterward.

“You’ve got a nasty head wound, Harry,” Sirius said, pushing his lips to the side as he grabbed a
clean, dry rag to press it to Harry’ forehead, while he used the other hand to clean the already dried
blood from Harry’s chin, his jaw, his neck – Jesus, it was everywhere. “Can you tell me what
happened?”

Harry glanced over to Teddy. “Riddle,” he said under his breath, chewing on his lip.

“A bully did this to you?” Sirius clarified. Harry nodded. “Another kid?” Another nod. Delicately,
Sirius pulled back on the rag over Harrys’ head wound. Blood immediately dripped into Harry’s
eye.

“It’s still bleeding,” Teddy said, looking rather rattled and a little bit pale in the face.

“It’s alright, there’s a lot of blood vessels very close to the skin on your forehead, so it bleeds a
whole, whole lot, but it’s not very deep. It’ll stop soon,” Sirius said with a reassuring smile. “Are
you able to go home? Will anyone at home take care of you?” Sirius asked, knowing the type of
kids Teddy brought in to see Father Lupin. The tremble in Harry’s lip gave Sirius the answer he
was hoping not to find.

“I live with my aunt and uncle. They … aren’t very happy with me right now,” he said quietly,
fiddling with his fingers, hands folded in his lap. “Since I chopped all my hair off the other day.”

“Oh, you did this?” Sirius asked, injecting enthusiasm into his voice as he gently ruffled Harry’s
messy hair, noticing that it was varying, mostly uneven lengths. “It’s very punk-rock, you know.”

Harry seemed to look pleased, smiling even. “You don’t think it looks stupid?”

“Are you kidding? You look like a regular Sid Vicious with your denim jacket and your cool pins
and your rock-n-roll hairdo,” Sirius said, taking a glance underneath the blood-soaked rag again. A
trickle of blood over Harry’s eyelid told him the bleeding was slowing, but not yet stopped.

“The kids in school don’t think I’m cool, they think I’m a freak,” Harry said, swallowing harshly.

“That’s because kids don’t always know how to think for themselves, like you do,” Sirius said,
taking Harry gently by the chin so that Sirius could convince him to look up at him. “They just do
whatever their parents do and, a lot of the time, their parents are wrong. Because adults sometimes
don’t know how to think for themselves, either. They just do what everyone else is doing, even if
it’s wrong.”

“They say it’s wrong to … be like me,” Harry said, lip trembling again. “Is it?”

“What’s wrong is trying to force anyone to be anything that they’re not. What’s wrong is bullying
someone for being different,” Sirius stated clearly. “I used to get bullied, too, you know.”

“You?” Harry asked incredulously. “But you’re … you’re so cool.”

“No, it’s true,” Sirius nodded, peeking underneath the cloth again and breathing a slight sigh of
relief at the fact that the wound had stopped bleeding. “I’m left-handed, so I used to get teased
quite a bit for being weird. Worst of all, my parents used to force me to write with my right hand
and then punish me for my bad marks in penmanship. They would say I wasn’t trying hard enough
to be normal.”

“Even your parents?” Harry asked in a timid voice.

“Even my parents,” Sirius said, trying to find a way to ease the conversation into the question he
really wanted to ask. “What about your aunt and uncle? Did you get in trouble when you cut your
hair?”

Suddenly, Harry went quiet. “I’m not supposed to tell anyone.”

“It’s okay if you don’t want to tell me,” Sirius replied in a soft, even tone, carefully planning his
next words, moving the cloth from Harry’s face, relieved that the bleeding didn’t start again. “I
wouldn’t want you to get in trouble with them, but I also want to make sure that you’re safe at
home.” To further prove which side he was on, Sirius gestured to the residual bruising on his face.
“See this? Just a few days ago, this was a black eye, just like yours. My dad was the one who hit
me.” Harry’s eyes widened, his lip began to tremble a bit. “I know what you’re going through,
better than anyone. And I want to help.”

Hesitantly, Harry glanced in Teddy’s direction, as if looking for guidance. To Sirius’ surprise,
Teddy nodded, looking up at Sirius with a comfortable smile. With a breath, Harry continued. “My
Uncle Vernon is the one who gave me this black eye,” Harry said, both eyes instantly welling up
with tears.

“Harry,” Sirius said on an exhale, fully expecting that to be the answer, but unable to suppress the
anger that moved through his chest at hearing Harry admit it in his fragile voice. “Is it okay if I
hug you? Is that alright?” Wordless, Harry nodded, so Sirius took the trembling boy into his arms,
squeezing softly and tightening his hold as he felt Harry wrap his arms around Sirius’ neck. “I’m so
sorry, Harry.”
“They said if I wanted to be a boy so bad, they would treat me like one,” Harry sobbed into Sirius’
throat as Teddy tenderly rubbed Harry’s back. “My cousin Dudley calls me names, my Aunt
Petunia treats me like I’m not even a real person. They were never very nice to me in the first
place, but now, I don’t even want to go home after school. I’d rather stay and get beat up by Riddle
than sleep under the stairs.”

“Sleep under the stairs?” Sirius repeated, no longer able to keep the anger out of his tone. It
brought up miserable nights of being locked in the attic by his parents for no discernible reason,
listening to Regulus softly cry himself to sleep from down the hall, keeping an ice pack under his
pillow to help reduce the swelling in his face after Orion punished him for something he didn’t
even do. “Harry.”

“Please don’t tell them I told anyone,” Harry begged, pulling away from Sirius as if Sirius had
suddenly become unsafe. “Please, please, please, I’ll get in so much trouble. Uncle Vernon will kill
me.”

“Harry, it’s alright, listen. Your aunt and uncle don’t have to find out that you were here. But I
think there’s one more person we need to talk to, and that’s Father Lupin,” Sirius reasoned as
Harry’s breaths began to quicken and shorten. Sirius held him gently by the shoulder, squeezing
his assurance into Harry’s frightfully bony frame. “He will tell us the right thing to do. He knows a
lot of things.”

“Is he … like you?” Harry asked, worry in his hazel eyes. Sirius smiled.

“Better than me,” Sirius promised.

“He’s the one who helped me find my mum,” Teddy reminded him, and Harry’s face suddenly
brightened. But it was quickly drowned out by realization and resignation and fear.

“My aunt and uncle will never let me leave,” he said despondently. “And who would want me?”

“Hey,” Sirius said, taking Harry’s face into his hands again, pausing only to wipe away the traces
of blood still lingering on the boy’s skin. “You just say the word and Father Lupin and I will do
everything we can to make sure you get out of that house. And don’t you dare say nobody would
want you. Next to Teddy, you’re the coolest kid I’ve ever met. Anybody would be lucky to add
you to their family.”

“Sirius, he can sleep in my room until we find him somewhere to go,” Teddy offered, smiling
assuredly at Harry as calmly as he could, fondly ruffling Harry’s choppy hair like an older brother.

“Let me go see if Father Lupin can skip out on confession a little early,” Sirius said, taking Harry’s
hand and helping him jump down from the counter. “Stay here with Teddy, I’ll be right back.” He
squeezed Harry’s hand a little extra as he turned to Teddy. “There’s some leftover French toast on
the stove, make sure he eats something, okay?” He turned to the door before adding, “And make
sure you eat something, too.” Teddy pretended to roll his eyes, but the smile on his face gave him
away.

In his hurry, he bounded up the stairs two at a time, trying to refrain from sprinting down the long
hallway that led back to the nave of the church. As he moved through those swinging doors, he
breathed a sigh of relief to see that there was nobody in the pews. The confessional booth was on
the furthest wall, he rationed his steps to make it there quickly, but without racing to it.

Not really knowing the etiquette for this sort of situation, he separated the curtain of the empty side
where the parishioner would usually sit and threw himself down onto the bench before speaking.
“Father, I need your help,” he said properly, just in case anyone was listening.

“Sirius,” Remus breathed his name like it was the answer to a prayer, watching him through the
patterned, wooden divider that separated them. Momentarily distracted from his mission, Sirius
was struck by the way Remus leaned forward in earnest, his voice low and his golden skin freckled
with quatrefoil shadows from the ornamental screen between them. “I know I said no funny
business in the confessional, but I’ve had a single confession in the last hour and I am bored out of
my fucking skull in here. Please tell me you came to entertain me. I don’t even care what that
means at this point, I’ll take anything.” Even through the partition, Sirius could clearly see the
hungry glow in his honeyed gaze.

“Remus, I –” Sirius began to say, but Remus interrupted him.

“Does it make me a bad person if I really enjoyed you calling me Father just then?” he laughed,
full of heedless breath. “I think it’s mostly because of the way you look at me when you say it.”

“Listen, I want to get you off in this confessional just as much as you do, but I –”

When Remus replied, his voice was quiet, but unrestrained. “I could ask you to kneel, if you like.”

Sirius let out a loud, frustrated growl. “God, I wish I could take you up on that offer, but when I
said I need your help, I meant it. I’ve got a kid downstairs. Teddy brought him. He’s in trouble.”
Without pause, Remus stood, tearing back the curtain on his side. Sirius did the same and met him
in the middle.

“Let’s go,” Remus said, instinctively taking Sirius by the hand. Sirius didn’t correct him.

“His name is Harry,” he said at the top of the stairs. “He’s a trans boy and from what I’ve gathered,
he’s got a bully at school and several others at home. He said he sleeps under the stairs.”

Remus immediately began seething, Sirius was sure he could see flames licking out from between
the tightened edges of Remus’ sharpened teeth. “Does he live with his parents?”

“Aunt and uncle and cousin, all of them abusive in some way.”

“Is he hurt?” Remus’ fingers began to tremble, still tucked into Sirius’ own. Sirius nodded slowly.

“Cut above his eyebrow from the bully. Black eye from the uncle.” For a moment, Remus closed
his eyes, letting out a careful breath, and Sirius was sure he was trying to prevent himself from
channeling the anger in his gut onto poor Harry. “I told them to help themselves to our leftover
French toast.”

A smile on Remus’ lips seemed to wash away the residual rage in his expression. “Thank you,
Sirius,” he said, quickly pressing a chaste kiss to Sirius’ knuckles, on that little, red heart. “Really.”

Sirius didn’t get a chance to respond, but he wasn’t sure he needed to, anyway. As Remus knocked
(on the door to his own flat, which Sirius knew was just to make Harry feel safe within the confines
of that space) and opened the door, they found Harry and Teddy on the sofa, each of them with a
plate of French toast on their laps. There were a pair of round glasses on Harry’s nose that hadn’t
been there before, and Sirius realised it was because one of the lenses was cracked, a lightning
strike through the glass of one side. At first, Harry tensed at the newcomer, but his shoulders eased
as he saw Sirius.

“Hey, buddy,” Sirius said casually, moving past Remus to sit down on the floor next to Harry’s
legs. “This is Father Lupin, he’s my friend, he’s going to help us. How’s the French toast?”
“So good,” Harry said with a mouthful, followed by a wide (but politely closed) smile. As Sirius
looked more closely at him, he was relieved to see the wound on his forehead was still closed,
despite the fact that Sirius hadn’t bandaged it (not exactly knowing where to find anything like that
in Remus’ flat).

“Let me take a look at that battle wound,” he said, kneeling in front of Harry as he took the last bite
of his French toast. Gently, Sirius held Harry’s face in his chin, turning his head a bit.

“Doesn’t hurt anymore,” Harry beamed proudly, and Sirius physically ached at the thought of how
often this child got hurt that he took pride in the fact that his pain tolerance was so high.

“That’s good news, my man,” Sirius said, pinching Harry’s chin as he let his hand fall away.
“Those are some cool specs you’ve got.” That earned him a heavy sigh of annoyance through
Harry’s lips.

“I hate them. They’re too big for my face, Tom Riddle always knocks them off on purpose, and
Uncle Vernon wouldn’t get me a new pair when they broke. Plus, they make me look like a dork.”

“I don’t think they make you look like a dork,” Sirius said, reaching up to adjust the temple tips of
the glasses, noticing that, because they were far too wide for Harry’s head, there were rubber bands
tied around the ends to keep them from falling off his face. Because they were adult glasses, which
meant they had a prescription in the lenses that wasn’t suited specifically to Harry’s eyes. A quick
glance in his peripheral toward Remus told him that Remus had noticed the same thing. For now,
Sirius didn’t address it with Harry. “I mean, look at Father Lupin. He wears glasses just like yours.
Do you think he looks like a dork?” Hesitantly, Harry regarded Remus, and Sirius smiled at Remus
looking perfectly nervous.

“No, I guess not,” Harry finally shrugged. Remus pretended to breathe a sigh of relief and Sirius
was delighted to see the way Harry laughed at Remus’ theatrics. His whole demeanor seemed to
calm.

“You and Father Lupin make glasses look cool,” Sirius grinned. “But these aren’t yours, are they?”

“They’re my Uncle Vernon’s old pair. He said glasses cost too much money and I was probably
faking it anyway,” Harry said, and he said it so indifferently that Sirius actually winced in
response. Not to mention, Harry wouldn’t know it, but his Uncle Vernon would most definitely
fucking know that Harry could very easily get free eyeglasses because of his age. It was just further
evidence of the malignancy of the abuse that Harry suffered, and it made Sirius feel like violently
murdering someone he’d never met.

“Well, I think you deserve your own pair,” Sirius said carefully. Harry didn’t perk up at the idea
the way Sirius thought he would. Instead, he lowered his head, avoiding Sirius’ gaze adamantly.

“Not according to Uncle Vernon. He would never pay for that.” The automatic clench in Sirius’
teeth was so strong that he was afraid it had been audible. Quickly, Remus knelt next to him.

“I’ll take care of it. Uncle Vernon can’t be mad about new glasses if he wasn’t the one who had to
pay for them, right?” Remus said with a calm and comforting smile that Harry began to mirror.

“Is it okay if I pick some that still look like yours?” he asked Remus and Sirius genuinely thought
Remus would melt into a puddle on the spot. His expression was pure, unspoiled joy.

“I would be honoured if you did.”

Well after dark, Remus and Sirius stumbled back into Remus’ basement flat, each of them
breathing a sigh of relief and of exhaustion, mental and physical. If Sirius had been counting
correctly, as they walked back to the church from Dora’s house, Remus had smoked all six of the
cigarettes left in his own pack and then another two borrowed from Sirius, but he’d earned it. All
morning and into the afternoon, Remus had been on the phone with his friend at Child Services,
Alastor Moody, the same one who helped him with Teddy. Just like with Teddy, with
overwhelming proof of neglect and abuse, they were able to get permission for emergency removal
of Harry from his abusive environment, but unlike Teddy, Harry had somewhere to go in the
interim. Dora was more than welcoming in letting Harry stay, and since she was already registered
as a foster parent, even the paperwork had been easy. Not to mention, because Dora was a licensed
child counselor, she and Moody were old friends, too. In fact, as Remus had mentioned to Sirius,
that was how Remus had met Dora in the first place, because Moody had recommended taking
Teddy to see her, and Teddy had quickly nestled out a place in Dora’s heart.

After taking Harry to the optometrist and ordering him some new frames, they took Harry to buy
some new clothes because all his clothes at the Dursleys were skirts and dresses. During the
shopping trip, Remus and Sirius found out a lot of information about Harry’s home life – how his
Aunt Petunia only allowed him to wear a dress or a skirt outside of the house (Teddy often carried
some of his old clothes in his backpack just for Harry), how his cousin Dudley referred to Harry
almost exclusively in slurs (Teddy got him the trans pin to remind him that there are other people
just like him), how his Uncle Vernon locked him in the cupboard under the stairs without dinner
more than one night a week (Teddy always kept extra snacks in his bag to sneak to Harry every
time they ran into each other in the neighbourhood). It seemed that Remus had, without knowing,
trained his replacement in caring for the growing community.

As Remus threw himself down onto the sofa, another sigh pressed from his suddenly unsettled
lungs. In like fashion, Sirius dropped his weight onto the cushion next to Remus, with the obvious
intent to jostle Remus in his place. But Remus didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he let his frame sag
against Sirius.

“You surprised me today,” Remus said in a subdued voice. The way he took Sirius’ hand was bold,
not hesitant in the least. His fingertip traced over the little red heart on Sirius’ middle knuckle.

“How so?” Sirius asked, less focused on the conversation and more on the movement of Remus’
fingers up his wrist, over his forearm, finding another tattoo over which he could ghost his touch. It
was an outline of a lion’s mane tucked underneath a crown, completely in black ink except for the
green watercolour spilled around the edges. It was the tattoo he’d gotten for Regulus, in his
favourite colours.

“With Harry,” Remus answered, a bit absently, his voice still soft. He touched Sirius’ skin with
affection, with reverence, and Sirius wondered if he knew that tattoo was Regulus’ memorial.

“You did all the real work, I just helped him pick out some cool boots,” Sirius replied with a laugh,
but it was breathier than a laugh should be, his lungs full of stunted air that had nowhere else to go.

“It was more than that.” Remus shook his head to accentuate his argument and the motion of it left
his head hanging just above Sirius’ shoulder, so he closed the distance by choice. “Before I even
got downstairs, he trusted you entirely.” By then, Sirius’ arm was fully within Remus’ lap and
Remus’ brazen touch hadn’t diminished, hadn’t slowed, hadn’t grown nervous. There was another
tattoo at the inside of Sirius’ wrist that Remus had skipped over the first time, and he circled back
to it, the memory of that tattoo bringing a smile to Sirius’ face. ‘Get it?’ he’d said to James as the
shop artist started on the outline of what would be a rainbow-coloured strawberry, ‘Cause I’m a
fruit’ as James rolled his eyes, smiling.

“I told you,” Sirius shrugged with one shoulder, careful not to discourage Remus from keeping his
head upon it. “I just asked him his name and cleaned up his face a little. You would’ve done the
same.”

“That’s exactly my point, Sirius,” Remus said in finality, adjusting his head slightly so he could
glance up at Sirius, but his gaze didn’t stay. Instead, it moved back to the smiling strawberry on
Sirius’ wrist, along with his touch. “You did exactly what I would’ve done. And you did it without
me asking you to help or knowing the best way to do it, you just … did it.” Fluidly, he pulled
Sirius’ arm closer to his face, rubbing his thumb over that silly tattoo and watching it, as if waiting
for it to smudge. But Sirius knew – that wasn’t really what he was waiting for. “You made Harry
feel comfortable and normal and safe and you did it so naturally, so easily.” Before Sirius could ask
him why this was such an impressive feat, before Sirius could explain that of course he’d wanted to
make Harry feel safe, because he had never been given that, because Reg had never been given
that, before he could shrug it off as his natural instinct to want to protect kids who are in trouble,
especially kids like Harry – before he could verbalize any of that, Remus leaned in, closed the
distance between his lips and Sirius’ skin, and pressed a delicate kiss to Sirius’ wrist.

“It was just … basic human decency,” Sirius tried to explain away, his words crashing together in
his mouth as he tried not to read into this kiss, but how could he interpret this any other way except
for exactly what it was? The exposition grew more explicit the wider Remus opened his mouth.

“Sirius,” he whispered into Sirius’ skin, and it sent a jolt up Sirius’ spine. “I don’t think you
understand what a paradox you are.” Sirius might’ve had the wherewithal to reply if Remus’
breath wasn’t so warm against his skin, if a new shiver didn’t move up his shoulders with every
press of Remus’ soft lips, if Sirius couldn’t feel the unmistakable stroke of Remus’ tongue against
Sirius’ kissed skin.

“Remus,” Sirius tried to argue, knowing he wouldn’t have the will to stop this if Remus got any
further. Hell, he didn’t even have the will to stop him now. “Remus, please.” He resorted to
begging.

“How do you go through the things you have and come out the other side kinder?” Remus
questioned, apparently electing to ignore Sirius’ pleas as his lips began to move up Sirius’ arm.

“I could ask you the same thing,” Sirius countered, giving up on convincing Remus to stop and
giving in to the wild idea that Remus might keep going. Gradually, Sirius shifted his weight, until
he was leaning back against Remus’ chest, his neck suddenly closer to Remus’ lips than his arm
was. And Remus was apparently not oblivious to that fact, because when he let out his next
expectant breath, it rolled down the collar of Sirius’ shirt, open mouth hovering over Sirius’
unexpectedly available skin.

“I suppose that’s true,” Remus replied slowly, speaking almost unconsciously, his mind clearly no
longer on their conversation. “If I were to kiss you right now,” he continued, delicately running his
fingers through Sirius’ long hair in an effort to move it off of his neck. “What would you do?” It
was the same question that Sirius had asked him just a few nights ago, but it felt like a century had
passed.

“I’d enjoy it,” Sirius replied frankly, mimicking Remus’ original reply. “Immensely.” In buzzing
anticipation, he arched his neck to the side, giving Remus ample space to move forward. Much to
Sirius’ surprise and relief, he did. What Sirius felt first was the wiry, trimmed stubble on Remus’
cheek as he nuzzled his face along Sirius’ jaw. His callused fingers swept across Sirius’ chest to
hold him tenderly by the other side of his jaw, giving him an additional level of control that Sirius
didn’t even know he’d wanted Remus to have, but was now wildly aware of the effect it had on his
own heart rate. When Remus’ lips dusted faintly across Sirius’ skin, it left Sirius emphatically sure
that he would fall apart under the weight of Remus’ intentional kiss. Just the ephemeral brush of
his mouth left Sirius dizzy, frantic.

“After watching you with Harry today,” Remus said, and Sirius could feel the movement of his
prominent Adam’s apple move across the top ridge of his shoulder blade as he swallowed. “I
realised I could not possibly be more attracted to you.” With a soft, nervous breath that preceded,
Remus let his lips part just widely enough for Sirius’ skin to fit between them, pursing carefully in
a hesitant, innocent kiss that fell just underneath the curve of Sirius’ jaw, in the space just beneath
Sirius’ earlobe.

“Oh, God,” Sirius instinctively called out on a broken, unsteady voice. It was just as dizzying, just
as staggering as he expected. But with his vocal, passionate outburst, he expected to rattle Remus
from his euphoria, he expected Remus to retreat. He didn’t. Instead, his grip on Sirius’ jaw grew
heavier.

“And I’m not just physically attracted to you,” Remus confessed, opening his mouth a little wider
as he set his lips to Sirius’ skin a second time, a kiss that was abundantly less innocent than the last
one had been. It was in the way his breath seemed to seethe out against Sirius’ skin, in the way he
pulled Sirius as close to his mouth as he could get him, in the way his body against Sirius’ was
slowly easing them both down into a reclined position on the couch, with Remus on top. “I wish I
were, it would’ve been so much easier to stop thinking about you.” By the third kiss, the weight of
Remus’ tongue between his open lips was palpable, the soft bite of his sharpened teeth as he
sucked meekly, careful not to leave a mark.

“Jesus Christ, Remus,” Sirius exhaled sharply, just before his unbalance led him to slip all the way
down the sofa cushions, settling with a purposeful grunt onto the bottom cushions, with Remus
looking down at him with the hungriest expression Sirius had ever seen in his amber eyes. With
intent in his movement, Remus knelt with one knee tucked into the back of the sofa, finding the
floor with the other foot until Sirius was situated underneath him, between Remus’ spread legs.
With one hand, he braced himself against the arm of the sofa. With the other, he removed his
glasses. “Fuck,” Sirius whimpered.

“Maybe I wouldn’t be so smitten if you weren’t so kind and so witty and so compassionate and so
expressive,” Remus listed, almost angrily, growing ever closer to Sirius’ face until their foreheads
were pressed firmly together. “Or maybe I would, because you’re still more gorgeous than anyone
else I have ever met, but I …” he trailed off, letting out another troubled breath that Sirius could
taste. “Sirius, I don’t know what else to do. I wanted nothing for so long, but now I want nothing
else. Nothing else but you.”

“Please just kiss me, Remus,” Sirius begged again, now for the opposite purpose. “You don’t have
to break your vow. You can just kiss me. We can stop at that.” Remus’ jaw tightened. Sirius knew
why.

“I’m not sure I want to stop at that,” he said candidly, his pupils so heavily dilated in need and
famine that Sirius was sure the bourbon colour of his eyes had been swallowed up by the void left
behind.

“Then nobody ever has to know,” Sirius reasoned, swallowing nervously as he tucked his fingers
into Remus’ clerical collar. “I already told you – your secrets are safe with me. All of them.” With
a decisive breath, Remus tilted his chin forward, his lips touching Sirius’ as delicately as either
could stand.

And then Sirius’ mobile began to ring, vibrating from where he had carelessly set it onto the oddly
shaped coffee table. They both went still, the same argument playing in both their minds at once.

“I could ignore it,” Sirius reasoned, trailing his fingers down Remus’ jaw, teasing his lips. But it
was already too late, and Sirius knew that. With a deep breath, Remus pushed himself upright.

“Answer it,” he said, frustration evident in his voice as he violently shoved his body away from
where Sirius was still half-reclined on Remus’ sofa. “It’s practically a fucking sign from God.”

With bitterness evident in his voice, Sirius snatched the phone and answered it without bothering to
look at the screen to see who would dare ruin their momentum. “What?” he growled.

“Hey, whoa, what’s going on?” James asked, immediate concern in his voice. “Are you okay?”

Sirius let out a sigh, trying to make his breath a balm to his anger. “I’m fine, I’m sorry, I just … I
was in the middle of something important.” He risked a glance in Remus’ direction, but Remus
wasn’t looking back. He was walking into the kitchen, hands locked tightly behind his head,
knuckles blanched.

“I can let you go … if you need me to,” James offered warily. “We can talk later.”

“It’s fine, it’s – it was kind of do-or-die, so it … it died,” Sirius vaguely explained, trying to satisfy
both James and Remus, who was unwillingly listening in on the conversation. But Remus must’ve
sensed that Sirius was unable to speak freely, because he retrieved his glasses from the coffee table
and stalked off into his bedroom and softly closed the door, without so much as a backward glance
in Sirius’ direction.

“Oh, shit, are you with Moony?” James asked suddenly and Sirius balked at the question.

“No, I … it turns out I was wrong about that, actually,” he said delicately, not wanting to say
Moony’s name out loud for fear that Remus would overhear it, though he wasn’t sure why he
worried about it, since he’d never mentioned to Remus that he briefly thought they were the same
person.

“I’m sorry, I just thought …” James’ voice trailed off nervously. “I mean, you haven’t been home
since last night, and you didn’t respond to any of my texts today, so I was a bit worried, to be
honest.”

“No, that’s my fault,” Sirius groaned, irritated at himself for ignoring James, but when he was with
Remus, it was like he had no remaining attention to devote to anything else. “There was just so
much going on today, this kid showed up at the church, and I was –” Carefully, James interrupted.

“The church?” he asked, his voice softening, but the concern deepening. “Wait, you said you were
wrong about Moony, so he’s not the same guy, right? But you’re still hanging out with the priest?”

“I know what you’re going to say, James, I already know.”

“You can’t date the priest, Sirius.”

“Didn’t I already say I knew what you were going to say?” Sirius huffed, beginning to pace to try
to dissolve his feelings of entrapment and helplessness. “I know that. It doesn’t change the fact that
I –”
“Please don’t say you love him.”

“James, it’s been less than a week, of course not,” Sirius argued, out of instinct, but if he was being
honest with himself, it was getting harder for him to stay away from Remus because of the steadily
increasing depth of affection that Sirius held for him. “I like him. I like spending time with him.”

“I don’t want to mother you, but –”

“You’ve been mothering me for fifteen years, don’t kid yourself.”

“Shut up. I just don’t want you to get your heart broken, okay?” James said, his voice almost
pleading. “And if you get caught with him, he will be the one to bear the biggest consequences.”

“I know that,” Sirius groaned, throwing his head back in his despair at how right James was.

“Oh my God, that was it,” James said on a hollow breath. “That was the do-or-die that I just
interrupted, wasn’t it? Did you kiss him? Were you going to kiss him? Was he going to let you?”

“Yes! Alright? Yes,” Sirius practically shouted, throwing one hand into the air. “Are you happy?
I’m tempting Remus to break his fucking vows, yes. I know that, James, I get it.” He closed his
eyes tightly. If this conversation went on much longer, Sirius was afraid James would talk some
sense into him. Feeling very much on the verge of tears from his own frustration and weakness,
Sirius sat down hard onto the sofa, letting his forehead fall into his waiting palm. “But I can’t stay
away from him. I don’t want to.”

“What does Remus want?” James inquired softly, carefully. For a long time, Sirius was silent.

“He doesn’t want to lose the church,” Sirius replied in a defeated whisper. Why did James always
have to be right all the bloody time? “Which means I’m going to have to leave before I screw his
life up.”

“Sirius, I’m sorry, I really am,” James said. Sirius could hear the sincerity in his voice. “And I’m
not trying to tell you what to do, I just don’t want you to get in so deep that you can’t get back out
again.”

“Yeah, it’s a little too late for that,” Sirius heaved a miserable sigh. “I think I was in too deep
before I even knew his first name. I’ve only known him for three days and already I don’t know
how I’m supposed to live without him.” He let his eyes flutter closed, tightening under a pained,
furrowed brow.

“Oh, Sirius,” James said with a commiserative exhale, surely unsure of what else he could say.

“But you’re right. I won’t be the reason his livelihood gets taken away.”

“Come home,” James urged him. “We’ll eat a shit ton of junk food and watch stupid films and we
don’t have to talk about anything unless you want to.” Sirius took in a breath and let it out slowly.

“Yeah, alright,” he said, swallowing hard, his throat tight. “I’ll see you in a bit.”

“I love you, you know.”

“I know,” Sirius said, trying not to sigh as he said it. “I love you just the same.” As soon as he
ended the call, the bedroom door opened. Remus leaned on the interior of the frame.

“You have to go, don’t you?” he asked, wrinkling his nose. It looked like a wince.
Sirius nodded. “I’m doing nothing but making things difficult for you.”

“It’s only difficult because I’m not supposed to want the things I want.”

“I know.” It was silent for only a beat before Remus spoke again.

“If I had kissed you just now, I wouldn’t have been able to stop.”

“I know,” Sirius repeated woefully. “Neither would I.”

“I can live with the guilt,” Remus said suddenly, his eyes immediately tight to Sirius’ gaze. “If you
can live with the secret.” As they stood in stalemate, Remus worried his lip, watching Sirius
gravely.

“Remus, what are you asking me?” Remus let out a breath he’d apparently been holding.

“On the phone, I heard you say you don’t know how you’re supposed to live without me, and I
don’t know how, either,” he said quickly, restlessly, fretfully. “I can’t watch you walk away
again.”

“Fuck,” Sirius whispered, mostly to himself, violently pushing his hands through his hair.

“Why are we trying so hard?” Remus asked, a resentful growl in his throat. “You and I are the only
ones who would know.” He took a step toward Sirius and Sirius saw his hands trembling at his
sides. “Let me make this choice, Sirius.” By then, he was close enough to reach out and touch
Sirius, so he did, his hands sliding up Sirius’ chest until they moved over his face. Even as he held
Sirius’ jaw, his fingers were quivering. “It’s my vow to break, and I have never wanted to break it
more than I do right now.”

“You’re shaking,” Sirius said with a slight whine, moving his hands up to hold Remus’ fingers.

“Hell, I’m nervous as shit,” Remus said with a tight laugh. “I haven’t had sex in ten years and I’m
about to strip down in front of a bloke who is easily ten times more attractive than I am and likely
much more recently experienced.” With a comfortable laugh, Sirius brought Remus’ fingers to his
lips.

“Remus,” he began to say, his voice lowered in his disbelief of what he was about to say.

“Sirius,” Remus replied with his name in return, much more urgently. “Kiss me before I lose my
fucking nerve.” Insistently, Remus slipped his fingers out of Sirius’ hands so he could move them
quickly back to his face. With fire in his fingertips, he pulled Sirius close, their lips brushing
hastily.

But Sirius pulled away. “If we do this once, I will want it again and again and again, and we will
get caught,” Sirius panted, stepping back but renewing his hold on Remus’ fingers. Finally, despite
what Sirius was afraid of, he was relieved to hear Remus laughing. And it was easy and sweet and
genuine.

“You might not want it again. I might be shite at it,” he grinned, reaching toward Sirius again until
his fingers found the loose bottom hem of Sirius’ T-shirt. And Sirius was absolutely helpless to the
drip of Remus’ slight Irish lilt and the pull of his fingers and the smirk on his face. “No way to
know but to try.”

“Funny that you kicked me out yesterday for the same thing that you’re begging me for now,” he
said with a starkly raised brow that instantly caught Remus’ attention. He intentionally rose it
higher.

“I kicked you out yesterday because I was grinding my co– … myself into your hips,” Remus
clarified, coyly correcting his vulgar terminology into something a little tamer, context aside.

“Seems like a pretty seamless transition into sex, if you ask me.”

“Yesterday, I wasn’t sure. Today, I’m sure.”

“Today, you’re horny.”

“I was horny yesterday, too.”

“Oh, I could tell.”

“I mean it, Sirius,” Remus finally said with an exasperated sigh. “What’s the fucking point? I’m
not winning a gold medal for chastity. Christ himself is not going to come down and give me a
trophy because I didn’t let anyone else touch me for ten years. I break every other rule, how is this
one any different?”

“Stop being logical,” Sirius groaned, throwing his head back and trying to ignore the way Remus’
fingers were slowly creeping up underneath the hem of his shirt (mostly so Remus could get a bit
more distance before Sirius pretended to notice and had to put a stop to it). “What if we get
caught?”

“There are two doors between here and my bed, both of which have multiple locks,” Remus
argued. “What are the fucking odds that they would all malfunction in the exact moment someone
tried to get into my flat? And who would try to get in? Mary doesn’t come down here for a
reason.”

“Oh my God, did the nun walk in on you pleasuring yourself, Father?” Sirius ribbed. By then,
Remus’ fingers had breached the invisible barrier of Sirius’ bare skin underneath his shirt, and
when Sirius spoke the word pleasure, Remus’ grip on Sirius’ skin noticeably tensed. He pulled
Sirius closer.

“No, because she knows that there’s a chance she could,” Remus said, his hands on Sirius’ naked
skin now to his ribs. Sirius found himself growing increasingly short of breath. “And vice versa,
you know.”

“Why right now?” Sirius asked curiously. “I’ve been here all night, I slept in your bed last night.
You carried me to bed last night. You could’ve fucked me senseless at any point in the last sixteen
hours.”

At Sirius’ explicit wording, Remus bared his teeth and suddenly his hands were much lower on
Sirius’ bare skin. With carefully placed pressure underneath Sirius’ navel, Remus walked him back
to the wall adjacent to the front door, just so he could press Sirius into it. “Christ, say that again.”

Forgetting his argument, Sirius obliged. “Fuck. Me. Senseless,” he enunciated clearly.

“My God, Sirius,” Remus hummed, arching his hips into Sirius’ own, burying his face into the
curve of Sirius’ neck, open mouth on Sirius’ skin before Sirius could let out a breath. The weight
and the pressure of his kiss was so much stronger than it had been a moment ago. Sirius could feel
it bruising.

“Shit,” he realised sharply, jerking away from Remus and feeling instant regret at the worry and
remorse in Remus’ expression. Remus’ gaze shot down to what Sirius knew was a visible love
mark at the base of his neck, wincing harshly before lowering his head. “This is what would get us
caught.” He moved his hand to cover the spot, suffering as he found it still warm and wet from the
voracity of Remus’ mouth.

“You’re right, you’re right, fuck,” Remus said with emphasis in his growling voice. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize to me, I’m not the one who’s whole life is at risk if we decide to do
this, and someone happens to find out about it.” Sirius reached out to slip his fingers over Remus’
face, but he got halfway before he realised that was not a wise decision and pulled his frustrated fist
back to his side. “But it would be my fault because I encouraged it. If that happened, I’d never
forgive myself.”

“Sirius,” Remus laughed cautiously. “It’s not like they’ll behead me for not being celibate.”

“But you could lose the church, right?” Sirius asked, knowing. With a roll of his eyes, Remus
nodded. “Which means you could lose your income and your flat and your garden and –”

“I know,” Remus vocalized, voice rumbling. “But it’s not like I can just stop seeing you now.” His
amber gaze behind golden frames suddenly moved into tenderness. “Because, well, I don’t know if
you can tell or anything, but I’m a bit wild about you, actually.” After all they’d said to each other,
Sirius’ cheeks still went pink and, in response, the tops of Remus’ ears flashed an attractive shade
of maroon.

“Considering I told my best mate I can’t live without you, I suppose that makes us even,” Sirius
smiled sheepishly, running his hand through the back of his hair in an effort to look more casual.

“James? Is that his name?” Remus asked, settling down onto the arm of the sofa behind him.

“Yeah. More of a brother, really, since I lost Reg. He’s the one I moved in with when I left home at
sixteen. His parents were better parents to me than my own ever were,” Sirius said with a sigh that
was half contented and half longing. “Tried so many times to get Reg to come stay with us, but …”

“Let me guess, Mummy Dearest was constantly convincing him that you didn’t mean it,” Remus
said with a knowing grimace. Sirius nodded, letting his head fall back against the wall on which he
leaned.

“She would tell him all the time that I was a sinner, and I would corrupt him or that he would just
annoy me by hanging around us all the time. A new lie every night.” Sirius closed his eyes and
imagined, just as he did every night when he tried to sleep – how different, how wonderful their
lives would’ve been if Regulus had listened to Sirius instead of their mother. “James would’ve
loved a younger brother.”

“Not that I was necessarily trying to overhear,” Remus said, gritting his teeth in silent apology,
“but from what I gathered through your end of the conversation, it sounds like he’s trying to protect
me, too, isn’t he? Your James?” Remus asked. With a smile at the wording, Your James, Sirius
nodded.

“He knows there will be consequences for you if this gets out.” Sirius took in a breath and let it out
slowly. “Plus, he’s afraid I’ll get my heart broken when you choose the church over me.”

Remus winced again. “God, that’s harsh. When I choose the church.”

“Well, it didn’t look like you were choosing the church just now,” Sirius grinned. And he found
Remus mirroring that expression, but under a striking contrast of hunger and sentiment.
“I certainly wasn’t. I could still choose you, if you’d let me,” he offered, brow raised.

“I’m going to hope this isn’t a one-time offer,” Sirius laughed. Remus just shrugged, still smiling.

“And I’m going to pretend like we don’t already know my response to that,” Remus said, pushing
off of the sofa and moving toward Sirius again. “Is hugging off limits? I could do a lot with a hug.”

“Catholic school three second rule,” Sirius offered. “No hugs longer than three seconds.”

“Fuck that, I need more than three seconds,” he hummed, immediately slipping his arms around
Sirius’ waist as Sirius wrapped his around Remus’ neck. Remus nuzzled in deeply. “God, you’re so
soft.”

“I kind of wish you were saying the opposite,” Sirius teased, and Remus promptly let out a growl.

“Oh my God, Sirius.” His growl faded into a pathetic whine. “How dare you.” For a few more long
seconds, they stood in their sacred embrace, both running their fingers through one another’s hair.

“When can I come back?” Sirius whispered into Remus’ ear, and he felt Remus’ shoulders shudder
underneath his touch. For a little longer than Sirius expected, Remus was silent.

“This is going to happen every time we’re together,” Remus reasoned. “If we don’t want it to keep
happening, we’re going to have to stay apart. Or have a chaperone.” As Sirius let out a fake gag, he
pulled away just a bit, only enough to look up at Remus’ face, still tucked away inside his arms.

“Oh, God, don’t threaten me with a chaperone, Father.” Despite how Remus claimed not to like it
when Sirius called him Father, his eyebrow still rose in sedition. “If I leave now, I won’t have an
excuse to come back until the prayer vigil on Thursday night. And I don’t know that I can make it
two full days without even being able to talk to you.” A thought crossed through his mind that
hadn’t appeared there since yesterday, so he said it aloud. “This might be a dumb question, but do
you have a mobile?”

Remus laughed, shoving Sirius away in a playful way that still showed his annoyance at being
treated like a fossil. “I’m a priest, not an eighty-year-old man. Of course, I do.” Still, as soon as he
admitted it, a strange sort of expression moved over his features, lips thinned, eyebrows furrowed.

“We could text? If you want?” Sirius bargained and that expression on Remus’ face deepened,
shifted, went through a hundred pinpoint changes before it settled down into a curious grin.

“I’m … open to texting,” he said. It was almost as if he were trying to stifle a laugh.

“Here, put your number into my contacts,” Sirius said as he unlocked his phone and handed it over
to Remus’ waiting hands, watching the smile on his face erupt at the sight of his home screen.

“This is the cutest fucking cat I’ve ever seen,” Remus beamed, turning the phone back to Sirius, as
if Sirius had never seen his own phone wallpaper before. “Look at those teensy fucking teeth.”

“Crookshanks,” Sirius said, delighted at how Remus and Moony made exactly the same comment
about the teeth, but then again, they were the focal point. “My godcat. James and Lily’s only
child.”

“I’d love to meet them someday,” Remus said carefully, pulling up Sirius’ contacts to put in his
mobile number. “All three of them.” Just before he entered it, he seemed to pause in rigorous
thought.
“I’ll text you when I get home,” Sirius assured him as Remus handed him the phone back.

“You’d better,” Remus smiled, narrowing his eyes a bit as he added. “You’re lucky I even gave
your phone back. Hand to God, I almost kept it just for the cat photo.” Dumbly, Sirius blinked at
him, mouth hanging open in blatant surprise. “Sirius, I was just kidding,” Remus added as Sirius
continued to stare at him in violent confusion. It took Remus shaking Sirius by the shoulder to jolt
him from it.

“R-right,” Sirius laughed it off, but it was far too exact to be coincidental. Wasn’t it?

“While you were on the phone earlier, I sat on the edge of my bed,” Remus called as he walked
toward his bedroom door, Sirius to the front door. “My sheets smell like you. I really appreciate
that.”

“Maybe when you text me later, you can tell me exactly how much you appreciate it,” Sirius said
as he opened the door and stood in the stairwell. “Doesn’t count if you do it yourself, does it?”

“Fuck me,” Remus howled, just like he had that first night, closing his door for the sake of
nostalgia before he called out from the other side. “Good night, Sirius. You godless seductor.”

“Good night Father,” Sirius called back, breathing in the scent of Remus’ flat – the sweetness of
French toast, the earthiness of the basement, the woodiness of the church, and the warmth of
Remus himself – for what he hoped wouldn’t be the last time as he locked the door, pulling it shut
behind him.

The moment Sirius walked into James and Lily’s flat, James pulled his smiling lips into his teeth,
and Sirius immediately slapped his hand over the love bite on his neck. “Shut up,” he sulked.

“It’s a cute look,” James snickered, covering his mouth. “Goes very well with the last vestiges of
that black eye your dad gave you.” Despite their sibling-level bickering, James pulled Sirius into a
deep, full hug. “I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages.” With a contented sigh, Sirius nuzzled in
closer.

“Because I’ve been busy fruitlessly trying to seduce a priest,” he hummed blissfully.

“Or not so fruitlessly,” James said, pulling Sirius back by the shoulders so that he could lean in and
examine the work of Remus’ mouth. “That is genuine, mate. I mean, he either purposefully wanted
to leave a mark on you or he got so caught up in it that he didn’t care. Either way, not fruitless.”

“Yes, fruitless,” Sirius argued, throwing himself onto James’ sofa with a grunt. “It really only
makes it worse to know he has feelings for me. I think it’s going to kill me to try to stay away from
him.”

“Well, can he leave the church?” James offered. Sirius sighed. Loudly.

“Sure, which would also mean wasting four years of undergrad, four years of seminary, losing his
job, losing his house, losing his entire life, all for some bloke he’s known for … four days.”

“Fuck,” James huffed, dropping down onto the sofa next to him.
“Yeah,” Sirius agreed with a heavy exhale. “Fuck.” For a moment, they sat in silence until Sirius
realised it was too silent – no television, no music, no singing, no drums. No Lily. “Where’s your
wife?”

“She’s practicing tonight,” James shrugged. Sirius looked at him curiously – James usually loved
going to band practice with Lily, just to watch her find new rhythms and attempt new stick twirls.
“But I knew you were on your way back, and I was pretty sure you might need a shoulder to cry
on.”

Sirius’ expression softened immediately. “What would I do without you?” he sighed, letting his
whole body go limp so that his head could fall over onto James’ shoulder, just like he said.

“Cry alone, probably,” James said with a laugh. “You wanna watch Bridget Jones?” he asked
sarcastically, and Sirius lazily flailed his arm over in James’ direction in a pathetic attempt to hit
him.

“Fuck you,” he growled. “You know full well I’m a Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day chap when I’m
feeling extraordinarily sappy,” he said with an arrogant huff, that name prickling something in his
mind.

“That’s just because Lee Pace is in it,” James said with a knowing peripheral glance.

“Fuck you all over again, of course it’s because Lee Pace is in it, you disgraceful arse,” Sirius
laughed, finding his energy renewed as he began to assail James with pinches and pokes and
punches, while James was frantically trying to fend them off and breathe through his laughter all at
once. “He sings in the film, James! I don’t know how you don’t fall in love with him, it’s
practically obnoxious.”

“Well, go and change, then!” James finally said, shoving Sirius toward his designated bedroom in
James and Lily’s flat. “I’ll put it on, we’ll both have a good cry, and Lily will laugh at us again.”

“She only laughed at us the first time because she hadn’t seen it then,” Sirius clarified, pulling
James’ face close to his chest so that he could place a quick kiss to the top of James’ head. As he
walked into his bedroom, he called back. “At least she properly understands the majesty of Lee
Pace.”

Once behind the safety of his closed door, he pulled out his mobile, feeling a bit sneaky and
secretive to hide it from James, but knowing he didn’t quite understand. He opened his contacts.
There may have been the slightest sting of disappointment to see that it was different than Moony’s
number.

(Sirius):

i made it home

and just so you know

i changed your name in my phone

(Your Holiness):
I’m glad you’re home

And I’m really glad you texted me

But I am also CONCERNED

What is my name in your phone??

(Sirius):

Your Holiness

it’s a joke within a joke

there’s a song called Dear Your Holiness

get it, because I’m sending you MESSAGES

That was it. That was the thing prickling his mind about that name. Bringing up that Bayside song
reminded him of Holyhead, which led to Moony, which led to his tattoos, which reminded Sirius of
that art on Remus’ wall that looked oddly familiar to the ram’s skull on Moony’s forearm. It was
signed P. Pettigrew.

In the middle of changing and in the middle of texting Remus (which felt so strange because it felt
exactly the same as texting Moony), he Googled that name, P. Pettigrew. After the exchange with
Remus about Crookshanks and how Remus had said, verbatim, the same thing Moony had said in
their first texts, the thought was festering in his mind again. By then, it was just paranoia, a
nagging daydream.

(Sirius):

you may not have heard the song

or maybe you have

since you whistle Pink Floyd

and play Something Corporate

on the CHURCH piano

(Your Holiness):

lol

Yes, I have heard the song

You’re JUST NOW mentioning that?

The Something Corporate song I mean

I was wondering if you didn’t know it

(Sirius):

what I don’t know is

why YOU know a Something Corporate song

(Your Holiness):

The same reason I know a Pink Floyd song??

I think you missed the part

Where I said I was a heathen for four years

(Sirius):

a smoking, drinking, fucking heathen

(Your Holiness):

See when you say it like that

It just makes me want to be a heathen again

Mostly for the fucking.

I already do the other two anyway

(Sirius):

GODDAMMIT REMUS

you are the worst priest I’ve ever met

(Your Holiness):

I’m sorry, should I try to pretend to be pure?

I’ll do my best to be better

I should probably put my clothes back on

 (Sirius):

YOU BASTARD

YOU’RE SAYING HORNY SHIT

JUST TO FUCK ME UP

(Your Holiness):

I’m sorry, really, I am.

But you SLEPT IN MY BED

(Sirius):

WITH YOUR PERMISSION

(Your Holiness):

Yeah, that was a huge mistake.

I mean, just an astronomical-level fuck up

I am suffering tremendously

Do you REALISE how good you smell?

(Sirius):

tell me what I smell like

(Your Holiness):

well, this is going to make it much worse

But I’m apparently a masochist so

First of all, you smell like cigarette smoke

And I’m AN ADDICT.

It’s disgusting how much I enjoy that scent on you.

It’s a particular BRAND of cigarette smoke?

I can’t explain it.

It’s different than mine.

There’s also something in your hair

that smells like coffee and cardamom

it’s all over my sheets.

i want it all over ME.

(Sirius):

Oh this was a bad idea

(Your Holiness):

A FUCKING TERRIBLE IDEA

It’s practically phone sex

Actually, I am so wound up

I think I would be okay with that

(Sirius):

don’t encourage me, Remus.

if James wasn’t literally outside my door

I don’t think I’d have a reason not to

(Your Holiness):

WHY IS JAMES OUR ONLY BRAIN CELL

I don’t even know him

And already he’s disappointed in me

(Sirius):

nah, he’s disappointed in ME

 it’s my fault, after all

I’m seducing you.

(Your Holiness):

Didn’t seem that way tonight

You were the one trying to be good

And I sucked on your neck

UNTIL IT LEFT A DAMN BRUISE.

(Sirius):

I wanted to suck a lot more than your neck

(Your Holiness):

FUCKINGFUCK

Just say it Sirius

tell me what you wanted.

i already fucking know

but I need you to say it.

(Sirius):

Shitshtishitshitshit

Okay, listen

We have to cool off

We can do that right?

We’re adults

(Your Holiness):

Sirius, I’m going to be perfectly honest.

Either way

i am going to get off tonight

(Sirius):

Jesusfuckingchrist

(Your Holiness):

But I get that you need to be uninvolved

Well, I should say not directly involved

You’re not technically UNinvolved at this point

(Sirius):

I changed my mind

I want to be involved

Directly fucking involved

(Your Holiness):

God you’re so fucking cute

But you have to go

James is waiting on you

I don’t want to disappoint him

(Sirius):

How can I??

Knowing you’re there

Doing the thing I WISH I WAS DOING

I want you to describe it to me

IN DETAIL.

I want you to be obscene.

 Very specifically obscene.

(Your Holiness):

Alright, I’ll make you a deal.

I won’t do anything without you tonight.

(Sirius):

Promise?

(Your Holiness):

I promise

But as part of this deal

I can’t see you tomorrow AT ALL

Then, if by tomorrow night

We’re still horny as fuck

I’ll CALL you.

and you can listen.

(Sirius):

oh my fucking god.

(Your Holiness):

Now talk yourself down

And go spend time with your James.

(Sirius):

I’m holding you to this

(Your Holiness):
I’m fucking counting on it, babe.

Babe. Another thing that Moony had called him. Still, fairly common pet name, right? His
attention turned briefly to his search, finding the name P. Pettigrew brought up quite a few more
results than he expected. Carefully, he locked his phone and returned to the couch, carrying a
blanket with him that he kept rather conspicuously over his lap because Remus had gotten him a
bit more stimulated than he’d initially realised. James put on the film, made some popcorn, and
they did, in fact, cry.

But not even Lee Pace could take his mind off Remus, or P. Pettigrew, or Moony, or strikingly
similar conversations and similar feelings and similar circumstances. Marlene had told him, flat-
out, that Moony’s name was John. He was a teacher. Would she lie? Maybe she didn’t know the
truth, either.

Just before the climax of the film, Lily had come home from practice, excited to find Sirius was
home for once, and they all chatted for a bit during the dramatic finale – about Remus and near-
misses and about how crazy Sirius was about him. But once the film was over, they all hugged,
and she and James went off to shower, leaving Sirius alone with his thoughts and an open mobile
browser.

He clicked every link under the search ‘P. Pettigrew.’ None of them artists, none of them local,
none of them with any apparent connection to Remus or to Moony. Finally, he changed his search
criteria to include the name of the town where Remus’ church was located. There was one relevant
result.

Peter Pettigrew, the link to his Instagram. When Sirius clicked it, it was obvious he had found the
person for which he’d been searching. Every picture was a different painting, a different sketch, a
different work of art. He scrolled through, finding several of the pieces hanging in Remus’
bedroom.

At the top of his Instagram was a link that read ‘@wormtail’ in blue lettering. Sirius clicked it and
immediately took a sharp breath into his starved lungs. Apparently, Wormtail was the pseudonym
for Peter Pettigrew when he was working as a tattoo artist. Sirius didn’t even have to scroll. The
first photo of his work was an overgrown ram’s skull underneath a banner that read ‘no gods, no
masters.’
 These Are The Things I Can't Say When We're Alone
Chapter Summary

Sirius does some sleuthing at a tattoo shop before going to see Holyhead again, then
carries out two different text conversations with what he hopes is the same person.

Chapter Notes

I HIGHLY recommend listening to Truth of My Youth by New Found Glory before

reading, and you can listen to it here. Pay attention to the sharp breaths he takes in the
chorus. It's mentioned in the chapter :)

When he woke up, he was confused. The other side of the bed was empty. Had Remus gotten up to
make breakfast already? Shit. Sirius really intended to do it himself this time, but then again, he
hadn’t exactly set an alarm to – oh. He let out a breath. He wasn’t at Remus’ flat. He was at James
and Lily’s. And he pretended to himself that he wasn’t slightly disappointed at that realization. He
loved James, he loved Lily, he loved Crookshanks (who, he quickly realised, had somehow broken
into his room and was now curled up behind the curve of his knee), but they wouldn’t kiss him
good morning. Well, James, maybe.

Of course, Remus couldn’t kiss him, either. But at least he would look at Sirius like he wanted to
kiss him. Often, that felt like it was enough to hold him. Thinking of Remus led to a flutter in
Sirius’ chest as he suddenly remembered that now he could text Remus. That was an unexpected,
pleasant surprise.

When he unlocked his phone to find it still on the Instagram of one Peter Pettigrew, a different sort
of flutter moved into his chest. Last night, Sirius had gone through almost the entirety of the
portfolio of this Pettigrew, finding every single one of Moony’s forearm tattoos (and his throat
tattoo), and before Sirius could convince himself to put the phone down, he’d found several more
that he felt pretty sure were on Moony’s skin, based on tone and placement. There was a thin, wiry
wolf on the left side of Moony’s ribs (or it looked like it could be Moony’s ribs), a portrait of a
woman with pinned-up hair superimposed over an iris on his chest, and, the one that almost killed
Sirius because there was so much usually-hidden skin bared for the photo, what looked like rosary
beads curled around the prominent bone of his right hip, a cross hanging down over the top of his
thigh (for fuck’s sake, it had to be Remus, right?)

Still, Sirius kept trying to stuff down his instinctual reaction, his excitement that he was right, after
all. Because he could still be wrong. Surely one person could buy art from a particular artist and a
totally different person could have that artist give them a tattoo. Just because Remus owned art that
was created by the same person that tattooed Moony didn’t mean that Moony and Remus were the
same person. Sure, it was an extremely unlikely coincidence that they would both happen to have
another friend in common other than Sirius, but it wasn’t impossible. Alright, yes, there was the
physical distance to consider, the tattoo shop being rather far from where Moony usually played
shows, but Sirius had once gone all the way to Glasgow for a tattoo done by a particular artist. It
wasn’t unheard of.

With a defiant shake of his head, he closed the app, trying to remind himself that if Moony was
Remus, then surely he would’ve told Sirius by now. If Moony was Remus, being in Holyhead
wouldn’t even be the worst of his secrets. Sirius had been a party to the worst one (or, well, the
worst ones, plural, as in attempting to break celibacy vows and actually breaking into the Black
family house the other night).

At the same moment that he opened the conversation with Remus from the night before, a new
message came through. It was a picture. The sight of it sent an immediate, wide smile to Sirius’
face and a strangely fond sort of tugging feeling in the base of his chest. In one corner of the photo
was Teddy, with his messy blue hair and his punk-rock sneer, his arm outstretched as he was
obviously the one holding the phone out to take the photo. Next to him was Harry in his new
glasses, gold and round, just like Remus’ pair, and he was clearly trying to match Teddy’s
rebellious expression, but he was really only succeeding in looking ferocious through his two very
large head wounds. Between them, but slightly behind, was Remus, grinning from ear to ear and
holding two fingers up behind both boys’ heads. As Sirius looked closer, he could see what looked
like flour in Remus’ hair, on Teddy’s forehead, little white, smudgy fingerprints on the lenses of
Harry’s new glasses. At the bottom of the picture was a caption that said, ‘Cranberry orange
scones in the oven – we turned on the mixer a bit too fast, as you can see.’

In retaliation for being so cute and having so much damn fun without him, Sirius carefully leaned
over and took a photo of Crookshanks in the sliver of sunlight coming in from Sirius’ curtained
window, lying quietly with her paws crossed over Sirius’ ankle and her fluffy face resting on top of
them. He captioned the photo ‘eat your heart out,’ but then added, ‘tell the boys to save a scone for
me.’

God, it was going to be a long fucking day. All he wanted to do was race over to the church, steal a
scone from Teddy, steal a hug from Harry, and steal a kiss from Remus. Was that so much to ask?
Just before Sirius could convince himself to just go, what the hell did it even matter anyway, Teddy
and Harry could technically be chaperones without knowing, couldn’t they, another text came in
from Remus.

(Your Holiness):

Good thing you didn’t stay last night

My grandad is coming in today

(Sirius):

oh christ

why now all of a sudden?

(Your Holiness):

Apparently he spent the week in London

Some Catholic bigshot get-together bullshit

Plus he knew your dad’s funeral was tomorrow

And he doesn’t trust me not to fuck it up

(Sirius):

Why does he think you would fuck it up??

And DID HE KNOW MY DAD??

(Your Holiness):

He did know your dad

Because your dad was also a Catholic bigshot

And he thinks I would fuck it up

Because I hate Catholic bigshots

And he knows this.

(Sirius):

I’m really interested in HOW he knows this

(Your Holiness):

I may have

On more than one occasion

Told a bishop

VERY POLITELY

To fuck the fuck off

(Sirius):

The same bishop?

TWO DIFFERENT bishops??

(Your Holiness):

Two different ones.

(Sirius):

And i

was worried

about you

losing the church

because of me

when you’re over here

telling the person who is

ULTIMATELY YOUR BOSS

to fuck off.

on two separate occasions

did I get that right

(Your Holiness):

Okay, yeah, but

Well, alright, I don’t have a good excuse

I was practically TRYING to get fired then

Except my grandad prevented it

(Sirius):

this was before you met Teddy wasn’t it

before you began your underground gay agenda

(Your Holiness):

Yes, thank you

I should name it that

I’ll print it on business cards

(Sirius):

speaking of which

did you send Teddy and Harry home?

(Your Holiness):

yeah. QUICKLY.

I told Teddy to stay away until Monday

He’s met my grandad once

It was unpleasant for everyone.

(Sirius):

he’s going to make you redo the eulogy isn’t he

(Your Holiness):

No, I’m giving him YOUR copy of the eulogy

Your original copy

The shit version

(Sirius):

Thank you

All those years of honing my skill finally paid off

(Your Holiness):

Come now, Mr. Editor-In-Chief

Surely the years of public print

Have given you thicker skin than that

 (Sirius):

You still don’t believe me do you

(Your Holiness):

Google is a thing, you know

I looked it up, like, immediately

So, of course I believe you

Because of credible sources

(Sirius):

Well, now you know I’m loaded

Leave the church

Become a house husband

(Your Holiness):

Did you just propose to me

JUST so you can have sex with me

(Sirius):

Not just for sex.

For a SHIT TON of sex.

Like. decades of sex.

(Your Holiness):

In that case, I accept

Let’s elope

Starting now

You could beat my grandad here

If you leave … 15 minutes ago.

(Sirius):

I could probably still make it

I’m a terribly reckless driver.

(Your Holiness):

This fucks up our CALL later tonight

I don’t anticipate I’ll be feeling all that horny

With my homophobic grandad on the sofa

(Sirius):

ew you’re letting him sleep on MY sofa?

(Your Holiness):

He’s sure as hell not sleeping in YOUR bed

(Sirius):

aww, MY bed…

(Your Holiness):

Well, it still smells like you

God I thought about you all fucking night

It was a LONG, HARD night, Sirius.

Fuck now I’m thinking about it again.

I should go rub one out in the shower while I still can

(Sirius):

oh you bitch
(Your Holiness):

Feel free to do the same

I give you permission to picture me naked

(Sirius):

that’s so generous, thank you

(Your Holiness):

You’re so welcome.

Think of it as a distraction

Since you’ll be without me for a few days

I thought you might need a big one

(Sirius):

Was that a euphemism??

(Your Holiness):

i feel like i should say no

Sirius screamed into his pillow. This was the same fucking conversation he’d had with Moony,
down to the letter, down to the lack of capitalization of the letters. It was Moony. Remus had to be
Moony. If it turned out he wasn’t, Sirius was going to lose his damn mind. Maybe he already had.

More importantly, if Remus was Moony, he clearly wanted Sirius to know. Or at least have the
suspicion. There was no other explanation for him to use the exact same phrasing, to keep leaving
blatant hints like these. Despite that, Sirius wanted Remus to be the one to tell him. He didn’t want
to play the game and win, he wanted to play the game and surrender. He wanted Remus to see him
as the one who could carry all his secrets for him, he wanted Remus to see him as separate from the
rest of the world.

With heavy shoulders, Sirius dragged himself from his room and threw himself down face-first
onto the sofa next to James, the top of his head nudging the side of James’ thigh. From somewhere
within the house, he could hear the distinctive sound of Lily drumming her fingers on the edge of
something, starting and stopping entirely at random as she did it without thinking, without
realizing.
“Long night?” James asked.

“Long and lonely,” Sirius mumbled into the sofa cushions. “And then he compounds my suffering
by sending me an adorable picture this morning, and I don’t know how I’m supposed to deal with
it.”

“But is it actually adorable?” James asked. Sirius could hear the insinuation in his voice, the
knowing smirk on his face. “Or is it the kind of adorable that you can’t show to other people?”

“The innocent and pure kind of adorable,” Sirius said, opening the message with one hand (the
other buried somewhere underneath his torso from where he had violently flung himself onto the
sofa).

“Oh my God,” James said with a sigh that sounded a lot like the way Sirius had sighed at that same
picture – a little bit adoring, a little bit longing, a little bit jealous (though James was probably
more jealous over not having scones). “Shit, I do owe you ten quid, he’s absolutely a smokeshow.”

Before Sirius could correct him, he may have allowed himself a smile, a belligerent rise in his
sharp brow. “That was Moony. Not the same guy, remember?” Sirius reminded him, though he was
still very unsure of that himself. He’d changed his mind so often, he didn’t know which way was
up anymore.

“How sure are you about that?” James asked, moving Sirius’ mobile screen closer to his face and
squinting harder at the photo. “His build is the same, skin tone looks the same. Moony always
wears those Hollywood sunglasses, but sometimes he raises his eyebrow – mostly when he’s
looking at you, by the way, just commenting on that – and I swear there’s a scar there. And it looks
just like this one,” James said, pointing to that characteristic scar that sliced Remus’ brow in two
that Sirius had thought looked like a piercing job gone wrong the first time he’d met Remus. “Plus,
I’m pretty sure that clerical collar is tall enough to hide the tattoo on his throat, and you said he
always wears those long sleeves, so he could –”

“James!” Sirius interrupted with a frustrated growl, angrily pressing his face further into the sofa as
he locked his phone, fumbling around to set it onto the coffee table. “Please stop indulging this
fantasy, because the more I think that Remus might be Moony, the more attracted I find myself
becoming to Moony – who I was very fucking attracted to in the first place – but if he isn’t Moony,
I am going to end up disappointed, no matter what, because I’m so fucking –” He stopped short,
letting out a hard breath.

“Sirius,” James said, a careful measure in his voice, the same one that was there when he was
trying to bring up a difficult subject. But he said something unexpected. “Are you still talking to
Moony?”

“No, I … I stopped texting him a couple nights ago,” Sirius said, turning his face so that his words
weren’t being spoken into cushion fibers. “Because Marlene told me his name was John.”

“So, you stopped talking to him because you found out his name isn’t Remus?”

“Yeah.”

“Let me see if I’ve got this right. You were texting a hot bass player, who is covered in tattoos,
who was obviously into you, who you admit to being very fucking attracted to … and you stopped
texting him to spend more time with … a priest.” With a knowing glare, Sirius looked up at James,
who was already looking back at Sirius with his eyebrows high on his face, his lips pressed into a
thin line.
“I see what you’re doing, but you’re missing many key details.”

“Like what?”

“The priest is equally as hot.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And I couldn’t date the bass player either,” Sirius argued.

“Of course.”

“Plus, I never saw the bass player’s face.”

“Sirius,” James said, rolling his eyes.

“What are you trying to get me to admit, James?” Sirius said with a loud sigh, which was more like
a hot, angry growl moving out of his partly clenched teeth. With a restless flop, Sirius rolled over
on the sofa, resting his head on James’ thigh, and James wordlessly moved his fingers into Sirius’
hair, softly dragging his nails down Sirius’ scalp in some effort to relieve his stress and get him to
speak. “You heard me say it last night, I …” Sirius swallowed, looking pathetically up at James. “I
can’t live without him.”

“You poor, desperate thing,” James said with an annoying, knowing click of his tongue, pressing
his palm flat to Sirius’ forehead to push all the hair out of his face. “You know who you sound
like?”

Sirius blinked up at him, James’ hand still on his face. “Don’t say it.”

“You sound like me,” James said anyway, rather emphatically, moving his hand so that he could
lean down into Sirius’ face to stare at him in accusation. “When I realised I was falling in love with
Lily.”

“I’m not in love with him,” Sirius grumbled, rolling his eyes. “Yet,” he added, begrudgingly, under
his breath, before continuing to dig his own grave. “Besides, I know I’m not as bad as you used to
be.”

“Yet,” James repeated with a sarcastic rise in his brow and an arrogant grin on his face. “And you
can’t pretend like it wasn’t entertaining for you, letting me drag you to every Fidelius show,
watching me awkwardly flirt with the hot drummer, listening to me complain when I couldn’t get
up the nerve.”

Against his will, Sirius smiled. “Alright, I’ll admit, that was entertaining.” For a while, there was
silence and James resumed running his fingers through Sirius’ hair. Sirius nearly fell asleep.

Until James said, “Can you keep it a secret?” In his drowsy oblivion, Sirius lost the conversation.

“Can I keep what a secret?”

“Can you keep Remus a secret?” he clarified softly. “Can you both keep each other a secret?”

“Are you asking if we’re capable of having an affair?” Sirius said with a growing smile.

“I’m just asking,” James said with an innocent shrug and a less than innocent smile.

“I’d have to ask Remus if he’d feel guilty cheating on the church,” Sirius laughed, but it tapered off
quickly as he thought of that text conversation they’d had earlier. “He seemed keen to the idea last
night, but his homophobic granddad is in town now, so I doubt we’ll have that conversation any
time soon.”

“What conversation?” Lily asked as she swept into the room, cherry red hair tied into a messy
topknot at the crown of her head, one of James’ old T-shirts with a stretched-out collar hanging off
of one of her freckled shoulders. In one fluid motion, she crossed her ankles and sat down on the
floor across from them at the coffee table, sitting with her feet tucked underneath her.

“I’m trying to convince Sirius to have an affair with the priest,” James said casually.

“Weren’t you trying to convince him not to just last night?” she asked.

“That was before he showed me this,” James said with a dramatic pause as he unlocked Sirius’
phone and showed Lily the picture that Remus had sent Sirius earlier that morning. Lily moved
closer to James to inspect the photo, glancing at Sirius with a curious smirk as soon as she saw
Remus.

“Damn, okay,” Lily said with a gleam in her eye, turning down the corners of her mouth and
raising both her eyebrows in some strange expression that somehow conveyed her approval.

“So now, just because you realise he’s hot, it’s acceptable to fornicate with him?” Sirius huffed,
heavily rolling his eyes, but James wasn’t paying attention. He was looking at the photo.

“When I was arguing with you yesterday,” James said as he and Lily analyzed this picture of
Remus (and the boys). “I’m going to be honest, I wasn’t sure what his intentions were.”

“His intentions?” Sirius scoffed. “He’s a fucking priest.”

“Listen, you know him better than I do,” James reasoned under a short breath, the kind he took
when he was afraid he was putting his foot in his mouth. “I was just worried you were going to
dive headfirst into this, like you always do, and he would get what he wanted and then toss you
aside.” With a softened expression, Sirius raised his arm to hold James by the knee, from where
Sirius was still lounged with his neck across James’ thigh. James just smiled. “I didn’t want to
watch him break your heart.” There was an ache in Sirius’ chest as he realised that James had to
watch that happen more than once.

“And how does this photo change that, exactly?” Lily sensibly asked.

“The kids,” James confirmed without a shred of hesitancy in his voice.

“The one with the glasses is so cute I could die,” Lily said with a dramatic but enthusiastic squeal
that carried into her next thought. “He’s got little flour fingerprints on his glasses. Oh my God.”

“That’s Harry,” Sirius said, craning his head over James’ leg so he could look (upside-down) at the
photo with him. At the sight of Harry’s smiling face (covered in a fine layer of flour), the smile on
Sirius’ face was instantaneous. “Until yesterday, he lived with his aunt and uncle, who make him
sleep under the stairs, force him to go by his dead name, force him to wear girl’s clothes, punish
him for cutting his hair himself when they won’t let him keep it short, make him wear hand-me-
down eyeglasses that were not only the wrong prescription, but too big for his face and cracked
through one lens …” Sirius listed the crimes against Harry’s guardians, growing more and more
angry at the situation until he realised that James and Lily were staring at him in absolute horror.
Quickly, Sirius sat up, unsettling all of his finger-combed hair across his face. As he brushed the
hair from his face, he assuaged their fears. “It’s fine, Remus has a friend in child services who
helped us get emergency removal of Harry from the home. He’s staying with Dora for now, she’s
Teddy’s mum – sorry, Teddy is the one with the blue hair. Remus had to do the same thing for
Teddy after his first foster family kicked him out. Apparently, Remus does this for all the kids in
the area. Teddy is sort of his … liaison, you know, finds all the kids in trouble and brings them to
Remus for help. It’s a whole operation, I’m talking –” Sirius rattled off, trying to squeeze in a lot of
information into a small timeframe, abruptly coming to a halt as he realised, while he had been
going on and on listing all of Remus’ accomplishments, James and Lily were still staring at him –
full-on staring, open-mouth, wide-eyed. With an awkward laugh, Sirius summed up, “Sorry, I’m
info-dumping.”

“So, when you say he’s a priest,” Lily said, holding up a finger, her sharp eyebrow rose in Sirius’
direction. He waited on held breath for her to finish, “What you really mean is he’s a damn saint.”

Sirius violently let out the oxygen in his lungs, immensely relieved. “I can’t argue with you.”

“And that’s what I saw in the picture,” James said, emphatically, almost excitedly. “Well, not that
exactly, but those kids love him. They trust him. You can see it in the photo. Kids aren’t usually
wrong about people, especially younger kids like Harry.” With a sigh of his own, as if relieved in
knowing that his best friend’s heart was going to be well cared for, James let himself fall back into
the sofa cushions.

“You should’ve seen his face yesterday when he told Harry he was going to get him some new
glasses,” Sirius said with a sentimental grin, one that James wordlessly acknowledged. “When
Harry asked if he could get a pair that looked like Remus’ frames, I think his heart might’ve
actually melted.”

Lily was still holding Sirius’ phone. “His little face is so precious, you’d have to be heartless not to
melt,” Lily gushed as she zoomed in Harry’s face with a strangely fond smile in the corner of her
full lips. With a maudlin expression, she looked up to add, “His eyes somehow look exactly like
yours, James.”

“I thought the same thing!” Sirius exclaimed, his hands shooting into the air. Silently, she shared a
particularly charged glance with James, an unspoken conversation occurring between the two of
them that Sirius didn’t feel the need to mention. He was pretty sure he knew the content.

“Wait, isn’t this the guy you think is Moony? From Holyhead?” Lily asked, the change in topic so
swift that Sirius felt dizzy in trying to keep up with it. With a perplexed wince, he tilted his head.

“Maybe?” he said in a sharp, high-pitched, quizzical tone.

“I thought you said it wasn’t him?” James interjected, his tone somewhere between betrayed
(because Sirius hadn’t told him yet) and confused (because Sirius hadn’t told him yet).

“Okay, so, I thought it wasn’t him, but …” he paused, trying to figure out the best way to explain
this, because he knew it sounded super fucking crazy. “He keeps saying things that are exactly the
same as things Moony texted to me. Like, word for word. And – I’m about to get very
conspiratorial on you, stay with me, this one is a little far-fetched – he’s got art on his walls signed
by Peter Pettigrew, who I found on Instagram, and he’s definitely the same guy who does Moony’s
tattoos.”

“Hang on, I know Pete!” Lily practically screamed, getting drawn into Sirius’ scheme. “That
mermaid tattoo that Marlene has on her calf? I went with her when she got it, and Pete is the guy
who did it!” Her expression became more sinister as she looked carefully at Sirius. “Now, I’m not
saying we should go to Pete’s shop to get more information …” she trailed off, and James
immediately picked it up.

“Sirius has been wanting a new tattoo,” he added, feigning innocence.

“And if we were to casually mention his past work that we saw on his Insta,” Lily hummed,
casting prompting glances in Sirius’ direction. At first, his expression was intrigued, but it fell
hopeless.

“Come on, Marlene might not have even told me his real name, you think his tattoo guy is going to
tell us?” he said with a sigh of exasperation. But James and Lily were not so easily deterred.

Lily clicked her tongue. “We still don’t know that Marlene didn’t just lie to protect him.”

“The worst outcome is you still get a wicked tattoo,” James encouraged with a shrug.

“His work is the best, after all,” Lily prodded before adding the most tempting point. “Plus, we can
catch a Holyhead show on the way back.” She flashed her enticing eyebrows. Sirius’ rose, too.

“They’re playing tonight?” he asked, trying to keep his voice level. Lily’s smile grew.

“Two shows left before they go on hiatus,” she confirmed. “Might be your last chance.”

Sirius wrinkled his nose, glancing between them both. “What the fuck are we waiting for?”

The buzz of the tattoo gun sent an immediate, low-level anxiety into Sirius’ chest, as it did every
time he walked into a tattoo shop. The pain wasn’t all that bad, but anticipation of the pain was
awful.

“I was hoping to get something done by Wormtail today, is he in?” Sirius asked the bloke standing
behind the case of body jewelry and tattoo after-care. With a nod, he moved out from the counter.

“He’s finishing up a piece, I’ll let him know you’re waiting on him,” the guy replied.

“Thank you,” Sirius said, taking a breath. He turned to James and Lily and said with a laugh that
stuck in his throat, “I think I’m more nervous about meeting this guy than I am about the tattoo.”

“What are you getting?” Lily asked with an expression that indicated she’d forgotten to ask. But
they’d spent most of the car ride over talking about Remus, the church, Teddy, Harry, all of it.
Sirius wished he could’ve been texting Remus the whole way there, since James was driving and
all, but because Remus’ grandfather was in town, texts from Remus had been minimal, at best.

“It’s kind of my final fuck-you to my dad,” Sirius said with a sly grin. “You’ll see.” As they settled
onto a sofa in the waiting area, James pulled a thick book into his lap that said Wormtail across the
front.

“This one is Moony’s, isn’t it?” James asked, flipping through Wormtail’s extensive portfolio
before landing on one page in particular, pointing to the tattoo that Sirius had seen at the last
Holyhead show, prayer hands engulfed in fire above the words ‘everything is fine.’ Sirius nodded,
smiling.

“The next one, too,” he said, indicating the next page that held a picture of Moony’s inner forearm
where the line to an old hymn was scripted across his skin. As James turned the pages, tattoos of
other folks in between, Sirius caught another one. “And I think maybe that one.” It was the slightly
scandalous picture of the inside of Moony’s bare hip (or what looked like Moony’s hip) with the
rosary beads that threaded down over his thigh. Unlike the photo on Instagram that had been
cropped to only show the work, this photo was a little less doctored, and in the edge of the photo,
you could see where Moony was holding the unfastened waist of his dark jeans open to bare his
skin. It unraveled Sirius.

“This one?” James said, pointing to Moony’s naked hip, eyebrow incriminatingly high.

“I said I think,” Sirius rolled his eyes. “Same skin tone, you know. Just guessing.”

“Uh-huh,” James replied, winking dramatically. Sirius made his eyes roll harder. About that time, a
door to one of the back rooms opened up and a man with a dark bandage covering most of his
shoulder walked out of the room. Following him was the most heavily tattooed person Sirius had
ever seen in his life, including Moony. Tattoos on his throat up to his ears, tattoos on both hands
and all ten fingers, a delicate vine of flowers along his hairline. His wild hair was so blonde, it was
white, or maybe it was dyed that way. But for someone so intimidating-looking, he had the widest,
most genuine smile in the whole place. When he caught sight of James thumbing through his
portfolio, he hurried over.

At first, when he scanned the three of them sitting on the sofa, it seemed like his gaze paused on
Sirius, but in the next instant his expression was blanked out, replaced by a tameless grin.

“Hiya, gents! And lady!” he said in a bright tone, his smile widening further, though Sirius hadn’t
thought it would be possible. “Who’s looking for me to torture them this fine afternoon?”

“That would be me,” Sirius stood, raising his hand. Wormtail immediately gave him a sharp high
five. Sirius tried to shoot a confused glance at James, but he ended up looking over in sheer
amusement.

“Great, sounds good, I’m Pete, it’s good to meet you,” he rattled off excitedly and, with the same
hand he’d just high-fived Sirius with, he shot it out to shake Sirius’ hand. In his surprise, Sirius
glanced down, charmed to find a small cartoon mouse on the inside of his wrist, smiling with the
same organic, unassuming grin as its host. With a smile to match, Sirius instinctively reached out to
shake this man’s hand, fascinated by the way he then reached out a second hand to hold Sirius’
hand more firmly. It was almost like an embrace, warm and comforting and soothing in ways that
Sirius couldn’t try to explain.

“What’s the plan? Am I going to need to sketch it out first?” he asked, taking Sirius by the shoulder
and guiding him into his studio, of sorts, where Sirius saw a lot of the same artwork he’d seen in
Remus’ bedroom displayed on the walls. From behind them, Pete waved James and Lily to follow.

“I have a general sketch already, I don’t know, you may need to clean it up a bit or redo the whole
thing, whatever you think, but I need the lettering to be in this specific handwriting,” he said,
feeling strangely nervous as he handed over the previously folded paper to Wormtail – em, Pete,
rather, while James and Lily followed into the room and immediately began to admire the art on
the walls.

“Whose handwriting?” Pete asked, his manic personality stilling with his curiosity.

“Mine,” Sirius answered quickly, feeling like it was a quiz question that he was at risk of
answering incorrectly. After giving the crude drawing a moment of stern consideration, the
effervescent smile snapped back over Pete’s face with zero transition of expression in between the
two.

“Love it, did you come up with it yourself? Very original,” Pete said, not waiting for the answer
before replying to it and moving on completely. As his gaze went back to the drawing, his blonde
eyebrows furrowed a bit, studying it. “I can sketch it again, if you like, clean it up a bit, like you
said, but I really think the unsteadiness of the lines – no offense – really give it the authentic,
unpolished look I think you’re probably going for here. I think all I’d like to do is adjust the joints,
separate them a bit further so the whole thing looks even more unstable, like it’s being held
together by a prayer, know what I mean?”

“Em, yeah. Yeah, exactly,” Sirius said, in a shade of disbelief at how Pete knew, precisely, the vibe
Sirius wanted in this piece. Lily glanced over Pete’s shoulder as he took one last look at the paper
in his hands – James didn’t bother looking, he’d seen it a dozen times. On the paper was an
amateurish drawing of a skeleton hand, giving the middle finger, a ribbon intertwined between the
fingers and the joints that read ‘free from the wicked torment of sin; free from the last fuck I’m
handing in’ with rosary beads wrapped around the bones, a skull hanging at the bony wrist where a
cross was usually meant to be.

“Excellent,” Pete said with a grin wider than his face. “Where did you want it?”

“Here,” Sirius said, slapping his fingers onto the blank skin on his left inner forearm, and by the
solemn expression on Pete’s face, it looked like he was measuring the parameters in his head.

“Perfect,” he finally said, that grin returned, his cheeks stretching out beyond an otherwise
perfectly squared jaw, the white stubble on his face so translucent it produced an ethereal glow
around his whole face, or maybe that was just his radiant smile. “I’m thinking black and white, but
maybe give the rosary a little reddish-pink sort of colour, make them look aged to match the bones.
Thoughts?”

“Great,” Sirius agreed, sort of astounded at how easily Pete caught on to what Sirius wanted in this
tattoo. “What do you think about adding this to the bone?” Sirius asked, flashing the little red heart
on the bottom knuckle of his middle finger, the one against which Remus so often liked to press his
lips.

There was something in Pete’s face as he looked at Sirius – it was a little like the incriminating
expression that James had just given him about identifying Moony’s naked hip. Something unsaid,
but something that didn’t need to be said. Just how much did this Peter Pettigrew know about
Moony, or about Remus, or, hell, for that matter, about Sirius himself? How did he know about
Sirius at all?

“I couldn’t love this tattoo anymore if I’d drawn it myself, and that’s saying a lot because I’ve
drawn a fuck ton of tattoos, my friend,” he said, the smile returning, but leaving in place that
something unsaid that remained in his ocean-blue eyes. “Sorry, I don’t think I’ve asked your name,
how rude.”

“It’s Sirius,” he replied with a confident smile. Usually, when he gave his first name, most people
responded in the same way – a mixture of surprise and fascination. Not a lot of people in the world
named Sirius. Pete, however, did not respond that way. He responded as if he already knew.

“Sirius,” he repeated before adding, literal tongue in cheek, looking absolutely pleased with
himself. “That’s cute.” Immediately, Sirius narrowed his eyes in Pete’s direction. Of course, there
was a chance that this was pure coincidence, but Moony had said the exact same thing upon
learning Sirius’ first name. Before Sirius could address it, Pete moved on, indicating the tattoo
Sirius had gotten for Regulus on his opposite forearm. “You’ve got the perfect skin tone for
tattoos, I mean, the colour of this one is just incredible.” With a glance up at Sirius, he motioned
for permission to take Sirius’ arm, and Sirius nodded, holding his arm out for Pete to hold. “The
green on your translucent skin against the underlying blue of your veins,” he threw his head back,
as if overtaken by emotion. “Remarkable.”

Sirius attempted to stifle a blush, but knowing his translucent skin, the pink in his cheeks was
likely obvious to everyone, including Pete. “Yeah, I – thank you?” It came out more like a
question.

“Sirius,” he said, nodding and grinning, and Sirius wasn’t sure if he was meant to respond, but
before he could, Pete looked over to James, leading with an “And …?” After blinking dumbly for
several, long, awkward seconds, Lily elbowed James hard enough that he realised he was meant to
speak.

“Oh, James!” he shouted, waving his hands for no real reason. “I’m James.”

“And I’m Lily,” Lily said, in a manner that was much more smooth than James.

“Sirius and James and Lily, I’m so glad you’re here. I can already tell I’m going to love doing this
tattoo, thank you for letting me decorate your skin,” he said, in that fast-paced, run-on-sentence
sort of way. “Shouldn’t take me but a few minutes, I’ll tidy it up – metaphorically, of course – slap
it onto some transfer paper and we’ll be ready to go. Settle in, I’ll be back before you have time to
miss me.”

As soon as Pete left, Sirius turned to James and Lily to say, “Now I know why Moony is covered in
tattoos – I would let that man tattoo literally anything onto me just to hang out with him.”

“Right?” James replied emphatically. “He is absolutely precious and deserves to be cherished.”

Lily just let out a sigh. “You are both so fucking weird.” Simultaneously, James and Sirius looked
over at her, blinking deliberately until she admitted, “Did you see the little mouse tattoo he had on
his wrist?” she said, her voice and her smile turning a bit mushy, “That’s the cutest shit I’ve ever
seen.”

“I don’t even want to interrogate him about Moony anymore, I just want him to be friends with
me,” Sirius laughed, settling into the tattoo chair. “You think he’s going to the show tonight?”

“We’re gonna find out,” James said. “Maybe we can convince him to come with us.”

“I’m not complaining about your methods of forcing people to be friends with you –” Lily started.

“I mean, that is how we collected you,” James shrugged

Sirius added, “Don’t mess with perfection, am I right?” He and James high fived.

“But you have to admit it doesn’t work on everyone,” she said through clenched teeth. “Not
everyone likes being coerced into friendship. Remember that kid I used to be friends with when we
met?”

“That guy was a Grade-A Dick, Lily,” Sirius reminded her, settling back and draping his wrist
across the arm of the chair, where Pete was about to drill ink into his skin. “He just wanted to bone
you.”

“So did he,” Lily grumbled, nodding to James.

“I take great offense to that!” James argued sharply. “I wanted you to fall in love with me first and
then I wanted to bone you, which is totally different.” Before she could push him away, James
swept in and held Lily tenderly by the face, smothering her face in kisses until she relented and
kissed him back.

“Anyway, we absolutely never even attempted to befriend Snivellus,” Sirius said, that name
leaving a retch in his throat. “He always brought his goth posse with him. They all had terrible
hygiene.”

“Not to mention,” James remarked, wrapping his arms around Lily so she had no choice but to let
him place delicate kisses all over her face (not that she was complaining in the slightest). “He’s the
one who kept going on and on about how you weren’t really that good of a drummer, which is such
bullshit.”

“I remember,” Lily said, immediately looking pissed, enough that James pre-emptively loosened
his grip on her, but she pulled him close again. “I should’ve believed you when you told me the
first time.”

“First of all, you’re a beast, nobody can do what you can do on the drums,” Sirius reminded her.

“Thank you,” she preened, turning her head just enough for James to sneak a kiss to her neck.

“Second of all, that’s what an astronomical prick he was, because he said shit like that about you to
his friends so loud and so often that you were bound to overhear it eventually.” Sirius rolled his
eyes.

“Alright, enough about him,” Lily growled, sticking her tongue out. “Sorry I brought him up.”

“Just proves we’re good judges of character,” James hummed, lips still to her skin.

“I should’ve reminded James of that yesterday,” Sirius sighed, narrowing his eyes in James’
direction and James responded with an apologetic wince. “Because Remus is a model human
being.”

“And now I know better than to disagree with you,” James said. “Which is why I am now almost
one-hundred-percent sure that your favourite priest moonlights as a punk-rock bass player.”

Lily looked conflicted. “I’m still not sure he’s really Moony.” Before Sirius could launch in with a
counterargument, before James could provide the overwhelming evidence, Pete came back into the
room. At first, there was something that looked like surprise on Pete’s face, or at the very least
recognition, but Sirius noticed he was quick to mask it with that overwhelming, consuming smile.

“Who’s Moony?” he asked, as if to be polite, but Sirius saw something shrewd in his gaze.

“Friend of mine,” Sirius said, trying to keep his voice casual. “Actually, I think you do his tattoos.”

“Is that right?” Pete asked, wiping Sirius’ forearm down with antibacterial cleanser before applying
the transfer, peeling it off to display a purple outline. “Take a look, see how you like it.” For a
moment, Sirius stood, turning his arm as he admired the work in the full-length mirror on the wall.

“It’s brilliant,” Sirius said, sincerely impressed. Pete had done just as he said, kept Sirius’ messy
lines, but disjointed the bones a little to make the whole thing look more unsettled, more feral.

“Alright, let’s do this!” Pete shouted, that grin returning, but not the conversation. As Sirius sat
back in the chair, arm stretched onto the padded rest, Pete turned to the counter to ready his inks.
But Sirius wasn’t done with their talk yet. “Yeah, I call him Moony, but that’s not really his name.
I don’t know his name, actually. He’s the one in your portfolio with the ram’s skull. You know
him?” He phrased the question specifically, leading Pete in, a valiant attempt to see if Pete knew
his name.

“No gods, no masters,” Pete said with a smile that looked guarded but honest. “I know him.” It
was a distinctly short response, void of any details. Despite how Pete had been so verbose through
their exchange so far, it seemed unnatural for him to suddenly stop the conversation there,
unrelenting.

“We’re going to watch Holyhead play after this,” James tried to redirect the conversation in an
apparent effort to dissipate some of the heat that Sirius had been applying. “Are you going?”

His initial, blatant reaction was confusion. “You’re going to the show tonight?” He seemed to
direct the question to Sirius, but his gaze shifted to James, as if intentional, to keep it from
appearing as if his attention was purposefully on Sirius. The smile returned, this one a bit more
wary. “I’ve got an appointment after you, I might be able to slip away to catch the last few
minutes,” he said, pressing on the foot pedal that controlled the function of the tattoo gun, the
distinct buzz sending a familiar jolt down Sirius’ spine. He relaxed his arm, he took in a breath.
And Pete’s smile seemed to relax, too.

“You know, now that I look around,” Sirius swerved the conversation back as the single needle for
the outline dug into his skin. He winced slightly. “Another guy I know has some of your art, too.”

“Small world,” Pete said, his voice a little flat, his smile back to looking a bit more forced.

“Father Lupin, at Saint McGonagall’s church.” At first, Pete was unusually quiet.

“I’ve given him a few pieces over the years,” Pete finally confirmed, saying nothing more,
seeming to be concentrated on the task at hand, the stark outline of the skeletal fingers on Sirius’
skin.

“I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone more selfless than he is,” Sirius said, not intending to gush
about Remus to someone who may or may not be his acquaintance, but unable to help himself.

Instantly, Pete’s bright blue gaze shot up to watch Sirius carefully. “Yeah?” he asked, but it was
more of a prompt to continue than anything else. And since Sirius was so fucking infatuated with
Remus Lupin, he couldn’t help but give an entire oration about this man and all his charm and
wonder.

“Without a doubt,” Sirius said, using all the air in his lungs. “It’s in everything he does. It’s in the
way he speaks and in the way he listens and in the way he looks at you. He has more of a right to
doubt than anyone, but he somehow maintains this unbreakable faith that makes me want to believe
in shit I’ve hated for most of my life. Mostly myself,” Sirius said with a shaky laugh, taking in a
breath to cover up the fact that he was getting overwhelmed just thinking about Remus, just talking
about him to someone else.

“From what I know,” Pete said quietly, keeping his eyes on his linework, and Sirius noticed the
delicate way Pete phrased his wording. “That sounds just like him.” A smile moved over his face
that was like none of the others that had preceded it. It wasn’t bold and loud and wild like the ones
Sirius had grown used to, over their short time together. It was soft and fond and reverent, like
Remus himself.

“Kind of strange for me to talk about a Catholic priest so affectionately while simultaneously
getting a very sacrilegious tattoo,” Sirius said with a sharp laugh. To his surprise, Pete joined him.

“I …” he paused, a look of concern crossing over his features before he continued. “I think, of all
people, he’ll find the most cynical humour in it.” Another set of emotions moved over Pete’s face
before a wildly mischievous grin settled into place. “But what do I know?” And he looked at Sirius
like the two of them shared a secret, one that Sirius wasn’t in on quite yet. Or, hell, maybe he
already was.

With a black bandage taped around his newly tattooed forearm, Sirius rushed into the pub where
Holyhead was supposed to be playing, James and Lily close behind him. The tattoo had taken a
little longer than they had planned for (he was terrible with estimating time for things like that,
though Pete had done better on the tattoo than Sirius could’ve ever imagined, and he wasn’t
complaining), so Sirius was worried they may have already missed Holyhead, unsure of their place
in the evening’s lineup.

Holyhead wasn’t on stage, but their merch table was in the back of the pub, being manned by
someone Sirius didn’t know. It seemed like maybe they hadn’t gone on just yet. He hoped. Just in
case, Sirius stayed out of the crowd, close to the wall, a straight eyeline of Holyhead’s merch table.

Fortunately, his fears were unfounded. After only one more song, the current band (that Sirius had
never even heard the name of before that moment) thanked the crowd and moved their equipment
from the stage. The very next person to move onto that stage was Moony, bass in hand.

He was still wearing those heart-shaped glasses that he’d worn the last time Sirius had seen him
over the same black surgical mask but his knit cap in a different colour, this one dark green. Unlike
the last two shows, he wasn’t wearing a plaid overshirt, just a black T-shirt that read ‘Ask me about
my Lord and Saviour John McVie’ over faded black jeans with holes in both knees displaying
tattoos that Sirius had yet to see. In fact, there were more tattoos visible than Sirius had ever gotten
the chance to see, the ones on his upper arms typically hidden underneath colored plaid. In the
minimal time Sirius was allotted to look at those tattoos unobstructed, he was able to pick out one
on Moony’s bicep, the torso of a skeleton holding a wilted bouquet of dead flowers with the phrase
‘i’m not sick but i’m not well’, and through the wide hole at the knee of his torn jeans, it looked
like tea leaves in the bottom of an elaborately decorated teacup formed into the shape of a canine
skull, the mouth open in a howl, fangs colossal and sharp.

Forgetting about the pain in his arm, Sirius pushed through the crowd to get through the front,
though he was met with quite a bit of resistance. He only made it about halfway in, not nearly close
enough to reach out and touch Moony (or better yet, be touched by Moony) before the angry
grumbling of the people around him grew to be too much and he had to give up before getting
another black eye.

As he turned, he found James and Lily some distance behind him, unable to push any further
because of the commotion that Sirius had caused by pushing in so far in the first place. With a
weary sigh, Sirius turned back to the stage just in time to watch Moony raise his head to the crowd
from where he was knelt on one knee, plugging the bass into his pedal board. At once, his fingers
seemed to go still.

On achingly empty lungs, Sirius kept his eyes steadfastly on Moony’s face, just in case Moony’s
eyes were on him from behind those heart-shaped sunglasses. He didn’t stand. Not at first. Instead,
he moved to both knees, leaning back onto his heels to free his hands. He reached into his back
pocket.

(Moony):

hi.

Sirius stuffed his automatic smile down. When he looked back up, Moony held his hand up in a
motionless wave and it fell one finger at a time until he held a loosely clenched fist absently into
the air, as if he could barely convince himself to move. Sirius could hardly look away to respond to
the text.

(Padfoot):

hi.

While Sirius couldn’t see the expression on Moony’s face, he could certainly see the way his lungs
inflated deeply with too much air, the anxious way he pulled his hand across the back of his neck,
craning his head from the tension on his tattooed skin as his arm pulled away. For the first time
that Sirius was aware of, he noticed that, unlike Pete who had tattoos up to his ears and down to his
fingernails, Moony had only about half of his throat tattooed, his hands and fingers kept
suspiciously blank.

Moony didn’t text him again. Starting with that deep breath he’d just taken, it was almost like
Moony was nervous, something Sirius had never witnessed. The way he played his bass was
confident, arrogant, the way he sang was heavy and brash, the way he walked into a crowded
room was rightfully proud. This – this was more like watching Remus walk that stage. It was
unassuming and quiet.

Finally, the stage was set, Moony had his bass in hand, Dorcas held her sticks crossed above her
head, and just before Marlene leaned into the mic for her characteristic introduction, Moony moved
over to whisper something into her ear. She flashed Moony a sympathetic smile and nodded
fiercely.

“Hi, how the fuck are ya, we’re Holyhead,” she stated quickly before slamming three quick chords
in succession on her cherry-red Stratocaster, repeating them and adding another two beats that
Moony and Dorcas succinctly joined in on, duplicating it once more before moving into the body
of the song.

And then Moony moved to the mic, taking an audible breath in through his mask. “There was a
time and place where I never thought I’d leave my own hometown, but those days finally are dead
and gone, it was never my intention to stay there, oh no,” he sang, sucking in short breaths in
between the sharpened measures to keep up with the rapid pace of the driving song. They were the
narrowed breaths of a lifelong smoker, a characteristic whine in the background of every pitch
change and vocal trill.

“There was a conscious effort played by me to disown anything I see, there was a boy I knew way
back when who says he doesn’t know me anymore.” His distinct, full voice sounded practically
angry, growling in the way he sang the words ‘he doesn’t know me anymore,’ and Sirius couldn’t
help but let it hit him squarely and painfully in the chest, along with the weight of his last
conversation with Moony.

“These are the lies, the things you never mention,” Moony sang, holding out the note in a
trembling voice. “These are my past mistakes I’ll stay away from.” It hit Sirius just as hard as the
previous line, knowing he was leading Moony, leading Remus, to making another one of those
mistakes.

Despite the heaviness of the lyrics, Sirius was still relieved to see the familiar roll in Moony’s
shoulders as he sang, the alluring sway of his hips, the facilitating bend of his knees as he bounced
with the beat, as he leaned in to sing underneath the microphone. “These are my thoughts written
down on paper, it’s my only saviour from not saying what I want to say.” His naturally low voice
stretched up to seize that high note and, as soon as he did, he pulled a deep breath into his lungs,
leaving a shrill, breath-starved gasp in the wake of the air moving in through his tightened throat.
Sirius swallowed, incited.

“These are the thoughts that are on my mind, moments that haven’t yet been defined, and I don’t
know if you could ever understand,” he said, his voice growing high and sharp and urgent. “These
are the things I can’t say when we’re alone.” His voice held out on its own before Marlene moved
back in with those same opening chords. And for several long seconds during the break between
the verses of Moony’s singing, Sirius let himself get lost in the glory of watching this man play
bass – the frantic way he slid his fingers all the way down the neck of the bass and back up again
in a flash, how he balanced on one foot just so that the other could beat against the floor with the
beat of the kick drum, the precise way he used different fingers to pluck different strings in a rapid-
fire method that he made look effortless.

“There were countless hours on the telephone, my ears were ringing from the dial tone.” As he
sang those words, Marlene held her guitar up to one of the amps to create a distinct feedback sound
that mimicked the sound of an empty phone line for just an instant before she tore her fingers down
all her strings at once to produce a cacophonous sound, leaping back seamlessly into the main
melody. “There were flashing lights, people staring, there was nothing I could ever do.” Sirius
visibly winced as that line reminded him of that night they broke into Walburga’s house, back
when Remus had been Roman, when a stranger had used the colour of Remus’ skin to make
blatantly offensive assumptions about him.

“These are the lies, the things you never mention,” he sang again while Sirius began to wonder if
he would ever know the truth, if he would ever see Remus’ face above Moony’s tattoos. “These
are my past mistakes I’ll stay away from.” Maybe the whole thing was too much for Remus –
keeping this secret, keeping Sirius a secret, keeping Teddy a secret – maybe he had to keep them
all separate to keep them all safe. Did Sirius really want to be one more worry piled onto Remus’
already burdensome life? Especially in this regard, in finding out the one thing that Remus had
managed to keep secret from nearly everyone.

And the next lyric answered him. “This is the truth, the only time you’ll hear it. I’ll write it down
because it seems so hard to say it.” The line repeated in his head – the only time you’ll hear it. This
was a secret that Remus didn’t want to be known. Maybe he hadn’t left clues for Sirius to put it all
together himself, maybe none of those things had been intentional at all, maybe they were a slip of
the tongue here or a common turn of phrase there. Whatever it was, Sirius had finally come to a
decision. If Remus didn’t want to tell him, then he didn’t need to know. He would wait to hear it
from Remus’ own mouth.

Before Sirius could start considering the fact that he probably needed to distance himself from
Remus in general, Moony or not, because of all the undeserved pressure it added to his life, Moony
began to sing again and Sirius stopped listening to himself and started listening to Moony. “These
are my thoughts written down on paper, it’s my only saviour from not saying what I want to say.”
Just like the first chorus, when Moony’s voice grasped at that high note, it robbed all the breath
from his lungs and he devoured the oxygen to replace it, an aching whine left hanging in the
hollowed air he left behind.

“These are the thoughts that are on my mind, moments that haven’t yet been defined, and I don’t
know if you could ever understand. These are the things I can’t say when we’re alone.” His already
tired voice took on a mournful sort of howl as he held onto the last note over Marlene’s closing
chords.

As the song concluded and the crowd cheered, there were so many emotions battling for the focus
in Sirius’ head, he couldn’t even tell where one ended and the next began. His heart was pounding
in the thrill of hearing Moony sing, in the allure of watching him dance on stage, but his head was
aching with the sobering understanding that Sirius was only adding to his list of secrets, to the lies
that Remus was forced to tell. If Sirius knew the truth about Moony, he was just one more person
Remus had to keep track of in keeping that secret, in housing that lie. Sirius’ presence in his life
was bad enough, did he want to make it worse by letting Remus know that Sirius was able to find
out his most closely guarded secret, relatively easily? Or did he want to prove that he could keep it
by keeping it even from Remus?

Before he could start wondering if he should reasonably even stay in Remus’ life at all (because
that was a fight he was always going to lose with himself), Holyhead started into their next song. It
was an original that Sirius hadn’t heard before, but was immediately enthralled by, through the
complicated rhythm that Dorcas kept on the drums paired with the godlike level of difficulty of
Moony’s bassline set behind Marlene’s tight vocals and raging guitar. It was just like watching
them for the first time again.

Sirius glanced back only a single time to try to find James and Lily, scanning the faces until he met
James’ distinctly hazel eyes behind his square frames. They’d been pushed back quite a bit by the
eager crowd, and Sirius had only just begun to move back toward them in an effort to stay close
together. But apparently, Sirius’ propensity for getting easily distracted was obvious to those on
stage.

“Oi, Padfoot, pay attention,” Marlene breathed into the mic between the verse and the chorus,
leaving Sirius to quickly jerk his head back toward the stage, his skin feeling more flushed than it
had when he’d been watching Moony dance just a moment ago. At the shock on Sirius’ face at
being called out by the lead singer, a laugh slipped into the lyrics of the chorus that Marlene was
singing. And Sirius was pretty certain that if he could see Moony’s face, he would see a smile
there. Hopefully Remus’ smile.

Still, even though he couldn’t see Moony’s expression, he could practically feel the waves of
mischief rolling over the bobbing crowd. In the next instant, Moony had knelt at the very edge of
the crowd, still hitting every note with perfection. Collectively, the crowd seemed to know how to
respond, and it parted for him, making space for him to hang his lanky legs from the stage and hop
down from it.

In surprise and suspense, Sirius stood absolutely motionless. He forgot there was a song playing,
almost forgot that Moony was contributing to the song playing, except for the fervent motion of his
fingers and the instrument underneath them. For more than a moment, Moony stopped in front of
him, serenading him with an impressive bassline, while Marlene sang lyrics that Sirius barely had
the sense to hear, being so subdued by Moony’s presence before him. He thought he heard her sing
the words ‘I couldn’t imagine it being anyone but you’ and God, if he heard that right, how fucking
fitting.

At first, as Moony stood in front of him, it was clear that his attention was drawn to the bandage on
Sirius’ arm, despite that Sirius couldn’t see the direction of his gaze through his dark glasses. When
Sirius raised his arm, Moony surprisingly nuzzled his masked face into Sirius’ open palm, and it
left Sirius feeling rather flushed at the familiar shape of his face, the familiar warmth of his bare
skin, and the soft scratch of the dark stubble on his skin. As Sirius let his fingers dip down past
Moony’s jaw, ghosting over his throat, Sirius realised he was habitually only touching the top half
of his neck, avoiding the invisible clerical collar that was usually in his way. With a breath, he
allowed his touch to move further, brushing over the moth tattooed over Moony’s prominent
Adam’s apple, catching on the collar of his shirt.

At first, Moony craned deeply into his touch, but he didn’t stay in place for long – he circled Sirius
like a hungry predator, all without missing a single beat of the song. When he rounded Sirius’ right
side, he nestled up to Sirius’ shoulder with his own and angled the headstock of his bass to stroke
down the suddenly tightened line of Sirius’ jaw, while still maintaining the rhythm of the song,
never looking down at his hands, keeping his face turned toward Sirius, hidden by his favourite
accessories. Then, he dipped the neck of his bass low and spun on his right heel until he was
leaning against Sirius’s back with his full weight. And Sirius reclined in response, until they were
holding each other upright. At once, they both leaned their head back onto the other’s shoulder,
resting with their opposite ears pressed together and nuzzling their temples against one another’s.
Sirius reached back, fingers falling onto Moony’s throat.

As Moony’s weight eased, Sirius did the same, until they were both on solid feet again, and Moony
used this regained freedom to move around to Sirius’ left. With arms tensed, Moony held his bass
parallel to his body, moving it as far as he could get it while still holding a steady note, using the
lull in the song to his advantage. And then, without warning, he buried his face into the curve of
Sirius’ neck, biting down through the mask onto the same place Remus had left a mark only the
night before. He let out a breath, warm and wet against Sirius’ skin, and Sirius let out the same
breath into the smoky air above the partially dispersed crowd, his eyes fluttering closed as he
reveled in the pressure of Moony’s mouth.

From somewhere in the crowd, someone gave a shrill wolf whistle, reminding Sirius of where he
was and the number of eyes currently watching their amorous display. For a moment, he was able
to stifle a blush, that is, until Moony let his face drag up the full length of Sirius’ throat to the curve
of his jaw, where he pressed a blatantly open kiss that Sirius was able to feel quite clearly, even
through the multiple layers of the paper mask. Absently, Sirius found himself moving his fingers
up to Moony’s hip, grabbing a handful of his ironic T-shirt and forming a fist within it, trembling
and desperate.

With Moony closer than he’d ever been, for longer than he’d ever been, Sirius buried his face into
what he hoped was a patch of grey buried in the temple of Moony’s dark hair, mostly concealed by
the slouchy beanie he wore to hide it. And Sirius breathed him in to find floral notes, like
strawberries in a back garden, a specific cedar-scented woodiness, like the bowels of an old
building, and sweetness, like sugar and honey and vanilla in a recipe for the best French toast
Sirius had ever had in his goddamn life.

Just as the song ended with one last tug of Moony’s lowest bass string, Moony balanced the body
of his bass on the floor, one hand suddenly free. He used this new freedom to slip one finger under
the bottom corner of his mask and push up, his face still hidden by the untamed coils of Sirius’
hair. With a deliberately heavy breath that panted into the shell of Sirius’ ear, he opened his mouth
against Sirius’ skin and kissed him just underneath his earlobe, the rest of his body pressing into
Sirius as deeply as he could.

“Fuck me,” Sirius whined on empty lungs, head raised to the ceiling. “Fuck you,” he then groaned
bitterly, eliciting a soft, breathy laugh from Moony’s lips that was almost unmistakably Remus’
laugh. As he pulled his mask back down, he went to pull away from Sirius, too, but Sirius caught
him by the chin and dragged him back in, kissing him through the mask just to feel the shape of his
lips one more time. This time, Moony was the one to let out a rather indecent moan, right into
Sirius’ open, eager mouth.

“Alright, loverboy, get your arse back on stage already, the set’s not over,” Marlene laughed into
the mic and Moony obediently leapt onto the stage as if it were nothing more than a step to his tall
frame and lanky limbs, despite the fact that the same stage came up to the waist of most people in
the crowd.

With the renewed energy of the crowd that surged forward, James and Lily were behind him again,
and gratefully so, because Sirius wasn’t sure his quivering legs would hold him up any longer.

“If that’s not Remus, I am in massive fucking trouble,” Sirius said with a desperate laugh, gripping
frantically onto James’ shoulder for the support that his legs were suddenly not providing.

“Well? What do you think?” Lily asked hopefully. Sirius let out a shaking breath.

“He smells just like Remus.” He closed his eyes to draw on that scent again. “He bit down on the
same mark he left last night. It’s Remus,” he confirmed, but backpedaled. “God, I want it to be
Remus.”

“Is there any chance it’s not?” James wondered as Sirius watched the man with the bass move a
little more freely, a little more loosely around on the stage, like that nervous energy from the start
of the show had been burned away and all that was left was pleasure in how thoroughly he’d
flustered Sirius.

“I’m afraid I’m projecting,” Sirius confessed, worrying his bottom lip. “I want it to be him so
fucking badly.” With a harsh swallow, he risked a glance over at James. “I can’t see anyone else
but him.”

“What’s the plan then?” Lily looked away momentarily to waggle her fingers at Marlene.

“I let Remus come to me,” Sirius said, taking a deep breath and nodding assuredly. “I wait for him
to tell me when he’s ready.” Desperately, he looked up at Moony just as he threw his head back to
hit a rather high note in the harmony he was singing with Marlene, his voice moving into a sharp
growl.

“And then, if it turns out you’re wrong, nobody will ever know but us!” James said excitedly,
trying his best to be reassuring, but the only thing that could make Sirius feel totally at ease again
would be to see Remus’ face underneath that mask. Until then, this was going to slowly eat away
at him.

For the rest of the set, Sirius studied Moony. The movement of his fingers, the quality of his vocal
tone, his posture, his gait, his mannerisms. If this was Remus, Sirius couldn’t decide which one
was the true Remus – this arrogant, excitable, audacious bassist on stage or the quietly vulgar,
loudly compassionate, mischievously endearing priest he was in the church. Maybe he was some
fiendish mixture of both of them, but it was hard for Sirius to reconcile the unfettered way Moony
moved on the stage to the relative austerity of Remus in his clerical collar. Still, the way Moony
was currently arching his back, bass held out perpendicular to his body, head craned back so that
the tattoo across his elegantly long neck was on full display – it reminded Sirius a bit of that first
morning after, when Remus had quite deliberately rolled his explicitly stiffened hips into Sirius’
own. Some of Moony’s arrogance had been present in that decision. Maybe they weren’t so
different. Maybe Sirius hadn’t seen all of Remus yet.

In fact, he knew he hadn’t. And that was part of what made this idea so thrilling. The notion that
Remus could do the things that Moony did – that Remus could carry that bassline with his fingers,
that Remus had spent hundreds of hours under the needle of a tattoo gun, that Remus could
recklessly arch his back that way just because he knew what it would do to Sirius, that Remus was
the one who had just stolen a tawdry kiss from Sirius’ throat in front of a crowd of strangers – that
idea left Sirius buzzing with anticipation. Because if Remus could do all those things, Sirius’
couldn’t begin to imagine all the things Remus could do beyond that. And he wanted to discover all
of them. He wanted to know everything.

In time, he would, if Remus would let him. But he was going to leave that decision entirely up to
Remus. Still, he couldn’t imagine Remus having the fortitude to keep this secret much longer, not
when Moony’s amorous theatrics grew bolder with every show. In fact, as he thought about it, he
was almost certain he could get the truth out of Moony that very evening. But he wouldn’t. Instead,
he would do the same thing that Moony had done to him the last few shows – leave him wanting.
Leave him wondering.

As Holyhead began clearing the stage, Sirius pulled James and Lily from the crowd. There was
quite a bit of grumbling, but they followed, nonetheless. As they approached the exit, Sirius was
surprised to find Pete standing there, tattooed arms crossed, looking absolutely elated to see Sirius.

“We meet again, Sirius,” he said with that trademark grin, reaching out his hand. But when Sirius
took it, Pete surprised him by pulling him into a hug. With his unshaven face close to Sirius’ ear,
he said in a loud voice to be heard over the pub’s filler music between acts, “It’s obvious, isn’t it?”
But before Sirius could pull away to look at Pete with the surprise on his face, Pete added, “How
much he adores you.”

“Tell Moony to text me,” Sirius said, putting quite a bit of emphasis on the name he used, patting
Pete on the back before leaning away to give him a conspiratorial wink. Pete just smiled and
nodded.

Sirius took the backseat of James and Lily’s car on the rest of the ride home, knowing that, if his
plan went correctly, he wouldn’t be very good company, because he would be too busy texting.
Sooner than he thought, the text came through. As he unlocked his phone, he wondered – Remus
or Moony?

(Moony):

i was surprised to see you tonight

i didn’t think you’d come to my shows anymore

 (Padfoot):

i know. i’m sorry.

actually i was a little surprised, too

didn’t think you’d serenade me like that

(Moony):

i’d like your honest feedback

i’ve never jumped off stage for anyone before

(Padfoot):

here is my unedited review of your performance

fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck

(Moony):

is that a fuck you

or a fuck me

(Padfoot):

you know damn well it’s both

since i moaned them into your ear

(Moony):

oh i enjoyed that thoroughly by the way

(Padfoot):

mmhm i thought you might

(Moony):

as much as i’d like to jump right back into it

i really have to know

why did you come back?

i thought you wanted something else

some ONE else.

If this text wasn’t from Remus, Sirius would call out to God himself to strike him down. Because
Remus, and only Remus, knew that Sirius had stopped texting Moony because it turned out he
wasn’t who he thought he was (or was he?). Well, besides James, but James was on Sirius’ team in
this game.

(Padfoot):

there is no one else

it’s been you since the beginning

it was always you

I just didn’t always know it.

Everything Sirius wrote was slated with intention. There were two ways this dialogue could be
interpreted – that it had always been Remus, because Remus was always Moony, Sirius just didn’t
know it at first. Alternatively, depending on how much Remus thought Sirius knew, it could also
be interpreted as Sirius coming to realise that Moony had been the one he wanted all along, as if he
hadn’t realised that Moony and Remus were the same person. And Sirius was wickedly aware of
both translations.

On one hand, it could give Remus a clue that Sirius knew the truth. On the other (more diabolical)
hand, it could make Remus jealous. Of himself. And that might prompt Remus into telling him the
truth anyway. Sure, he wanted to hear the truth from Remus, but that didn’t mean he didn’t want it
to happen as quickly as it fucking could. Because, despite that he was enormously proud of himself
for figuring it all out on his own, he wanted to hear it from Remus’ lips, he wanted to see the
tattooed skin that he knew was underneath the clerical collar. He wanted Remus to trust him with
this, specifically, like he trusted him with everything else – the way he trusted Sirius enough to
break into Walburga’s house together, the way he trusted Sirius enough to leave him alone in his
flat (and sleep in his bed), the way he trusted Sirius enough to watch after Harry and Teddy, the
way he trusted Sirius enough to leave a mark on his neck.

(Moony):

what about the priest?

This conversation was going precisely as Sirius predicted it would. It had to be Remus, it had to be.
Because only Remus would ask that question. Moony wouldn’t know things with the priest had
even gotten that serious – as far as he knew, the priest had turned down every single one of Sirius’
advances.

(Padfoot):

I meant it when I said

I might fall in love with this priest

but while I’m at it

I might also fall in love with you

too early to tell just yet

It was the perfect response, really. It was true – he was probably well on his way to falling in love
with Remus, if he wasn’t already, and if Remus was Moony, then, hell, he was already falling in
love with both of them. There was a miniscule chance that they were different people, and if they
were, Sirius was going to have an entirely different set of problems on his hands, but he ignored
that possibility for now.

(Moony):

well SHIT

i think i fell in love tonight

when you whispered fuck me into my ear

(Padfoot):

i’m certain i’ve said that to you before

or are you the one who said it to me

(Moony):

i TEXTED it to you

totally different

much hotter in person

shame i had to finish the set

i could’ve kissed you all night.

(Padfoot):

i wish you would have

but i also wish i could kiss you

without the mask

(Moony):

hell, I get reckless when you’re around

who knows

maybe next show

i’ll play totally stark naked

(Padfoot):

yeah so I just said fuck me out loud to myself

in the back of my best mate’s car

with his wife in the passenger seat

you are making my life so awkward

(Moony):

i’m not kidding when i say

you should record a voice memo

of you saying the words fuck me

and send it to me

For science.

(Padfoot):

hang the fuck on

i’d like to circle back to

 you playing a show naked

i got so embarrassed by the fuck me situation

that i didn’t get to fantasise appropriately

(Moony):

how much fuel do you want to add to this fire?

(Padfoot):

oh god i’m still in the car

it’s like an hour drive

please don’t torture me like this

(Moony):

i was only going to say

that i have, very recently,

actually played bass naked

(Padfoot):

i’m going to fucking scream

if you say it was at a show

that other people got to see

and I did not

(Moony):

it was not at a show.

it was in my bedroom

i’m not THAT confident

(Padfoot):
 your performance tonight said otherwise

(Moony):

ohh I like that response, thank you

what was your favourite part?

(Padfoot):

oh you’re about to kink shame me for this I just know it

the way you breathe when you sing.

(Moony):

fuck okay

not what I was expecting

but I’m not mad about it

explain it to me.

(Padfoot):

you smoke, don’t you?

(Moony):

i do.

can you tell??

by my singing??

(Padfoot):

oh fuck yes.

it makes your breathing shorter

then when you go up for a higher note

you get this cute little whine in your voice

 and you dramatically gasp for air

like you’re choking

(Moony):

oh my god you’re such a sadist

(Padfoot):

I knew you would give me shit for this

(Moony):

you really find that attractive?

(Padfoot):

you have no fucking idea.

it happened twice in that New Found Glory song

and i wanted to fucking die both times

in the Shakespearean sense.

(Moony):

jesus christ.

so all I have to do is breathe

to get you hot

is that what you’re saying?

(Padfoot):

all you have to do is fucking EXIST

but since breathing is part of existing

it’s a win/win for me

(Moony):

the downside is

now I can never quit smoking

the upside is

i’m going to consciously add that

into every song we play

from now on.

you’re welcome.

(Padfoot):

you’re plotting my murder

i hope you’re aware of that

that makes it premeditated.

(Moony):

god i missed this banter

i’m so glad you showed up tonight

(Padfoot):

don’t get all sentimental on me moony

i’m very prone to tears

(Moony):

you’re the one who said he was in love with me

(Padfoot):

i said it was a possibility

don’t start getting cocky

A terrible idea sparked in Sirius’ mind. With his phone still in hand, he closed the conversation
with Moony for the time being and opened another text conversation. With the same person.

(Sirius):

How’s granddad?

Before any response from Remus could come through, another message from Moony came in. A
soft laugh moved through Sirius’ throat as he imagined Remus trying to juggle two conversations,
likely on two separate phones, since he didn’t have the same mobile number as Moony.

(Moony):

you could’ve used any other word you know

but you chose the one with cock in it

(Padfoot):

do you not know me by now??

I am nothing without euphemism

(Moony):

i know this and i love it about you

(Padfoot):

careful moons

you might admit something incriminating

(Moony):

first of all

PLEASE CALL ME MOONS AGAIN

god you are so fucking cute

second of all
you already know the truth

(Padfoot):

what truth is that?

i’d like to see you admit it

In the same moment that Sirius sent his response to Moony, one came in from Remus, and Sirius
realised how dangerous this could potentially be, carrying on conversations with both of them
(even though both were actually the same person). He could easily mix them up and send the
wrong text. Then again, wouldn’t that open some doors for Remus to finally admit the truth? Only
if Sirius’ assumption about Moony was correct – and if it wasn’t? God, he was about to make an
utter fool of himself.

(Your Holiness):

I managed to sneak away for a bit

I told him I was going to pray with a parishioner

Went to a pub instead

(Sirius):

In your clerical collar???

(Your Holiness):

Oh, I am about to ruin your day.

I am not in the collar.

My throat is totally bare.

(Sirius):

OH MY GOD REMUS

How dare you? Honestly?

Showing off your gorgeous throat

TO STRANGERS??? AND NOT TO ME???

Curiously, but not surprisingly, Sirius noticed that while he was getting responses from Remus, he
wasn’t getting responses from Moony. If that wasn’t a sign, he didn’t know what was. There was a
slight pause in the conversation from Remus, and during that time, Moony finally replied.

(Moony):

the truth is

i like you, padfoot.

i like you quite a bit.

too much maybe

In the very next moment, a reply from Remus came in and Sirius began to feel dizzy trying to keep
up with the conversations – two different conversations with the same person. And the
conversations weren’t even that different, because Remus, try as he might, couldn’t hide his wit or
his passion or his feelings for Sirius. His voice, under either name, came across the same. He was
still Remus.

(Your Holiness):

You don’t know my throat is gorgeous

You’ve only ever seen the top half.

(Sirius):

i don’t have to see it to know

the top half is proof enough

not to mention that time I put my lips on it

we should do that again

(Your Holiness):

Oh, we should definitely do that again.

Maybe next time without the collar.

 (Sirius):

JESUS CHRIST REMUS

This is ridiculous

I am so turned on right now

just the thought of you

tearing off that damn collar

good fucking god

(Your Holiness):

Well, just so you know

The collar is built into the shirt.

Which means, to take off the collar,

I would have to take off more than the collar.

He got so distracted by the notion of Remus taking off the collar, taking off more than the collar,
seeing that much of Remus’ skin for the first time (hopefully with massive amounts of tattoos), that
he forgot to reply to Moony. God, this was getting to be too much. He couldn’t keep this up much
longer.

(Padfoot):

no such thing as too much

mostly because i also like you far too much

listen, while we’re on the subject

You like me, I like you

I can keep a few secrets

I’m keeping a few right now

what’s one more?

(Moony):

funny that you say that

because i swear to god

i looked for you after the show

so I could take you behind the pub

and kiss you senseless.

or suck your cock

hadn’t decided which. probably both.

either way, the mask would’ve had to come off

(Padfoot):

AREYOUFUC

IAMGOINGTO

YOUWERE

FUCK.

there isn’t a curse word

strong enough for this situation

(Moony):

i probably shouldn’t have told you

but I wanted you to suffer a little

(Padfoot):

you are being WILDLY unfair.

you did the same thing to me the last two shows

you left without saying anything

where were you when I wanted to kiss YOU?

and/or suck your cock

(Moony):

i’ll make a deal with you

we’ve got one show left

Friday night.

come find me after

we’ll see what happens.

The next Holyhead show was Friday night? That was the day of Orion’s funeral, the day Remus
was supposed to deliver the eulogy. Of course, the funeral was Friday afternoon. There would be
plenty of time for him to carry out the funeral and still make it to the show, right? Or did this mean
Sirius was wrong? Just in case, he switched back over to the conversation with Remus, not wanting
to keep him waiting if he wasn’t Moony, especially now that he was talking about taking off more
than just his collar.

(Sirius):

are you propositioning me?

because I accept

(Your Holiness):

Honestly?

Yes.

That’s exactly what I’m doing.

I don’t give a shit about the church

I don’t care if we get caught

I’m going to lose my fucking mind

if I don’t at least get to kiss you.

And I mean PROPERLY kiss you.

Not on your nose

Not on your neck

(Though I enjoyed that FULLY)

i mean, press you to the wall

my hips between your legs

my tongue in your mouth

KISS you. With intent.

(Sirius):

Remus. GOD.

Intent to do what?

please tell me.

i want you to be specific.

(Your Holiness):

to make you say my name

the way you did last night

to undress you slowly.

to stay up until dawn

tasting every bit of your skin.

to let you see every bit of mine.

(Sirius):

fuck me.

when is your granddad leaving again?

(Your Holiness):

not soon enough.

With a shallow breath blown out through pursed lips, Sirius sank down into his seat, letting his
head fall back against the headrest. Two days. In two days’ time, he would know the truth. Because
Moony was going to take off his mask. And Remus was going to take off … everything. Friday
couldn’t come soon enough. Just as he and Remus had joked in the beginning – Sirius was going to
celebrate the death of his arsehole father in a way that perfectly defiled Orion’s memory. By
fornicating with his priest.
 Now I'm Branded For Taking The Fall
Chapter Summary

Sirius meets Remus' granddad as they prepare for the Prayer Vigil the night before
Orion's funeral. Just before it starts, Sirius and Father Lupin manage to steal a moment
alone. Afterward, a dinner with friends and a midnight serenade.

Chapter Notes

The song featured at the end of this chapter is The Sun and The Moon by Mae, which
you can listen to it here.

It was another long, lonely night. Texts from Remus had become sporadic since he had to go back
to his flat where his granddad was sleeping on the couch. Strangely (or not so strangely), Moony
hadn’t kept texting him either. Of course, Sirius knew it was for the same reason Remus wasn’t
texting back.

When Sirius woke, very late in the morning, with Crookshanks curled up on his pillow with her
extravagantly fluffy tail strewn across his face, it was with an irritated groan. Not at Crookshanks
(she and her tail were both perfect and could do no wrong), but at the fact that he was still waking
up in his own bed instead of waking up next to Remus. How could two days of Remus have spoiled
him so terribly?

His mood lightened, however, when he turned to see a new message on his mobile. Quickly, he sat
upright (earning a disgruntled yowl from Crookshanks, who was apparently quite comfortable,
thank you) and immediately, hungrily unlocked his phone to find the text was from Remus.

(Your Holiness):

Your mother is here

HELP ME

Shit. He sent that message an hour ago. In a flash, Sirius was out of bed (startling Crookshanks to
run into the other room), throwing on any clothes he could find scattered about in his bedroom –
the same holey jeans he’d been wearing the last three days and his favourite Fidelius shirt.

In the commotion, James peeked in through the crack in the open door. “Everything okay?”

“Remus texted me an hour ago to tell me that my mother was at the church already,” Sirius said,
bordering on breathlessness as he hurried to gather his mobile and his keys and his boots.
“Oh, poor Remus,” James groaned. “Funeral stuff?”

“The prayer vigil is tonight,” Sirius reminded him. “I should’ve known she would show up early to
order people around, it’s her favourite pastime.” Sirius grumbled, pulling his boots on without
taking the time to lace them. “And if Remus is texting me to beg for my help, she’s probably
badgering him most.”

“Do you want me to go with you?” James asked. “Lily and I were going to show up fashionably
late so that we could avoid literally everyone in your family except you. Since, you know, they’re
awful.”

“I’ve told you already, you don’t even have to show up at all,” Sirius said with a nonchalant wave
of his hand. “It’s just going to be a lot of posturing and people saying shit about my dad that isn’t
true and my mother putting on a fucking show over how perfect their lives were. Trust me, you
don’t want to go.”

“Of course I don’t want to go, but neither do you, so we’re still going,” James replied sternly, and
Sirius couldn’t help but smile at the familiarity of his uniquely malicious nurturing. “At this point,
it’s more so I can meet this mysterious priest that you’re so obsessed with.” Without looking over,
Sirius groped around for James’ face in the air so that he could playfully push him away. “Now, do
you want me to go over early with you or not? If so, I’ll tell Lily she’s off the hook and ride back
with you.”

“I’ll probably end up staying overnight,” he said, shooting a shrewd grin in James’ direction with
an involuntary flash of his thick, dark eyebrows. “I mean, God willing.” James let out a short
laugh.

“Well, good luck in all your endeavors, sexual and otherwise,” he smiled, picking up Crookshanks
so she didn’t try to bolt out the front door whenever Sirius went out of it (she loved being outside).

“No, really, I’ll probably have to stay with Mother. Remus’ homophobic grandfather is apparently
sleeping on his couch,” Sirius said with a loud sigh, shoving his phone into his back pocket.

“Yikes, that sounds like a winning combination – your delightful mother and his grandfather.”

“Don’t remind me,” Sirius groaned, diving back into his wardrobe to retrieve his black suit.

“Listen, don’t forget to text me when you get there,” James reminded, like he did every time Sirius
left his flat. “You’re the worst about that and I’m going to worry the whole time.”

“I’ll do my best, but I might be walking into a bloodbath,” Sirius said, the aglets of his boot laces
clicking against the hardwood floor with every step he took toward the front door. “If I’m lucky,
Remus will strangle her in a violent rage before she tries to cut out his liver or whatever it is those
cultists do.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s pronounced Catholic,” James enunciated deliberately, and Sirius had to pause
his race to the door because he was doubling over in laughter, hand on the sofa to keep him
upright.

“I love you so much,” Sirius laughed, stepping back to kiss James on the cheek. “I’ll text you.”

“I love you, good luck, don’t kill yourself trying to save a few minutes,” James called as Sirius
made his way to his car. “You can’t save Remus if you die in a car crash. He’ll be okay until you
get there.”
“He’d better be!” Sirius shouted. “I haven’t even gotten to kiss him yet!”

“I wouldn’t advise attempting that with your mother around!” James yelled back, waving as Sirius
shut the car door and slammed the car into reverse. He was speeding before he turned off James’
street.

After sending a quick text of survival to James, Sirius paused at the wide-open double doors in the
front of the church, wondering if he should go around to the back, to Remus’ flat, to try to avoid
his mother. The screeching he heard coming from the front of the nave gave him the answer he
dreaded.

“These are lilies, I specifically requested orchids,” Sirius heard his mother’s distinct, biting tone
and he picked up the pace to try to save Remus from it. But Remus was not the one bearing the
brunt of his mother’s wrath. It was a nun. It was Mary, though Sirius had never met her. No time
like the present.

“Mother, stop berating the nun,” Sirius called as he walked down the center aisle. The woman in
the black habit turned sharply and Sirius finally got a look at her kind face, full of relief that
someone had come to her rescue. “I’m sorry, Mary, isn’t it?” Sirius asked with a calming smile.
“The lilies are beautiful.”

“I’m so sorry,” she said in a rush as Sirius tried to ease her worry, taking a moment to notice the
frazzled way her dark brown hair was peeking out from the white border of her religious habit.
“The shop was out of white orchids and the purple orchids were still twice the cost of the white
lilies,” she stuttered out, looking at Sirius with wide eyes, pupils the exact same shade as the colour
of her hair. Her olive skin was obviously flushed in her stress and embarrassment, splotches of pink
and red across her cheeks.

At the same time, Walburga stomped away in a huff, throwing a small bouquet of lilies that had
been in her hand onto the green carpet, scattering yellow pollen over several pews. With a clench in
his jaw, Sirius turned back to Mary with a deep sigh from his nostrils and a silent apology in his
expression.

“The lilies are fine, they’re beautiful, really,” Sirius assured her, wanting to take her hand because
he was so accustomed to providing physical comfort, but not wanting to subject the poor girl to any
more awkward encounters with the Black family. “Ignore my mother. Where is Father Lupin?”

“He’s working on the funeral programme for tomorrow,” Mary answered with a strained smile, one
that Sirius had seen on the face of literally everyone who was forced to interact with his mother
against their will. She lowered her voice to add, “Mostly just to get away from her, I think.”

“I know the feeling,” Sirius whispered in return, nodding sympathetically.

“I think he’s trying to pick photos from the box you both … retrieved from her house the other
night,” Mary said, a suddenly astute smile on her innocent expression, eyelashes batted knowingly.

Sirius went a little pink, lowering his head to look up through his hair. “He told you about that?”

“He tells me a lot of things,” she said, pulling her lips into her teeth, still blinking deliberately in
Sirius’ direction. That pink on Sirius’ skin deepened a bit. He was glad his mother wasn’t around
to see it.

“Right.” Sirius cleared his throat. “Em, should I … go find him then, or …”

“He will need your help with the photos,” Mary said, her expression moving back into
professionalism for a moment before it dove into concern. “But Father Albus is with him.”

“Father Alb–?” Sirius began to ask before sharply realizing that was Remus’ grandfather. “Oh.”

“I’ll go with you, so it doesn’t seem like you know where his flat is already,” Mary wisely
suggested, nodding to the hallway that led to the basement. “By the way, it’s nice to finally meet
you.”

“Likewise,” Sirius said with a laugh. “I appreciate you picking up the slack over the last few days.”

“My pleasure,” she said with a genuine smile as they moved through the swinging doors. “Lord
knows Remus deserves some leisure time, so I’m happy you were able to help him with that.”

“I probably just added to his stress,” Sirius sighed, knowing the internal struggle his presence had
been forcing upon Remus. But Mary shook her head, stopping at the top of the basement stairs.

“Let me assure you,” she said, taking Sirius by the shoulder and looking at him with purpose in her
deep, brown eyes. “He is noticeably happier when you’re here.” With a smile and a soft squeeze,
she motioned for Sirius to follow her down the stairs. With a polite knock to the door of Remus’
basement flat, she called, “Father Lupin, Sirius Black is here to help you choose the photos for the
programme.”

“Oh, thank God,” he heard Remus groan from beyond the door. A smile crept unwillingly over
Sirius’ face, he tried to stifle it to appear as sober as he could, knowing who else was behind the
door.

When Remus yanked open the door, that belligerent smile flashed over Sirius’ face again as he saw
how unusually unkempt Remus was. His hair, while often wild, was now feverishly disheveled,
curling around and over his ears, most of it violently pushed back except for one thick section that
was disobediently twisting down into his eyes. With one hand, he reached up to order it back and it
was successful for all of two seconds before it bounced down into his vision again. The round,
gold lenses that were ordinarily kept spotless at the uppermost bridge of his nose were now
smudged with multiple fingerprints and perched rather precariously on the end of his nose. In fact,
when Remus looked up at Sirius, his gilded gaze fell above the rounded frame, the lenses like a
magnifying glass to highlight the blackened circles under his tired amber eyes. The standard black
long-sleeved shirt he always wore was wrinkled and misbuttoned, the stiff white ring of his clerical
collar sliding out of one side of the built-in high collar of his shirt, practically cutting into the
underside of his jaw if he tilted his head just right.

“Good afternoon, Father Lupin,” Sirius said with practiced propriety. Remus let out a groan.

“Christ, that’s dreadful,” he mumbled, bringing up a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose from over
the tops of his glasses for only a moment before pushing them back up his face. “Mary, thank you
for bringing him to me,” Remus said with a wide smile of relief. Mary nodded, winking at Sirius.

“Don’t work too hard, boys,” she said with a knowing grin as she retreated up the stairs.

“Sorry, is –” Sirius began to ask, glancing into the flat, but Remus immediately shook his head.

“He went up to the kitchen for a cup of coffee,” Remus said, grabbing a fistful of Sirius’ shirt at the
chest and pulling him inside quickly. And if Sirius didn’t know better, he would’ve thought Remus
meant to pull him into a kiss with the frenzy and the recklessness of his movements. Instead, he
leaned around Sirius and silently closed the door behind him. If that had been it, Sirius might’ve
been disappointed, but Remus impulsively slipped his arms around Sirius as far as they could go,
pressing Sirius deeply into the door and burying his face headily into Sirius’ neck, breathing out,
“God, I missed you.”

“Oh, hi,” Sirius exhaled in response, letting himself get caught up in the ecstasy of Remus’
attention by wrapping his arms around Remus in return, his fingers finding their way into the back
of Remus’ touch-tousled hair. “Do we have time for this right now?” he asked warily, but he didn’t
let go.

Remus just hummed his indifference, wordless at first, as if he couldn’t convince himself to do
anything but hold Sirius and breathe him in. Until he said, “You smell so much better than my
sheets.”

A laugh bubbled from Sirius’ lips. “I’ll happily go roll around in your bed a bit to refresh the scent
for you. Or better yet, next time, I’ll just bring you a bottle of the cologne I wear, and you can go
wild.”

“I’d argue that you rolling around in my bed is much better than your bottle of cologne.”

“In that case, you’re welcome to roll around in bed with me,” Sirius offered, moving to adjust the
white insert of Remus’ clerical collar so that he had more room of Remus’ throat to press his lips
against, which he did, slowly and willfully, eliciting the most wretched, despairing whine from
Remus’ throat. It may have been Sirius’ imagination, but it sounded a lot like the gasp in Moony’s
stripped singing voice.

“You know damn well I would if I could,” Remus said with a frustrated growl as he pulled back
and tried to soften the wrinkles he’d gripped into Sirius’ shirt before his grandfather returned. As
his gaze roved over Sirius’ chest, it inevitably met the new ink on Sirius’ forearm. His eyes didn’t
widen the way Sirius expected they would – instead, as he took Sirius’ arm into his hands, his face
softened into a smile.

“A friend of yours did it for me,” Sirius said carefully, watching Remus closely. “Pettigrew.”

“Pete,” Remus corrected with a knowing glance up to Sirius’ face. “I know him.” And he said it
with the same cautious inflection that Pete had used to indicate he wouldn’t say any more about it.
So, Sirius didn’t press it, but he could tell there was something about Pete that Remus wasn’t
saying, in the same way there was more that Pete hadn’t said. Ultimately, it wasn’t that important,
and with the way Remus was delicately tracing Sirius’ skin (careful to stay away from the still-raw
lines of the fresh tattoo), Sirius didn’t feel the need to get Remus to focus on anything except what
he was doing.

“Do you like it?” Sirius asked, worrying his bottom lip. “It’s a little … irreverent.” In response,
Remus shifted back in to pin Sirius to the door again, with just his hips. The attention that Remus
had been devoting to Sirius’ forearm now moved to Sirius’ face, while his touch continued to
absently ghost over Sirius’ overly tender skin, moving down over Sirius’ wrist, into his palm,
between his fingers.

“It’s brilliant,” Remus said with a subdued smile. “It suits you so well,” he added, keeping his eyes
on Sirius’ as he brought Sirius’ hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to the heart tattoo on Sirius’
knuckle, the original of the one copied in his new tattoo. It was just a purse of his lips to Sirius’
finger, but with the way Remus was watching him, he managed to make it look unduly salacious.
His indelicate kisses continued across the back of Sirius’ hand, turning it to pepper more at the
inside of Sirius’ wrist, moving up his arm (kissing a wide circle around the center of his forearm to
avoid the freshly wounded skin there), until he reached the inside of Sirius’ elbow, and Sirius’
hands had nowhere to go except into Remus’ hair.

“You know, I kind of like this disordered look on you,” Sirius admitted with calculated intent as he
tried to brush his fingers through Remus’ unruly curls in an effort to get them to behave, though it
was a battle that was quickly lost. In his defeat, he moved his hands down to Remus’ shirt,
straightening it on his shoulders before unbuttoning the one that had been fastened incorrectly. At
the soft snap of that button being undone, even though he was wearing another shirt underneath it,
even though Sirius wasn’t able to see any of the skin underneath, Remus let out a weighted breath,
a lawless look in his eyes. As Sirius corrected the buttons, he kept his gaze away from Remus’
honey eyes, until he delivered a fatal blow by adding, “It looks like you’ve been really well
fucked.” Remus’ jaw tightened as he swallowed, the honey in his eyes darkened into caramel, and
he pulled his bottom lip into his teeth, biting down hard.

“Jesus,” Remus whispered through his teeth, drawing the vowels out into a pitiful moan that
staggered out of his throat as he let his head fall back in desperation and anguish. “Sirius.” And for
just a moment, his hips grew heavier against Sirius’ before he stalked away from Sirius like a
caged beast.

“Sorry, I probably shouldn’t have said that,” Sirius said under a specific intention. “But I wanted
you to suffer a little.” It was the same thing Moony had said to him last night about Sirius’ missed
opportunity for a kiss or more. Instantly, Remus’ eyes darted over to Sirius’ face, taking the time
only to narrow slightly before he looked away again. It could’ve been animosity. Or it could’ve
been recognition.

“I’ll forgive you if you promise to say it to me again when we’re alone,” Remus said, letting his
eyebrow rise as he walked back toward the oddly shaped coffee table, covered in photos. “For now,
let’s stage this so that it looks like we don’t know each other all that well. You sit here,” he said,
pointing to a cushion as he passed it and Sirius did, but Remus made a face. “No, no, sit like you’re
in a stranger’s house, you look too comfortable.” Sirius moved to the edge of the sofa, feet flat on
the floor. “Better.”

“Just how bad is your granddad?” Sirius asked, gritting his teeth as Remus moved to the furthest
possible place around the coffee table from Sirius, but still within range to look at the photos.

“He’s disturbingly observant and he is, without a doubt, going to know that you’ve been here
before, we just have to make sure it only looks like it was once or twice,” Remus said as he
nervously chewed on the inside of his bottom lip while Sirius tried to act like he wasn’t watching
it. For practice.

“Technically, I have only been here once or twice, he just doesn’t need to know I slept over both
times,” Sirius grinned arrogantly while Remus tried not to look gratified but failed miserably. “I
have some experience in playing a part, I did it plenty with my parents.” Sirius added with a shrug
of indifference, noticing that Remus’ expression turned a little pained at that response, and he
sighed to make it audible.

“I should be better at it, but you know I’m not,” Remus said as he knelt onto the floor to grab a few
photos, adding props to continue staging the scene. “Especially when it comes to you.”

“Would you like me to try being … I don’t know, demanding?” Sirius asked, trying to think of
ways to make Remus feel distanced from him, somehow. A curious expression moved over
Remus’ face.
“Yeah, remember when I said I was a masochist?” He formed a comically wide smile, more like a
wince, teeth bared. “I think that could go in a way we really don’t want it to go with my granddad
here.”

“Oh,” Sirius said, quite pleased, tucking that piece of information away for later. “Huh.”

“Be emotionally distant and indecisive,” Remus offered, shuffling through the photos, which
seemed to be an excuse for him to have something to do with his hands. “I really don’t enjoy
that.”

“Okay, but I don’t want you to hate me when this is over?” Sirius’ voice spiked in his panic. With
a calming breath, Remus rested his elbows on the table and his face in his hands, looking at Sirius
warmly.

“Sirius,” Remus said in a soothing voice, dreamy smile on his face. “You are such an idiot.”

“You know, you say that to me a lot,” Sirius laughed, his cheeks feeling pink.

“Because you’re still listening to the brainwashing your mother left behind,” he said a little louder
than he likely intended. “Remember when you said once I got to know you, I would still think you
were unlovable?” Remus flashed a riotous smile. “I’ve proven you and your mother wrong ten
times over.”

“Careful, Remus, you might admit something incriminating,” Sirius said, once again using the
conversation with Moony as bait. But Remus didn’t acknowledge the familiarity. Instead, he took
an overly deep breath, his eyebrows furrowed in profound thought, and he opened his mouth to
speak, reaching for Sirius’ hand from across the photographs scattered over the table. Sirius
reached back.

“Sirius, I –” he began to say, just as the door to his flat opened. In perfect timing, he and Sirius both
subtly, but quickly, returned their hands to their sides. When Sirius looked over, he made sure to
wipe his expression clean, hoping that Remus would do the same. In the open door of Remus’ flat
stood an older man with wavy hair that was just as untamed as Remus’ hair, but white in colour
and down to his shoulders. If he had on a clerical collar, Sirius couldn’t see it for the long, white
beard that was hanging in the way, tied into a knot in the middle. His attire was more traditional
than Remus’ simple long-sleeved shirt and black denim – what this man wore looked more like a
Roman cassock, the ends of his black robes tinted grey with how often they dragged along the
ground. When he looked at Sirius from underneath wiry brows, he smiled, but the heavy bags
under his eyes made his expression look sinister.

“Granddad, this is Sirius Black,” Remus introduced him quickly and Sirius stood to shake his hand,
though he wasn’t entirely sure this man would shake his hand. “He’s Orion’s son. He’s helping
with the funeral preparations, I asked him to come down and choose a few photos for the
programme.”

Father Albus kept smiling, reluctantly reaching out his hand to take Sirius’ in an obvious attempt to
crush his finger bones to dust. “Wouldn’t it be more comfortable to do this in your office?” he
asked politely, and his voice was soft, but it still came out sounding more like a threat than
anything else.

At first, Remus’ shoulders sagged, his mouth fell open as he ran his tongue along his back teeth in
an obvious show of great displeasure. Sirius jumped in to save him, trying to channel what Remus
had said about being emotionally distant and indecisive. “It doesn’t matter to me, I don’t care, I’m
just doing this to make my mother happy,” he said, keeping his voice flat with an underlying
twinge of annoyance.

While Remus looked sort of impressed at Sirius’ acting ability, Father Albus’ expression hadn’t
changed in the slightest since he walked into the room. And he apparently refused to speak any
more on the matter, and Sirius refused to relent in speaking to fill the gaps, so they ended up in a
silent stalemate.

“Sirius, we just need four photos for the programme, pick any four you like,” Remus said with a
strangely deliberate emphasis, looking at Sirius under a particular gaze. Sirius almost smiled as he
realised Remus was encouraging him to pick his favourite photos – in other words, very bad photos
of his father with ill-lighting and stupid expressions and blurry resolution. Oh, this could be fun,
after all.

In keeping with his emotionally distant persona, Sirius didn’t reply. He just maintained a look of
boredom on his face, vaguely scanning the photos in awkward silence as Father Albus watched
him. In fact, it seemed like Father Albus was watching him unusually closely. Did he know
something?

“This one’s fine, I guess,” Sirius yawned, carelessly tossing the photo in Remus’ general direction,
though he had actually been searching for that photo specifically, knowing that his mother would
hate that he chose that one. It was a photo of the two of them, his mother and father standing side-
by-side, as his father was turned away from his mother to chat pleasantly with a more attractive,
younger woman, all while his mother was wearing the most outrageous scowl. Historically, one of
Sirius’ favourites.

“Lovely picture of your parents,” Remus added to the lie, trying not to smile. With a mildly
irritated sigh, Sirius looked at the clock that hung above Remus’ bedroom door.

“This is going to take longer than I thought,” he said, pursing his lips as he clenched his jaw. “Isn’t
there someone around who could get me a cup of tea and maybe some scones?” His act evolved
into someone a little more demanding, and he hoped Remus didn’t mind, but it was ultimately for
his benefit.

“Oh, right, of course,” Remus said, subduing a smile as he caught on quickly. In fact, he even went
so far as to begin moving before looking up at his grandfather. “Actually, Granddad, would you
mind fetching Mr. Black a cup of tea so that I can keep working on the programme? I just brewed a
pot and left some cranberry-orange scones on the counter in the kitchen upstairs for Mrs. Black.”

Though Father Albus maintained his smile as he met Sirius’ gaze, he remained stationary, so Sirius
added an extra furrow to his brow so that he looked a bit more like his father, a little more snarl in
his lip so that he looked a bit more like his mother. When reminded of the church’s biggest
benefactors, the old priest complied, though Sirius could finally see what looked like genuine
annoyance in his grin.

As soon as the door was securely shut, Sirius let himself fall back into the squashy cushions of
Remus’ sofa. “Oh my God, this is the worst,” he vocalized, the groan pouring slowly from his
throat.

“At least now you get to try one of Harry’s scones,” Remus replied with a sappy grin. “They turned
out quite good, actually, once we got past the flour incident. I wish you could’ve been here.”

“Turns out, it was a good thing I wasn’t,” Sirius sighed, glancing toward the door. “Is your
grandfather naturally this suspicious or does he know I’m trying to seduce you with my gay
wiles?”
A short laugh slipped through Remus’ lips. “He can’t possibly know you’re trying to seduce me,
but he did have a very long conversation with your mother this morning. And he is very good at
getting information from people without them knowing he was pandering to their conversation to
get it.”

“Not to mention, my mother loves to tell clergy members what an immoral degenerate I am, so I’m
sure it came up.” Quickly, Sirius sat up and snatched three more photos from the table – one that
Regulus had taken in secret while Orion was raising his hand to Sirius, another that was so far out
of focus that it was barely recognizable as Orion, and the last one was a family portrait of all four
of them, Sirius and Regulus looking stone-faced and grim because they had been threatened into
good behaviour.

“Speaking of your mother, where is she?” Remus asked, the concern evident in his tone. As Sirius
handed him the other three photos (Remus didn’t have to subdue a smile for these – in fact, it
looked like he was subduing an expression of great distress), he shot Remus a grimace of apology.

“When I came in, she was screaming at Mary for picking the wrong flower arrangement to go on
top of the piano,” he said with a heavy sigh. “I wonder if I should go and babysit her when I’m
done here, keep her from making Mary want to leave the divine service of our Lord.” Remus
laughed.

“See, the thing about Mary is,” he looked pointedly at Sirius, “she’s almost as bad as I am.”

“No,” Sirius hissed in disbelief. “I don’t buy that for a second, considering you smoke and drink
and curse and tell me how much you want to undress me in our texts.” Remus raised his brow.

“First of all, saying I want to undress you is very different than actually doing it, but if given the
chance, I would also actually do it,” he stated with a suggestive glance, and Sirius was far too
pleased with this admission. “Second of all, Mary has the face of a saint, but the mouth of a –”
Sirius interrupted.

“Priest?” he asked with a cunning grin that was almost too wide for his face.

“Not quite,” Remus said with a mischievous smile. “Nobody has a mouth like me.” Under an
aching breath at the first suggestive thing Remus had ever said to him, Sirius responded with a
specifically explicit expression, pushing his tongue out wide over his lips and using its momentum
to drag his bottom lip into his teeth, biting down onto it until his skin ached underneath, enjoying
the way Remus watched.

“That’s the goddamn truth,” Sirius said in a hollow whisper, leaning in across the table in some
futile effort to get closer to Remus and Remus surprised him by leaning back just the same.

Of course, that would be the moment that Father Albus would decide to come back into the flat,
leaving Sirius and Remus to quickly adjust their postures to avoid the appearance of interest from
either party. Before Father Albus could get in a word (one that Sirius knew would be irritating to
Remus in one way or another), Sirius cleared his throat rather obnoxiously, then stood, head held
elegantly high.

“Thank you, but I must get back to Mother,” Sirius said to Father Albus, taking the teacup in one
hand and the scone in the other, pausing to take a bite. “Delicious scone,” he remarked to Remus,
falsely accentuating the posh nasal quality in his voice that sounded far too close to his mother’s
tone.

As he ascended the stairs, he risked a glance backward, lucky that Father Albus’ back was turned,
giving him plenty of time to raise an obscene brow in Remus’ direction. And Remus raised one
back, his grandfather’s presence be damned. Sirius took another bite of the scone. It tasted rather
sweet.

His victory with Father Albus was short-lived, however, as he moved back into the nave to find his
mother had already gone back to scolding Mary over something else entirely, having moved on
from the flowers since Sirius had already undermined her on that front. With a tired sigh, Sirius
swept in again.

“Mother, you are in a church, lower your fucking voice,” Sirius grumbled, throwing that curse
word in just for the comedic irony, and Mary, at least, seemed to appreciate the humour in it.

“Shut up, Sirius,” Walburga hissed back, spittle actually flying from her thin lips. “After all the
money we’ve given to this church over the years, they can’t even manage to do a single thing
right!”

“Mary, what’s happened?” Sirius ignored his mother entirely, lowering his voice to a more
comfortable level before addressing Mary. The small woman’s shoulders visibly relaxed in
response.

“The funeral home mixed up two services and they’re bringing the casket this afternoon instead of
tonight, as planned,” she said with a tight expression of concern. Walburga made a sound of
disgust.

“Which is why I told you to demand that they take it back and bring it at the time they were
supposed to have brought it in the first place,” Walburga said through clenched teeth.

“It’s fine,” Sirius reasoned, speaking more to Mary than to his mother. “It’s not like they’re going
to dump it on the lawn. I’m sure Dad won’t mind waiting in the front of the church for a while.”

“Most of the flowers have not even arrived!” Walburga shrieked, incensed at the idea of Orion’s
body arriving without the appropriate reception. Sirius wondered if anyone would even send
flowers for someone like his father. “The pallbearers should carry the casket in only after everyone
is seated, the priest should be seen sprinkling the casket with holy water, and just who is going to
place the crucifix on the coffin if it is already here? You are not using your head, Sirius, which I’m
sure is typical of you.”

Unbothered, Sirius shared a knowing glance with Mary before replying. “If it will get you to stop
throwing a tantrum like a child, I’ll take care of it.” With a snarl, Walburga turned on her heel, not
to walk away, just to turn her back to Sirius. Like a child. “We’ll just move up the vigil a few
hours. I’ll make all the calls and you can continue fussing over your flowers. Does that work for
you?” he asked flatly. Without turning to acknowledge him, she provided a terse nod and stepped
away in a huff, nose in the air.

“Is she … always like this?” Mary asked carefully. Sirius just smiled.

“I’m sorry,” he said before running his fingers through the stubble on his face, trying to make a list
of every person he was going to have to call in order to move this ridiculous exhibition up hours
earlier just to appease his unappeasable mother. “If you need a break, I can take over from here.”

A kind, understanding smile moved over Mary’s pale lips. “If it’s for you, I’m happy to help. I’ll
call the florist to have them send all the flowers earlier. If anyone even ordered flowers, that is,”
she said with a sour expression and a roll of her eyes, to which Sirius could only respond with a
sincere laugh.
“If they didn’t, go ahead and order some from me,” he grinned. “Something celebratory.” With a
quietly contented smile, Mary raised both brows to show her approval before hurrying off to carry
out her task. Meanwhile, Sirius took a deep breath and let it out slowly before taking the mobile
from his back pocket to find that his mother had already forwarded him a list of contacts. Because
of course she did.

There were over a hundred names on this list. A hundred phone calls that Sirius was going to have
to make in the next four hours. This was going to be a long afternoon. He opened the first one,
clearing his throat as the phone rang. “Mr. Avery, hello, this is Sirius Black, Orion’s eldest.”

It took nearly the entire four-hour timeframe he had before the anticipated arrival of Orion’s
casket, but Sirius managed to call everyone on his mother’s damn list. Even Lucius Fucking
Malfoy, whom Sirius would rather set on fire than ever speak to again. But, to keep the peace for
Remus, he did it.

Of course, the moment he finished, his mother then chided him for still being in his jeans and T-
shirt as the guests were arriving. Playing the part of the dutiful son, he fetched the suit he’d tossed
into his back seat. Mary offered her room to let him change but Sirius had a better (or worse) idea.

With the pews filling and his mother busy pretending to be a grieving widow (while still managing
to bark at Mary for not having the ability to keep a plucked flower from wilting), Sirius stood
toward the back of the church, keeping a close eye on the swinging doors that led to Remus’ flat.
Of course, he knew Remus wouldn’t come through those doors first. But that wasn’t who he was
waiting for.

Sirius was positioned adjacent to the doors, hidden behind a rather austere pillar, so when Father
Albus came through those doors, Sirius used their momentum to slip through without making any
additional sound. Suit folded over his arm, he hurried down the stairs to Remus’ front door.

As he knocked, he softly called out under his breath, “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.”

“You son of a bitch,” he heard from the other side only a moment before Remus tore open the door
to give Sirius an accusatory expression, scarred brow risen high. “Do you realise how –” He
stopped speaking when he saw the vacant look on Sirius’ face as Sirius laid eyes upon him in his
funeral chasuble. Black velvet adorned with an intricate, repeating quatrefoil pattern in gold-leaf
covering the entirety of the garment save for the solid black stripe down the middle with what
could only be described as a cross of lilies in an alternating arrangement with smaller star-like
crosses between each one. The gold in the fabric perfectly accentuated his golden frames, the
golden gaze behind them, the golden glow of his auburn skin underneath it. There was a certain
added darkness to the purple circles under his eyes, to the wiry hair on his face, to the curly hair on
his head, afforded to him by the blackness of the velvet, and it somehow made him look wilder,
more untamed, more treacherous, but at the same time, it also highlighted the enchanting flash of
silver that decorated his left temple, that grey in his hair lending a calming softness to an otherwise
dark veneer. The wide collar of the vestment hung carelessly from his shoulders, displaying the
clerical collar that was in constant place around his elegant, slender throat.

“Remus,” Sirius said on a vacuous breath, moving into the flat and closing the door behind him,
though he wasn’t sure he was conscious of the floor moving underneath his feet or how his fingers
were working of their own accord. A dangerous smile appeared on Remus’ face. And maybe it
was the way that smile began in one corner of his mouth like a devious smirk or maybe it was the
way this bold wardrobe granted him the permission to liberate the formidable presence that he
usually kept hidden. Whatever it was, it left Sirius entranced in his shadow, unable to breathe,
unable to move, unable to think.

“Oh,” Remus hummed with a breathy laugh that echoed through the walls of his chest and moved
through his throat like the call of a wild animal. “Does this look do it for you?” Remus started to
ask, but before he finished, Sirius was answering, his hands inherently moving to touch Remus.

“Yes,” he exhaled heavily, hanging on the last syllable with all the breath he had left in his lungs,
setting his palm flat against the center of Remus’ chest before drawing it to the side, letting it
follow the natural curve of Remus’ body. A subtle twitch sent a considerate arch into Remus’
brow.

“I didn’t know your priest kink was such a problem,” Remus replied, stepping in as if he knew that
Sirius would subconsciously take a step back, so that he could easily press Sirius to the door.
“Should I ask you to get on your knees?” he teased, taking Sirius’ face in one hand so he could
raise it to the ceiling.

“Fuck,” Sirius whimpered defenselessly, voice already raspy from how much breath was moving
through it. He let Remus lift his chin as far as it could go, the top of his head against the grain of
the door.

“Did you come down here to undress?” Remus asked with purposeful censure in his tone as he
took the suit that was draped over Sirius’ arm and tossed it onto the sofa behind him, all without
letting Sirius’ face slip from his grasp, without retracting from where he was panting against
Sirius’ bared throat.

“I thought you might like to watch,” Sirius answered honestly. As he spoke and swallowed and
swore, he could feel his Adam’s apple dip down over the brush of Remus’ warm and waiting lips.

“Yes,” Remus replied with the same inflection Sirius had used a moment ago. From where Remus
was pressed against Sirius’ frame, Sirius could feel him rise up to press a gentle kiss to the very tip
of Sirius’ chin, still uplifted by Remus’ fingertips. Another kiss followed – a little bit lower and a
little bit wider. A third, heavier than the first two, right where the underside of Sirius’ jaw met his
throat. The kisses didn’t stop – they continued all the way down Sirius’ throat, increasing in
strength and number until Remus had to crane his neck to reach the base of Sirius’ throat where his
collarbones met.

“If I show up at my father’s vigil with a hard-on, my mother will kill me,” Sirius whispered to the
ceiling and the laugh from Remus’ lips buzzed against his throat. His fingers loosened on Sirius’
face.

“That’s the beauty of the religious vestment,” Remus said with a satisfied hum, stepping back just
enough so that he could gesture down his torso. “I could probably fit you in here with me.”

“I’m sure we could work out the logistics of that,” Sirius grinned sinfully, grabbing a handful of
the soft velvet so that he could pull Remus back toward him. Apparently, Remus wasn’t expecting
that, because he stumbled back toward Sirius, the majority of his weight shoving Sirius firmly into
the door. In his imbalance, Remus put out his arm to keep from colliding into Sirius’ face and he
landed with a soft grunt, bracing against the door with his forearm directly next to Sirius’ head.
Batting his lashes innocently, Sirius looked up from where Remus was hovering over him, pinning
Sirius to the door. “Hi,” he grinned.
“Hi,” Remus replied in a whisper, his eyes darting over Sirius’ features. “You know, considering
how I admitted to propositioning you last night through text,” he began, lowering his voice and
leaning in close enough to softly brush the end of Sirius’ nose against his own. “It doesn’t make
sense for us to keep putting this off, to keep pretending like we can prevent it from happening.” He
slid his hand further up the door that Sirius was leaning against, minimizing the distance between
them until it was nearly nonexistent, the only space between them in the air that they were
exchanging through breath.

“You’re going to kiss me, aren’t you?” Sirius asked needlessly, his voice wavering from the
pounding of his heart and the insufficiency of the air in his lungs. Remus swallowed heavily as
soon as the question left Sirius’ lips, and Sirius watched it move all the way down his throat until
his stark Adam’s apple disappeared beneath his clerical collar. As he tilted his head a bit to
facilitate his intended movement, he brought his other hand up to slide down Sirius’ jawline, his
fingertips nudging softly against Sirius’ earlobe. With a loose fist, he curled his fingers around the
curve of Sirius’ jaw, applying delicate pressure to coax Sirius into craning his head back so that
their lips were more level.

“Yes.” His reply was short, intentionally clipped to conserve the little oxygen moving between
them as they traded exhales, but there was still a nervous sway to his tone, a desperate sigh hidden
within the single syllable. With a deliberately slow motion, Remus licked his lips to wet them, his
dark gaze darting down as far as it could go before shifting it back up to meet Sirius’ eyes again.
His lips still parted from the way his tongue had unsettled their borders, he only had to lean
forward.

As Sirius felt the soft weight of Remus’ lips against his for the first time that wasn’t an absent
brush of skin, he let his eyes flutter closed in his attempt to memorize the way it felt, how Remus
moved Sirius’ bottom lip into the parted space of his mouth and how he held Sirius there,
motionless at first, as if he were doing the same thing Sirius was doing, desperately trying to study
the providence of this kiss.

Sirius didn’t try to compare this to Moony’s chaste kiss through the mask, didn’t try to evaluate
whether the shape of Remus’ lips were the same as Moony’s, didn’t measure the direct warmth of
Remus’ mouth against the secondhand warmth of kisses through paper. In fact, Sirius didn’t think
about Moony at all. All that was on his mind was Remus. The way he pulled in breath through his
nostrils so that he didn’t have to separate himself from Sirius, the way his fingers moved down to
Sirius’ throat in order to pull Sirius as close as he could get him, the way his lips parted further to
draw Sirius’ in deeper.

Remus’ previously cautious kiss suddenly moved into desperation as his lips began to push Sirius’
mouth open wider, his fingers gripping Sirius tightly by the back of the neck to control the
increasing depth of his kiss. With Sirius’ trembling fists buried in the velvet of Remus’ funeral
attire and Remus’ wanting mouth opened wide with the intent to devour Sirius completely, a brutal
series of knocks jostled Sirius in his place against the front door. Their eyes flashed open
simultaneously, meeting instantly.

At first, they didn’t dare move, not even to part. Their open mouths stayed joined, for fear of the
characteristic sound it would make when their lips closed and separated. Carefully, Remus moved
his fingers that had once been on Sirius’ throat to his face, softly and slowly closing his own
mouth, coaching Sirius to do the same. Their caution paid off – when their kiss was severed, it was
silent and solemn.

But Remus, being the disobedient rebel that he was, immediately leaned in to unsettle Sirius’ lips
again, out of pure spite, and this kiss was much more voracious, much more ruthless than the one
before it. However, he still took the time and attention to tilt his head just so as he drew away in an
effort to muffle the sound. The insolence in his expression was indescribable, and it was glorious.

“Remus, open the door,” came the calm, demanding voice of Father Albus from the other side,
accompanied by an angry rattle of the doorknob that Remus had apparently had enough sense to
lock when Sirius came into the flat. With a gentle push to Remus’ chest, Sirius forced him to take a
noiseless step back from the door in order to get away from it. “I will not ask you again.” Sirius’
eyes widened.

“Would you like me to come to the door naked, Granddad?” Remus misled, speaking with an air of
vague annoyance in his voice, but Sirius could see the open-throttle fury in his expression.

“You have thirty seconds,” Father Albus bargained. At first, Remus didn’t move, other than the
tight, irritated clench of his jaw, and Sirius thought he might call Father Albus’ bluff, if it was even
a bluff.

“Shit,” Remus finally hissed, grabbing Sirius’ hand and leading him quickly into the bedroom. He
tore open the door to his walk-in-wardrobe and gestured for Sirius to get inside, and Sirius was
quick to comply, wedging himself into one corner, behind a suspicious number of plaid overshirts.
“Don’t come out even if he orders you to, which he probably will, because it’s worked for him
before.” At first, Sirius opened his mouth to address the fact that Remus had been forced to hide
someone in his wardrobe before this moment, but Remus interrupted knowingly. “Don’t ask. And
don’t come out until you hear me slam the front door.” With one last aching expression, as if this
were the last time Remus would ever get to lay eyes on him, especially in a state so disheveled and
unkempt, he brushed the pad of his thumb over Sirius’ lips. The distress in his expression grew
exponentially worse as Sirius kissed his fingertip.

“My suit!” Sirius winced just before Remus could lock him inside. Glancing back to the sofa,
Remus nodded and shut the door. There were a few more seconds of silence and Sirius imagined
Remus tossing Sirius’ clothes into his bedroom. The sound of the bedroom door closing followed,
and then the front door opening, then closing, before there was a long, weighted silence throughout
the flat.

“They are about to carry the casket inside,” Sirius could hear Father Albus say from beyond the
wall where Sirius hid. “Your place is at the front door. What, may I ask, are you still doing in
here?” There was accusation in his tone, but the specifics went unsaid. A measure of calculated
silence followed.

“I haven’t done a funeral in a while, it took me a while to find this stupid chasuble,” Remus replied
flatly. “If my place is at the front door, shouldn’t we be moving a little more quickly?”

“What are you trying to keep from me?” Father Albus asked immediately.

“Empty bottles of expensive booze and several ashtrays full of cigarettes smoked down to the
filter,” Remus answered without hesitation. Sirius could imagine him meeting Father Albus’
suspicious gaze with his own stern glare. “Or did you already find those in your earlier
investigation?”

The silence moved in again, lingering heavily before Father Albus finally responded. “Don’t be so
naïve to think that you’re able to hide the way you look at Orion’s son.” Shockingly, Remus
laughed.

“Are you kidding? He’s gorgeous, of course I’m going to look at him.” An involuntary smile leapt
over Sirius’ face, and he quickly tightened his expression to stifle it, though no one else could even
see it.

“Walburga has kept me informed on the matter, I’m well aware of his perverted lifestyle choices,”
Father Albus stated plainly, and Sirius was surprised to hear a pleasant hum from Remus.

“Wait, he’s gay?” Remus asked in feign surprise, a delighted uptick to his voice. “Damn it, I
could’ve been having promiscuous gay sex all week, wish I would’ve known that sooner.”

“Remus,” Father Albus interrupted sharply. “If I find out –”

“If you find out what, Granddad?” Remus said in a threatening tone. There was silence for a long
time. Eventually, Remus spoke again, but this time, his voice was so low that Sirius almost
couldn’t hear it, speaking under a self-effacing sigh. “Do you genuinely think that someone like
Sirius Black would be interested in someone like me?” His acting was getting better – it physically
hurt to hear Remus say those words, worse than any black eye. Shortly afterward, it sounded like
Remus opened the front door. “I have a vigil to lead, and since I can’t trust you to stay in my flat
without rummaging through my shit, I suggest you lead the way, Father.” Again, a long period of
silence, followed by the sound of the front door slamming shut, the clatter of the hinges jarring
even from beyond the wall. Sirius winced at the vibrations.

Just to be safe, Sirius cowered in the wardrobe for a few more minutes, listening intently for any
signs that either of them returned, but he was met with constant silence. Nervously, he ventured
out, knowing it would look very bad for Remus if Sirius appeared from the wardrobe (with his
proverbial tail between his legs) after Remus had just (falsely) implied that Sirius could not be
interested in him.

But the flat was empty. A quick peek through the bedroom door confirmed it. In haste, Sirius
changed into his black suit and, with the day’s clothes bundled in his arms, he slipped through the
front door of Remus’ flat, up the stairs (careful to glance down the hallway first), before bolting
out to the garden. He stashed the dirty clothes in his car before appearing again in front of the
church’s front doors.

Sirius was relieved to see that the ceremony had started without him – the casket had already been
carried in, sprinkled by the priest with holy water, and a crucifix had been placed upon the lid. The
congregation was standing, singing some hymn about meeting again someday (directly opposed to
Sirius’ wish that he would never have to see his father in whatever next life there would be).

“And just where have you been?” Sirius heard to his right and he would’ve startled if he didn’t
know that voice so well. With a raised brow, he looked over at James, who wasn’t looking back.
Instead, his attention was fixed on the pulpit, where a particularly good-looking priest was standing
off to the side of the professional singer Walburga had hired to lead the songs at the vigil and the
service tomorrow.

“Hiding from Remus’ grandfather. In Remus’ walk-in-wardrobe,” Sirius answered under his
breath, warranting a subtly prideful sort of expression from James’ face. “Where’s Lily?”

“Back row,” James pointed politely. “Next to your blue-haired friend.” A delighted smile moved
over Sirius’ face as he saw Lily’s bright-red hair positioned right between Teddy’s blue hair and
the light-pink pixie cut of his mum, Dora. That smile grew into something that made his cheeks
sore when he realised that Harry was sitting on Lily’s lap. The light in Harry’s hazel eyes, shining
behind his round gold frames as he looked up at Lily, had never seemed so bright, despite the dark
purple of the bruise still surrounding his eye. It didn’t diminish that glow in his eyes at all. Sirius’
heart may have melted a bit.
“Aww, I wanted to introduce you to Harry!” Sirius said with a subdued laugh.

“Lily was in love the moment he took her hand,” James said with an affectionate, sappy grin,
adjusting the lenses on his face so he could see the two of them more clearly. “According to
Teddy, they’ve been watching Disney films all week and Harry thinks Lily looks just like Ariel.”

“You’d make a pretty good Prince Eric,” Sirius joked, nudging James with his elbow.

“Harry said the same thing,” James preened. “Well, not exactly. He said I could make a good
Prince Eric if my hair wasn’t so – what was the term he used – wicky-wacky. And then he cracked
himself up laughing because he said I looked more like Bambi’s dad,” James said, spreading all his
fingers out and motioning wildly up either side of his head, curled around his hair, before adding,
“You know. Antlers.”

Sirius barely managed to stifle the laugh that barreled up from his chest. “Well, that settles it, I’m
going to have to call you Bambi from now on, I don’t have a choice. You can blame Harry, if you
must.”

“No, it won’t work,” James said with a phony, sad expression. “I already pointed out to Harry that
his hair was also all wicky-wacky, but a little shorter than mine.” His mouth turned up into one of
the widest smiles Sirius had ever seen on it. “So now he’s Bambi. He seemed rather pleased about
that.”

“Well, Bambi’s dad doesn’t have a name, and I’m not about to start calling you Great Prince of the
Forest, it doesn’t really roll off the tongue, does it?” Sirius hummed, deep in thought. “Isn’t there a
word that means the same thing as antlers but isn’t the same word? Like a synonym of antlers?”

Trying to help, James began to guess. “Horns? Tusks? Points? Prongs?”

“Prongs!” Sirius shouted in his excitement, in the exact moment that the song came to a close and
the church was settling into otherwise silence. As James clapped his hand over his mouth to
prevent his uncontrolled laughter from making the situation worse, Sirius stole a glance in Remus’
direction, only to find a wildly amused expression on Remus’ face from where he now stood at the
mic, center-stage.

“I think you’ve just found my nickname,” James whispered, still struggling to subdue his laughter.

“Now we all have one,” Sirius smiled broadly. “Padfoot and Moony and Wormtail and Prongs.”

“We just have to force Pete to be friends with us,” James nodded. “That shouldn’t be too hard.”

“No, I think the hard part,” Sirius said leaning in closer to James so that he could point blatantly to
where Remus stood on the stage, “will be getting that one to admit that he’s our Moony.”

Noticing that Sirius was pointing him out to James, Remus paused in welcoming the guests of the
church to raise a specific eyebrow in Sirius’ direction. As Sirius rose one in return, over a wickedly
exultant smile, James nudged Sirius in the ribs and nodded toward the very back row where Lily
was sitting.

When Sirius looked over, he was met by a toothy grin, unruly hair that had been sheared by
unskilled hands, and bright hazel eyes behind golden frames. With Harry’s eyes on him (and
Teddy’s, but Teddy was a bit better at pretending he didn’t care enough to turn around), Sirius
mimed the same thing James had done with his hands a moment ago, forming a crown with his
fingers around James’ head as he mouthed the word antlers to Harry from across the space. The
laugh Harry tried to suppress was still audible, and Sirius just managed to catch a glimpse of the
way Remus immediately responded to it, a softened smile moving over every feature, only a
momentary pause in the scripture he was reading.

As Sirius watched the way Lily playfully shushed Harry, pinching him by the cheeks and on the
shoulders and under his chin, and the way Harry responded with an unrestrained smile, trying to
cover up his own laughter with his hands over his mouth, throwing his head back as far as it could
go and trusting Lily to keep him from diving down to the church carpet, Sirius felt a prickle behind
his eyes. This was what Harry should’ve had from the beginning. This was where Harry belonged.
With them. With the family that they’d all managed to create together, across cities and
circumstances and challenges. Strange that they had all found their way into each other’s lives
separately, one at a time, but how none of it would’ve felt right without any one piece missing.
Sirius felt like this was the way it was always meant to be.

And he never felt that feeling stronger than when he looked at Remus. Even reading from an
ancient book of hypocrisy and human fealty, even standing on a stage that had been used as a tool
of oppression for centuries, even wearing rich robes that were meant to symbolize the power and
authority he’d been granted by a God who left them all on an empty rock to die. And maybe it was
because none of those things applied to Remus Lupin, maybe it was because he was the most
genuine human being that Sirius had ever met, despite the pharisaic way he’s been raised, or
maybe it was because Remus used those tools of oppression and molded them into something he
could use compassionately, instead. Then again, maybe all of it was because Sirius found himself
falling hopefully, happily in love with Remus.

Once the vigil was over, the family was meant to line up just outside the open church doors as the
mourners (if they could even be called that because who, exactly, was mourning Orion’s death?)
left so that they could offer condolences and hugs and handshakes and other bullshit gestures.

Sirius and his mother were the only remaining immediate family. For a moment, Sirius considered
asking his three cousins and his Uncle Cygnus (on his mother’s side) if they would stand at the
front of the church with them, but then Lucius Fucking Malfoy would incessantly (and
disgustingly) flirt with his cousin, Narcissa, and Sirius was not about to be subjected to that.
Besides, there was a cutting sort of symbolism to the fact that Orion had so little family left, and
Sirius wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of pretending anymore. They had never been a happy
family, a complete family. It was no different in death.

Still, to avoid the shrill reprimand of his mother, Sirius stood by her side with a solemn expression
that could be interpreted as grief as long as he kept the angry snarl from his lip. That was turning
out to be a harder assignment than he thought, with his mother pretending to wail loudly anytime
the attention was drawn away from her suffering. Of course, there wasn’t a single tear in her eye.
And why would there be? After all, she inherited everything in Orion’s passing. The house that
Orion had himself inherited from his wealthy father, the money that Orion made off the backs of
other people’s labour – it was all hers.

And Sirius would never see a cent of it. Not that he would want the Black family blood money, but
he could certainly think of better uses than what she planned to do with the rest of it, if she didn’t
spend it all before she died, that is. It would all go to the church. Millions of dollars gone to fund
more straight camps and shock therapy hiding behind the guise of austere stained glass and martyrs
to propaganda.
Every person who came out of those doors shook his hand (because Sirius physically retracted if
anyone tried to hug him) and told him what a good man his father was, not knowing they were
speaking those profanities to the child that good man had regularly beaten. Or, hell, maybe they
did know. A lot of these people did. Corporal punishment was celebrated. Spare the rod, spoil the
child, they said.

There was a welcome reprieve when James and Lily moved through the line (skipping Walburga
completely, which was fucking poetic). Without a word, James took Sirius into his arms, and they
stayed that way for quite some time. Long enough, in fact, that Harry (who had, until that moment,
still been holding hands with Lily) started to tap on Sirius’ elbow in his impatience. With a smile,
Sirius unwrapped himself from James and knelt to one knee as Harry excitedly barreled into him,
hugging his neck so tightly that Sirius had no choice but to pretend to choke under the brawny
strength of Harry’s arm muscles.

As Teddy stepped up behind Harry, ruffling his hair like a good older brother should, he informed
Sirius that it was his own idea to crash the vigil, uninvited, because Sirius had mentioned what a
dick his father was (Teddy’s words), and they were afraid the rest of his family was just as bad.
Trying (and failing) to stuff down the sentimental expression on his face, Sirius held out his fist to
bump against Teddy’s and Teddy surprised him by wrapping his arms around Sirius’ chest. But
only for a second, so it wasn’t uncool.

Dora and Lily, taking their turns to give Sirius a hug, told him they were already planning the next
Disney film night at Dora’s with popcorn and candy and ice cream. When Dora asked him his
favourite childhood film, Sirius went quiet as he realised he didn’t remember watching many films
growing up. He didn’t remember playing in the garden or getting ginger beer after school with his
friends or staying up late with his brother on Saturday night. Surely he had to have done some of
those things, at some point in his youth, but all he could draw on was hours of mandatory
extracurriculars, nights without supper, sleeping in the dusty attic as the winds howled through the
cracks between the wood planks.

And then he thought of that photo he’d been hunting for that night he and Remus had broken into
his mother’s house. He thought of his Uncle Alphard and Uncle William and building pillow forts
with Regulus in their living room, using pillowcases for their flags. He thought of visiting the
summer festival in Alphard’s hometown and winning a goldfish for Regulus in a game of chance,
watercolour scales in shades of orange and pink and red and yellow. Those summers with Alphard
and William were the only glimpse at childhood Sirius and Regulus had ever gotten to experience.
Looking at Harry and Teddy, Sirius promised himself to dote on them the same way his Uncle
Alphard had doted on him, on Regulus. With a smile, he promised them that film night. And
pillow castles and summer festivals and goldfish.

Once most of the mourners had gone through the line, Walburga moved away with a haughty glare
at the ragtag bunch of misfits that Sirius had adopted as his new family. His blood family was in
ruins, anyway, and even if Regulus were still alive, he would’ve chosen these misfits over her, too.

As Sirius stood from bending to adjust the crooked frames on Harry’s nose, he straightened his
back to find Remus Lupin standing before him, wearing a smile that was somehow just as joyous as
it was somber, Mary standing slightly behind him with a smile that matched. Without a word,
Remus stepped in and slid his hands around Sirius’ waist, holding him as close to his frame as he
could get him. With Sirius’ arms around his neck, he squeezed a bit, just enough to move Sirius’
feet off the ground, the way he had the first night Sirius had nearly kissed him. From over Remus’
shoulder, Mary was smiling at them.

“I know she’ll never say it, so I’ll say it in her place,” Remus whispered into the dark, limitless
curls of Sirius’ hair. “I’m proud of you, Sirius.” There was an immediate knot in Sirius’ throat, his
vision blurry with tears, half of them angry that Remus felt the need to say that in her place. “What
you did for her today, she will never recognize. And I’m sorry. But your faithfulness has not gone
unnoticed.”

“My faithfulness,” Sirius scoffed. It was almost ironic for a priest to call him faithful. At first,
Sirius went to pull away from Remus’ embrace, knowing that Father Albus was surely watching
from somewhere, but Remus tightened his hold, burying in closer, nuzzling his cheek to Sirius’
own.

“Faith isn’t the absence of doubt, remember? It’s the constancy of it,” Remus said with a softened
tone and a laugh to match, reminding Sirius of their first profound conversation, the night they had
robbed Sirius’ mother. “Tonight, I watched you manage your mother, knowing that she would give
you nothing in return. And I realised you didn’t do it for her. You did it for Mary. You did it for
me.” A sweet sigh slipped through Remus’ lips and into Sirius’ hair. “Your faithfulness isn’t in a
faith, it’s in the silent promises you make to everyone around you. It’s in the way you keep them.
And I see you keep them, Sirius. I see every little thing that you do because I can’t seem to take my
eyes off you.”

A few of those tears slipped through the barricades that Sirius had hastily built to keep them in, and
with a little sniffle, he reached his hand around Remus’ neck to wipe them away. “God, you’re
such a flirt, Remus.” With a nostalgic laugh, Remus pulled back, but not away, as he slipped his
callused hand along Sirius’ cheek, the pad of his thumb sweeping affectionately over what used to
be a black eye on Sirius’ skin, now wiping away the salty residue of Sirius’ tears. His ethereal
touch ghosted down Sirius’ throat until it settled in his palm, heavy against Sirius’ chest, letting it
linger as a secretive smile moved across his face. After a few tender pats to Sirius’ chest, he took a
step backward, letting his fingers fall away from Sirius’ chest as slowly as they could to give
Remus time to let his eyes travel all the way down Sirius’ frame, from his silver eyes to the leather
boots he wore under his suit pants, and back up again.

Clearing his throat a bit, Remus leaned in close once more, tucking a rogue strand of hair behind
Sirius’ ear before letting his fingers slide all the way down Sirius’ jaw as he added, “You look
stunning in that suit, by the way,” leaving Sirius to light up with a flush. Grinning, Remus knelt
down to hold his palm flat out in Harry’s direction to request that Harry please give him a high-
five. Harry, of course, accepted.

“Remus – sorry, Father Lupin – it’s nice to meet you,” James said with what sounded like a
nervous tick to his voice as he shot his hand out. Remus, clearly also nervous, struggled to free his
hands from the long, wide sleeves of his religious vestments, and they shook, both of them
smiling.

“It’s Remus, it’s definitely Remus,” he laughed. “You must be James. I’ve heard so much about
you, I feel like I’m meeting a celebrity.” The pink that swept over James’ cheeks spoke volumes.

“I know what you mean!” he laughed, practically giddy, groping for Lily’s arm from where she
was still chatting with Dora and pulling her over to meet Remus properly. “This is my wife, Lily.”

“Lily,” Remus said, wearing that same secretive smile as he took Lily’s hand inside both of his
own. It reminded Sirius of the way Pete had shaken his hand. “Wonderful to finally meet you.”

As they spoke, Sirius glanced over to find Father Albus standing menacingly in the breach of the
open doors of the church, stone-faced and unmoving as he watched, as he judged. But there was
nothing, nothing that could ruin Sirius’ mood, not even the threat of Remus’ grandfather
discovering their relationship. Remus was proud of him, his mother was nowhere to be seen, Harry
was casually swinging from Sirius’ outstretched arm, and his found family finally felt whole
(though, for some reason, he kept feeling like Pete was meant to be here). It turned out to be a day
of celebration, after all.

When they all decided to go out for dinner afterward, (well, James decided and convinced
everyone else it would be fun), Sirius was surprised that Remus agreed to accompany them. Hell,
even Mary seemed like she would relent and join them, at first, but that was until she laid eyes on
Father Albus, eyeing Remus ominously as he laughed at something James had said. Sharing a
particular look with Sirius, she just grinned and told him to bring her a takeaway when they came
back. Try as Sirius might to convince her it would be fine, she elected to stay behind and monitor
the movements of Father Albus.

Once Remus had discarded his vestments for the simple black-sleeves and black denim (and his
clerical collar, of course), they walked the block over to a restaurant that Remus said had the best
Indian food in the parish. Over tandoori chicken and biryani and naan and samosas, they talked for
what felt like hours, James and Remus quickly becoming fast friends, as Sirius realised they were
so much more similar than Sirius had ever noticed. It was in their quick wit and their
mischievousness and their overwhelming care for other people. Watching them bond was the
highlight of Sirius’ evening.

“Mind you, this is the first night I met him,” Remus emphasized, gesturing wildly with his hands,
and Sirius wondered if he’d ever seen him so animated. “And, already, he’s convinced me to break
into his mother’s house and rob her.” By then, James was holding his ribs, evidently aching in
laughter.

“He’s very charming, I’m not surprised by this at all,” Lily added with a beaming smile.

Sirius jumped in to defend himself. “He’s conveniently leaving the part out where he invited me to
his flat to get drunk before any of this happened,” Sirius said, lowering his voice as he got to the
part about getting drunk so that perhaps Harry wouldn’t overhear it from the other end of the table.

“Which, really, makes the whole thing so much worse, because we were probably making much
more noise than we thought we were,” Remus said with a loud laugh, taking a swig of his dark
lager.

“I mean, a cop did show up,” Sirius reminded him with a roll of his eyes.

“Only because he thought I was mugging you,” Remus groaned. “Or attacking you? I’m still very
unclear on that whole interaction.” With a snarl, Sirius shoved the last corner of naan into his
mouth.

“He was a racist prick, interactions with them don’t usually make sense,” Sirius huffed.

“Wait, so you got caught jumping Walburga’s hedge and you didn’t get arrested?” Dora asked.

“He didn’t catch us jumping the hedge, he caught us –” He stopped, pulling his lips into his teeth
and shooting Sirius a glance of amused concern. “Having a discussion. On the pavement.”

“Is that what they’re calling it now?” James grinned, eyes darting between the two of them.
Sirius cleared his throat, intentionally making his expression look sheepish, just to stoke the fires of
curiosity that Remus had ignited. “I had to tell him we were, em, praying and he made Remus
show him his clerical collar to prove it. And then it turned out he’s a fucking member of his
congregation!”

“Hang on, he goes to your church?” Lily practically shrieked. Remus nodded knowingly, bitterly.

“Yeah,” Remus sighed. “Friend of Orion’s.” A chorus of enlightened oh’s moved around the table
as they all quickly, individually came to a mutual understanding. All eyes at the table then
collectively looked sympathetically in Sirius’ direction (except Harry, who was thankfully being
distracted by Teddy).

“I don’t know how you’re going to get up there again tomorrow and pretend like Orion was
anything except a shitty human being,” James said with a heavy sigh as he glanced back to Remus.

The smile that immediately covered Remus’ face was colossal. “Oh, I don’t know, I think it’ll be
more fun than you think,” he said as he smiled at Sirius, giving him a not-so-subtle wink.

“Oh my God, you wouldn’t,” Lily said with a dramatic gasp, looking delighted.

“I did help him write it, after all,” Sirius reminded them with a smug, faux-innocent smile.

“Give us a sneak peek,” Dora said, flicking a balled-up shred of napkin into Remus’ hair, which, of
course, got stuck there because Remus’ hair was practically as wild as James’ antlers. Or maybe it
was even more wild than James’ hair but because of the elegant curls, it only seemed tamer. Either
way, Sirius tenderly reached over and plucked the offending paper from Remus’ dark tendrils.

“You’ll hear it tomorrow,” Remus said secretively. They whole table seemed to groan.

“Speaking of tomorrow, it’s practically tomorrow already,” Lily said, glancing between her watch
and the end of the table to Harry, who had begun to yawn into his half-finished plate of gulab
jamun that Teddy was reaching across the table to finish for him, one by one. “We should probably
get home.”

“No, don’t leave!” Harry whined, having been oblivious to the conversation until that point.

“We’ll be back tomorrow, Bambi,” James said, curving his arm around Harry’s head to roughly
push his fingers through Harry’s messy hair, pulling him close so he could plant a kiss to the top of
Harry’s forehead. As Sirius watched, if he didn’t know better, he would’ve thought Harry was
James’ son.

“Prongs, can I sit by you tomorrow? You and Lily?” Harry asked, so sweetly that an audible sigh
moved through Remus’ lips, a saccharine smile across his face as he reached for Sirius’ hand from
underneath the table. Silently and secretly, Sirius reached back, reveling in the entire exchange.

“Harry, we’re not invited to the funeral,” Dora corrected carefully while casting a wince of apology
in Sirius’ direction. “Technically, we weren’t invited today, but Teddy insisted we be there.”

“Come on, Mum,” Teddy said, rolling his eyes. “You know I was right. His family is awful.”

Sirius laughed, leaning across Dora so he could fist bump Teddy, and Teddy looked smugly
vindicated by it. “You don’t even know how right you are. I was relieved to see familiar, kind
faces,” Sirius said, shaking his head. “And I’d feel better if you were all there tomorrow. If you
want to be, that is.”
Before Dora could agree or disagree, Teddy surprised everyone by quietly stating, “Nowhere else
we’d rather be than with family.” Around the table, everyone’s expression seemed to soften in
harmony, all of them strangely but wordlessly affirming it, despite that they’d only known each
other a few hours.

“Amen to that,” Remus agreed with a grin that was as playful as it was blissful, still holding Sirius’
hand underneath the table. Discreetly, he looked back to find Sirius had never taken his eyes off
him.

Together, they’d all walked back to the church, Remus carrying a plastic sack filled to the brim
with Styrofoam containers that held several different dinner options for Mary, since nobody could
agree on which dish had been the tastiest, agreeing that Mary deserved nothing but the best after
putting up with Walburga all day. At the church, James and Lily had gotten into their car to drive
home, both of them waving from open windows as they drove away. Harry seemed especially
distressed to see them leave, despite their assurances that they would return the very next day, but
in only a few more minutes, he was yawning so deeply that Teddy had to drape Harry over his back
to carry him home, elbows tucked behind Harry’s knees with Harry’s arms hanging over Teddy’s
shoulders. Dora turned to wave silently at them, her pink pixie cut looking white in the dimness of
midnight next to the fluorescent blue of Teddy’s hair.

In the soft, orange glow of the streetlight at the end of the church’s car park, when Remus turned to
Sirius in their new, sudden solitude, his eyes looked more yellow than they ever had, and it was
like staring into an eclipse, a ring of gold hollowed by a black hole. At first, Sirius took a step
closer, trying to feel the warmth from that obscured sun and the softness of the moon that
concealed it. When Remus raised his free hand to let the back of his knuckles brush along the
underside of Sirius’ jaw, the warmth he felt wasn’t from the heat of Remus’ skin, but from the
electricity of his spirited, consecrated touch.

The sound of the large church door opening sent Remus’ hand back to his side. Father Albus stood
in the space between the doors, wearing his ever-present judgmental glare. With a sad smile,
Remus allowed only his pinky finger to link into Sirius’ own, on the side opposite from where his
grandfather stood. On a sigh, he quietly admitted defeat. “I’ll see you in the morning,” he said
wistfully.

To avoid meeting the piercing eyes of Father Albus, Sirius turned and walked down the street to
his mother’s house. Earlier, she had surprised him by telling him she would like him to stay in his
old room that night, but Sirius quickly figured out her motives. People would be at the house the
next morning. She was surely keeping up the delusion, the act, the appearance that they had the
perfect relationship.

Her reasons didn’t matter. His own reasons for staying there were purely dishonourable. He only
agreed to it because he’d already decided to stay with her for the sole purpose of being close to
Remus. If Father Albus wasn’t around, Sirius could probably get away with sleeping on Remus’
sofa (or, Jesus, in his bed), but this was a close second. Well, really, it was a very, very distant
second, but second, nonetheless.

All the lights in Walburga’s house were off when he arrived. Sirius wasn’t surprised. Part of him
wondered if she even remembered he was going to be staying there at all. To prevent waking her,
he moved in the same steps he and Remus had the other night, trying not to make a single creak in
the wood flooring. But instead of going into his own room (that Orion had turned into a study very
shortly after Sirius had run away from home), he went into Regulus’ room. The wardrobe was still
open from the last time Sirius had been in this room. He made a mental note to load all of Regulus’
clothes into his car tomorrow before he went back home, never to set foot in this godforsaken
hellhole of a town ever again.

Oh. No, that wasn’t quite right. Maybe he would never come back to this house, maybe he would
never have to see his mother’s unpleasant face, but he would have to come back to this place.
Because this place was the one that had Remus in it. He wasn’t about to pretend he could live
without Remus.

As he threw himself onto Regulus’ bed, he recognized how it didn’t really feel like Regulus’ bed at
all. It didn’t have his favourite dark-green blanket that Alphard had painstakingly hand-crocheted
for Reg that Christmas when he was six (Sirius had stolen that first, it was reverently placed across
his own bed at home, alongside the maroon one that Alphard had made for Sirius the same year), it
wasn’t made up pristinely with military corners on the sheets for fear of being reprimanded by
their father, it didn’t have Reg sitting cross-legged on top of it with Alphard’s old copy of The
Hobbit spread open in front of him.

Before he could register all the ways this room didn’t feel like Regulus’ room anymore, his mobile
buzzed in his back pocket. He contorted in his place to reach it. It was from Remus. And there was
a strange sense of satisfaction in the fact that it wasn’t Moony, that Moony hadn’t texted him all
day, because Sirius was equating that with the fact that Remus had been the one unable to text all
day.

(Your Holiness):

I was hoping that

Once the old geezer nodded off

I could convince you to come back

Or I could sneak out to you

BUT HE’S STILL AWAKE

(Sirius):

hell, I’ll wait

if it means you’ll kiss me again

that was a pleasant surprise

I am literally weak in the knees

(Your Holiness):
I didn’t expect you to show up, you know

And then you fucked me up with that whole

Bless Me, Father shit.

(Sirius):

I fucked YOU up?

i’m sorry

YOU

WERE

WEARING

A VELVET

ROBE

(Your Holiness):

Honestly?

I did not realise you would be so into that

I mean, I really thought you were kidding

about the whole priest kink thing.

(Sirius):

it was not at all a thing.

until it was you.

(Your Holiness):

Yeah, well, vice versa.

Plenty of women have tried the whole

Bless Me Father schtick on me before

Awkwardly unsuccessful.

And then you say it

ONE FUCKING TIME

You could say it again sometime.

i would not be upset about it.

(Sirius):

maybe I’ll say it to you in the confessional next time

(Your Holiness):

fuck. me.

why do I want you to sexualize

my whole goddamn profession

(Sirius):

because I’ve got a priest kink

(Your Holiness):

that’s the fucking truth

Because YOU’VE got a priest kink

(Sirius):

granddad still awake?

(Your Holiness):

Yeah. It’s very easy to tell when he falls asleep

He snores like a fucking freight train

I think he’s trying to stay awake to catch me

I’m sure he knows I planned to sneak out

(Sirius):
 you snuck out last night?

can’t you just do it again?

(Your Holiness):

When I snuck out last night

It wasn’t after midnight.

I could pretend to do my job.

(Sirius):

tell him that thing you told me

about wanting to keep the church doors open late

for people who need a place to go

and how Mary goes to bed early

(Your Holiness):

But then I’d actually have to stay here

And I’m sure he would be lurking.

(Sirius):

just go upstairs

give it thirty minutes

then text me

he can’t stay awake forever

(Your Holiness):

Alright, I’m in.

I need to kiss you one more time

Just one more time

 (Sirius):

I don’t know if I can stop at one

but maybe if we’re careful

I can blow you behind the church

(Your Holiness):

SIRIUS WHAT THE FUCK

(Sirius):

too far?

(Your Holiness):

Shit. Yeah. Too far.

Because now I’m going to want it.

(Sirius):

Is that a sin, Father?

(Your Holiness):

i don’t give a fuck if it is

But I’m a priest, for god’s sake

Technically I’m YOUR PRIEST

I absolutely cannot get caught

with my cock between your teeth

By my GRANDFATHER

WHO IS ALSO A PRIEST

goddammit

(Sirius):
 you have never said the word cock to me

I am wildly turned on right now.

(Your Holiness):

ohmygod this is the worst

pretend I didn’t say it

because. alright. yeah.

you already know. I’ll just admit it.

it’s inevitable at this point.

I am going to have sex with you.

(Sirius):

jesus christ remus

(Your Holiness):

But it absolutely cannot be

The night before your father’s funeral

While my granddad is in town

Like. good fucking god.

(Sirius):

you’re so flustered.

is the threat of being caught

getting you horny?

(Your Holiness):

i need to say no to that

(Sirius):
 that doesn’t sound like a no to me, honestly

(Your Holiness):

I’m rethinking this whole fucking plan

I unquestionably cannot see you now

(Sirius):

No remus I’ll behave I promise

(Your Holiness):

Sirius. it’s not even you.

If I see you tonight

I will do anything

Literally anything

To let you blow me behind the church.

(Sirius):

Fuck.

You really meant what you said

Nobody has a mouth like you.

(Your Holiness):

It’s a gift from god.

(Sirius):

Are you sure about this though?

It seems like a waste

I’m so close
(Your Holiness):

Dear GOD, please don’t use that phrase right now.

(Sirius):

ooh sorry, I meant

I’m very nearby

to your geographical location

in terms of physical proximity

(Your Holiness):

Jesus even the way you say physical proximity is hot

What the fuck is wrong with me

(Sirius):

I’ll add it to the list

so I can record you that voice memo you wanted

when’s your birthday?

(Your Holiness):

It’s in March, you missed it I’m afraid

Have it done by Christmas

(Sirius):

I’ll put a bow on it

my birthday is November 3 rd btw

in case you want to reciprocate

so just go ahead and jot that down.

(Your Holiness):
I could probably arrange that.

What would you have me say?

(Sirius):

You said something earlier

About getting on my knees

THAT nearly killed me

(Your Holiness):

I could tell

By the way you said fuck afterward

Which nearly killed ME you know

(Sirius):

I could tell

by the way you kissed me afterward

speaking of which

feel free to invite me back.

any time now.

(Your Holiness):

I’d love to reenact that, trust me

But I feel so manic right now

I wouldn’t have the power to stop

(Sirius):

You just said yourself.

It’s already inevitable.

(Your Holiness):

Yes, but if we do this, we HAVE to keep it secret

and nothing is a secret with my granddad around

(Sirius):

would you be mad if I showed up anyway

(Your Holiness):

Of course not.

But I can’t kiss you again tonight

I don’t want you to be disappointed.

(Sirius):

that makes it sound like I’m only here for the kissing

and considering this is the first time we’ve kissed all week

it should be pretty clear that I just like being near you.

(Your Holiness):

goddammit you’re so adorable

and, just a reminder

this isn’t the first time we’ve kissed

there’s a hickey on your neck to prove it

(Sirius):

I mean a proper kiss

and good god was that a proper kiss.

the only thing that was missing

was your tongue in my mouth

Like you promised

(Your Holiness):

In case you couldn’t tell

I was on the verge of losing my damn mind

And tearing your clothes off

With my fucking teeth

If my granddad hadn’t interrupted

You would’ve gotten tongue.

(Sirius):

Okay yeah maybe I should stay here

that was so much hotter than I expected

I might need to get off before I see you again

(Your Holiness):

god damn you Sirius Black

By the time he got that last text from Remus, he was already out of bed, making deliberate steps on
the spots where the floorboards didn’t creak. In his hurry to potentially see Remus (because he
wasn’t sure Remus would even be in the nave upstairs since they’d already called the whole thing
off), he kept missing the particular places he meant to step, and the wood planks were singing
beneath his feet.

“Sirius!” he heard his mother shriek from down the hall. With a wince, he went still.

“It’s me, Mother,” he called in a half-whisper, adding a believable lie. “I’m headed to bed.”

“I don’t care! Quit making such a racket!” she screamed back, and it was followed by the whoosh
of her thick down comforter being thrown back over her head. Sirius rolled his eyes but was much
more careful about his subsequent steps, keeping on his tiptoes to minimize the places his weight
dispersed.

It took him a fair amount of time to get back out through the back door and, once there, he had to
wait inside the hedges at the fence as a group of older teenagers on a mission of midnight mischief
came barreling past Walburga’s house. Smoothly, he climbed the fence and vaulted over the top.

On his way back to the church, he kept away from the pavement, stayed closer to the brush that ran
alongside, avoiding the illuminating light of streetlamps flickering in the dark. Nobody was on the
street, but he didn’t want to take the chance of being spotted, being stopped from his own mission.
From a distance, he could see the church doors were open, which meant Remus had left his flat,
after all. However, what he couldn’t tell from there was whether or not Father Albus had decided to
follow him upstairs. Stealthily, he moved in closer, peering around the edge of the open door.

About that time, he heard the chords of a familiar song being played on piano. With a knowing
smile, he peered over to see Remus hunched over the keys, just like he had been the last time Sirius
had shown up at the church without telling him. That time, when he’d played that song about being
ruthless, Sirius could see the fatigue in his face, could hear the sadness plinking out a broken
melody through his fingertips. This was nothing like that. Remus was still bent low over the keys,
but his head was not collapsed onto the fallboard. Instead, his fingers moved in a steady, deliberate
pace under a hopeful cadence, his body leaning into the movement of his hands as they danced up
and down the keys.

“Painted skies,” he sang faintly. Without intention, but just with the longing to be closer to Remus,
to hear his voice more clearly, Sirius stepped further into the church, moving along the wall closest
to where the piano sat elevated. “I’ve seen so many that cannot compare to your ocean eyes.” His
voice moved up to find that high note with uncommon ease, his eyes closing in the revelry of
melody.

Once Sirius got close enough, he started the next line, he and Remus singing together for a
moment. “The pictures you took that cover your room,” Sirius added as he noticed that Remus let
his own voice fade out while he continued to play, unsurprised by Sirius’ presence. Finally, Sirius
sat down on the short bench next to Remus, their thighs pressed tightly together, a quick glance
shared between them as Remus pressed the pedal with his right foot, nuzzling his leg softly against
Sirius’ as he did.

With a strange realization of the next line, Sirius sang it, looking at Remus with wonder and
supposition. “And it was just like the sun, but more like the moon.” As the lyrics moved fluidly
from his lips, he increased the volume and delivery of those last two words with indirect
implication, adding a soft pinch to Remus’ ribs as he sang them, just in case it wasn’t clear enough.
By the curious smile on Remus’ face, Sirius accepted it as fair enough answer, because he didn’t
ever want Remus to stop singing to him.

“A light that can reach it all,” Remus continued the next line, holding it out as he watched Sirius
from the edge of his golden gaze, behind the rims of his glasses. “Now I’m branded for taking the
fall.”

In the serenity of the interlude that Remus played effortlessly on the keys, Sirius allowed himself
to lean over and rest his head on Remus’ shoulder, tilting his face a bit so that he could feel the
warmth of Remus’ throat against his forehead. With a quick breath, Remus moved into the last few
lines, nudging Sirius a bit with his shoulder so that Sirius would join him in singing them. Sirius
smiled, knowing.

“So, when you say forever, can’t you see?” they sang together as the weight of Remus’ fingers
increased in his press of the keys, the chords growing to a breathtaking crescendo. Lifting his head,
Sirius let his fingers slide down the opposite side of Remus’ jaw, pulling his face toward him so
that they could look into each other’s eyes as they sang the last line together. But at the last
moment, Remus let Sirius carry it alone, taking a deep breath as his focus shifted between the
constancy of Sirius’ gaze and the way his hand slipped away from Remus’ skin and how his lips
voiced a nervous, delicate tremble as he sang the last words, a confession that had been building in
his throat for days. “You’ve already captured me.”

At once, Remus’ melody stopped, his shaking fingers moving from the keys so they could
apprehensively rise toward Sirius’ face where he allowed his fingertips to do no more than lightly
trace the sharp line of Sirius’ jaw. “Sirius,” Remus whispered on the exhale of that breath he had
taken in, his hands hovering like apparitions as they molded to the outline of Sirius’ face without
more than the breath of a touch. He didn’t say another word as he leaned in, pressing his forehead
to Sirius’ own, their uneven breathing beginning to quicken in time with the other’s. With his lips
parted, Remus tilted his head.

“Good evening, Mr. Black.” The even voice of Father Albus startled them apart. In his alarm,
Sirius scrambled off the bench to a standing position, nearly at attention. Remus didn’t turn. He
just let his head hang forward over the keys, eyes screwed tightly under furrowed brows, jaw
clenched in frustration.

“Sir, this is my fault,” Sirius started into explanations quickly. “I was desperate for companionship
in my grief, and Father Lupin did nothing more than show me a little kindness –” Father Albus
interrupted.

“That’s enough.” But Sirius wasn’t finished.

“I exploited that generosity for my own selfish desire for –”

“I said that’s enough.”

“No, you don’t understand, I manipulated him into doing what I wanted him t–”

“Sirius,” Remus finally interjected with a muted sigh, looking over at him with dulled amber eyes,
dark circles making them look hollow and empty. “It’s okay. This was inevitable, wasn’t it?”

“I suggest you return home immediately,” Father Albus commanded. Sirius responded with a
solemn nod and fists clenched at his sides, biting back the snarl forming in his pursed lips by
running his tongue over the front of his teeth from behind them. As Remus moved from the piano,
he didn’t look back at Sirius. In fact, Sirius watched him the whole way, just to be sure. Not even a
glance.
 Why Should My Heart Be Sad?
Chapter Summary

Orion's funeral - communion, a eulogy, and an important decision made alone.

Sirius didn’t sleep all night. He’d left the church, lingering outside until he watched Father Albus
pull the large front doors shut, the click of a lock echoing into the empty street. Even then, he
hadn’t gone directly home. For a long time, he sat on the pavement, sending text after fruitless text
to Remus, begging Remus to forgive him for showing up at the church even though Remus told
him not to, even though Remus told him they would get caught, even though Remus told him they
had to stay secret.

Throughout the night, with every additional text he sent that went unanswered, the more
disconsolate he became. Eventually, he crept into his father’s study to find his top-shelf liquor.
And there was plenty of it. Another text, another drink. No reply, another drink. Another apology,
another drink. No answer, another drink. One last text, sent just before dawn, and it was probably
riddled with typos but what it was meant to say was, ‘I hope you know I never meant to ruin your
life, I just couldn’t stay away from you. This week spent with you was the best I’ve ever had.’ Like
all the ones before it, this one also went without response. The howling ache in Sirius’ chest
widened with the silence.

Long after that text went without reply, Sirius buried himself within Regulus’ bed (though it
wasn’t really Reg’s bed, was it?) and got about an hour of sleep before he was unwillingly awoken
by the creaking of wood floors and the opening and closing of doors and the clanking of dishware
and the nondescript buzz of distant conversations. In the disorienting haze between being too drunk
and not-quite-hungover, Sirius stumbled to the door of Regulus’ bedroom to find the source of all
the noise.

Of course. There were people in his mother’s house, just like he’d predicted. He could see the
masses of their black and grey funeral attire swarming underneath the banisters of the stairs. From
what he could tell through the blur in his vision and the ache in his head, most of them were
family, which he expected, because his mother spent particular time on convincing the blood
relatives that she was perfect, likely so she could secure her status as the matriarch of the family to
win power and money.

From the first-floor landing, Sirius could see a long table at the other end of the main hall that
surely had enough food to feed hundreds of people (catered but staged to look like Walburga had
slaved over it all night and into the dawn), despite the fact that there were only a few dozen people
downstairs.

And they were all talking. All of them. Talking, talking, talking. Talking over each other, calling to
each other from across the bloody room, everyone trying to one-up everyone else, all of them
trying to pretend to be someone that they weren’t, the way Remus had to pretend to be someone
else to please his grandfather and his congregation and the Catholic church. Sirius was so tired of
everyone pretending.

In his exhaustion and grief and bitterness and drunkenness, Sirius stormed down the stairs, nearly
stumbling in his dizziness right into the broad chest of Rodolphus Lestrange, Bella’s husband who,
on more than one occasion, tried to get Sirius to come work for him because he said that Sirius was
‘wasting his life on a tiny rock music publication that nobody even reads’ and Sirius had hated him
ever since.

“Ugh, Sirius, do something with yourself,” Bellatrix gagged, making a dreadful face as she looked
down at what Sirius’ was wearing. What was he wearing? He hadn’t even realised he’d changed
out of his black suit last night. Blinking furiously, he pulled at the shirt hanging on his thin frame
to discover it was one of Regulus’ old shirts. A baggy, white T-shirt with a hole at the collar that
was so wide, Sirius could fit his whole hand through it, an unnecessary window to the gauntness of
Sirius’ pale collarbone. Hanging loosely from his hips were a pair of heather-grey joggers with a
hole in the knee, frayed elastic at the waist, and a burst seam in the crotch, giving everyone a
lovely view of his black boxer briefs.

“Fuck you, these are Reggie’s,” he slurred, adjusting the shirt on his shoulders.

“Regulus wouldn’t have been caught dead in that,” Bella argued snidely, knowing exactly how
she’d worded that because there was a snarky grin on her face like she’d won a fight in which
Sirius hadn’t even agreed to participate in the first place. With a snarl and bared teeth, Sirius
snapped.

“You’re right, Regulus wouldn’t have worn this by choice. But this is what he was given by our
father when he asked for new clothes because dear old Dad told him he wasn’t fit enough to wear
anything else and that he could stand to lose a few pounds at thirteen,” he barked, teeth cracking
under the strain of his ferocity. “And that was after he’d been hospitalised for fatigue because of
his eating disorder just a few months earlier. So, fuck you and fuck my father.” Bellatrix gasped
dramatically.

“Sirius,” he heard his mother hissing, just before she used the point of her perfectly manicured nails
to stab into the soft tissue at the crest of his ear. “You are making a scene.” He winced slightly.

“You know what?” he mumbled, tearing from her grasp. “Fuck you, too.” Without a slice of
hesitation, Walburga reached out and took him by the face, her nails digging dimples into his
cheeks.

“Go sober up and put on your suit this instant,” she demanded against the annoyed wriggling of
Sirius trying feebly to get out of her hold. “If you are not in the pew next to me at noon, I will have
your friend at the church removed for immoral behaviour with a male member of his
congregation.” In his surprise, Sirius looked over with a widened, violent gaze. “Oh, don’t think
that Father Albus didn’t tell me all about your serenade last night. And if you don’t stay away
from him, I’ll make sure he stays away from you,” she threatened, forcibly releasing him from her
grip and shoving him back toward the stairs.

“You bi–” he began to say, but Walburga interrupted, silver eyes blanked out to white.

“Careful what you say to me, Sirius. You of all people should know I do not make idle threats.” A
hard, painful swallow moved down his throat as he thought back on all the threats his mother had
followed through with over the years – putting him into Catholic school when he wouldn’t behave
at a young age, arranging for Mr. Potter to get a job transfer in a different town when Sirius
wouldn’t stop sneaking out to go spend time with James, starving him when she found out he was
sneaking food to Reg.

With a loud, angry growl of helplessness, Sirius did anything except what he was told, instead
choosing to storm out the front door, pushing through the people who were in his way. Though his
head had begun to clear, he still stumbled down the pavement, lucky that the church was close,
lucky that it was an overcast day because he had run out of the house in naught but his bare feet.

He’d left his car parked at the church because he was fully intending to take care of this once the
funeral was over and the mourners had gone to the gravesite (because Sirius never intended to go,
despite how he would love to throw a handful of dirt onto his father’s casket to bury him that much
more quickly). But his mother’s phony grief and plastic life and insidious threats had him seething
with fury.

As Sirius strode by the open doors of the church, Mary caught a glimpse of him from where she
was positioning flowers and setting out the funeral programmes that Remus had designed. On her
face was clear confusion, likely at Sirius’ sudden presence, but also in his appearance, still wearing
the heather-grey joggers with the hole in the crotch and the loose white T-shirt with the hole in the
collar.

“Sirius, are you alright?” Mary asked in concern, crossing the car park so she could walk beside
him, keeping up with the fury in his pace. He stopped in front of his car, fumbling with the keys in
his pocket, and before he could press the unlock button on his key fob, the keys tumbled to the
concrete.

“Yeah, I’m fucking perfect,” he replied with a low growl, burying his face in his hands instead of
dropping to pick up the offending keys. He could hear them jingle as Mary retrieved them.

“Did something … happen?” she asked cautiously, taking one hand from his face and pulling it
down, carefully uncurling his fist with her fingers so that she could gently press his key ring into
his palm.

“Maybe you should ask Remus about that,” Sirius replied bitterly, throwing himself into the
driver’s seat, slamming the door with only a glance of apology to Mary. In the short drive back to
his mother’s house, Sirius opened the automatic sunroof on his car, with a clear plan in mind.

Once at his mother’s house, he roared into the drive, through the main gate, and drove directly
through the front lawn, destroying her well-manicured turf and uprooting several of the rose bushes
that lined the house. At the commotion, guests began streaming from the house, his mother among
them.

“Sirius Orion Black, what in God’s name do you think you’re doing?” she shrieked, but Sirius just
snarled at her, an expression that left several of her guests taking a step back to get out of his way.

“I’m taking the rest of Reg’s things before you start setting them all on fire to spite me,” he spat
angrily, moving up the stairs in a flash as most people scrambled to move from his path.

“Stop this at once,” she demanded under her breath, vibrating with the volume of anger she was
suppressing, evident in the silver flash of her glare. Sirius returned one of his own.

“You want to tell them, or should I?” Sirius threatened through stiffly clenched teeth before he
disappeared into Regulus’ room, stomping across the creaking wooden floor to throw open the
window, leaning out of it for a split second. It was clear that Walburga had only followed him up to
try to corral people back downstairs to prevent the spectacle. “Since we’ve regressed to trading
threats and all.”

“You keep your filthy mouth shut,” Walburga spat in his direction and Sirius was delighted to see
the murmuring in the people who had followed them upstairs while Walburga tried to shut the
door.
“Surely some of these people know that you and Dad are the reason Reg is dead, right?” he said,
just loud enough for Walburga and the people still peering through the crack in the door to hear. A
few audible murmurs moved through the onlookers as Sirius victoriously grabbed an armful of
Regulus’ clothes so that he could throw them out the window, directly down into the open sunroof
of his car, only a few tumbling off into the wet grass. Finally, Walburga managed to close (and
lock) the bedroom door.

“How dare you make such unfounded accusations,” she said loudly, trying to counteract the
damage that had already been done, to argue for the sake of those who had already heard it.

“You want to make threats, I’ll make a fucking threat,” Sirius said with vengeance in his voice as
he went still, glowering at his mother with fire in his gaze. “You bring Remus into this, and I will
tell everyone you know that you bullied your son to his death,” he continued, speaking through his
teeth in a tone so deep and so violent that even he didn’t recognize it. At the sight of his mother
looking petrified, a manic sort of laugh belted through his clenched jaw as he brutally pushed the
hair from his face before diving into Reg’s wardrobe again, doubling back with more clothes. “And
I kept all the receipts. Proof of how we went for days without proper meals, how we were forced
to sleep in the attic, how you both physically and verbally abused us on a daily, if not hourly basis
–” Walburga cut him off quickly.

“What do you want? Money? Is that what this is about? You want your name back in the will?”

A scoff of disbelief shot out unhindered through Sirius’ parted lips. “Keep your fucking money, I
don’t give a fuck about the fucking inheritance or the will or the house or any of that horseshit.”

“Then what is it?” She flailed in her anger, like a child throwing a tantrum. He kept her waiting on
an answer, taking his time to throw the last armful of clothes down onto his car, most making it
inside.

“Leave me, and everyone I love, the fuck alone. Including Remus Lupin.” Sirius stepped in close,
using every centimeter of his height to intimidate her by bearing down into her face. “Don’t look at
him, don’t talk to him, don’t talk about him, don’t even fucking breathe in his general goddamn
direction.”

She twisted her lips, sour in her defeat. “Make a civil appearance at the funeral and you have a
deal.” She narrowed her gaze. “You do anything, say anything, out of line today and it all becomes
void.”

“Fine,” Sirius spat and for a split second, he almost reached out to shake on it, but realised he
couldn’t even stomach that much contact with her. Instead, in a flash, he went through every
drawer and every cupboard and every shelf of Regulus’ room to make sure nothing was left behind
(conveniently forgetting to close all of those drawers and cupboards). When he was satisfied with
the emptiness he was leaving behind, he gathered his black suit from the day before and threw
open the bedroom door to find several eager listeners lingering, struggling to hear, silence in all
corners of the house, despite its fullness.

In his irritation, Sirius pushed through the crowds, each person backing away and giving him space
as he passed, each one with a look of terror on their face, like he would fly off the handle and
murder someone at any given moment. And, really, the whim could still strike him.

At the front door, he swung it open and leaned smugly on the knob. “Oh, and by the way, my
parents hid it from everyone they could, for as long as they could, but I’m as bent as a bedspring,”
he announced loudly with a smile that was wide in its satisfaction. “Queer as a nine-bob note.
Gayer than Elton John’s favourite feather boa. See you at the fucking funeral, everyone.” He gave
himself just enough time to admire the indignation on Walburga’s face before he violently
slammed the door behind him.

Luckily, after he stuffed all of Regulus’ clothes into the back of his car and drove back to the
church, Mary was gracious enough to lend her attic flat for him to change into his suit, even after
he had been rather moody with her earlier. Despite how it seemed like she wanted to know the truth
of what had happened between Sirius and Remus, she evidently knew not to press him to say more
about it.

He took as long to get dressed as he was able, in the time that he had remaining before the funeral.
Stepping into his wrinkled trousers with laboured movements, the heaviness of his limbs made
everything feel like it took strength he didn’t have. Even something as simple as looking down to
fasten his trousers left his head swimming. Hand to his head, he leaned on Mary’s vanity to steady
himself.

With a wince from the soreness in his back, he arched into his black Oxford shirt, contorting until
he managed to get both arms through the sleeves. He tried to keep the pained groans from moving
through his chest (that certainly wouldn’t look good for Mary for anyone to hear those sounds
coming from her bedroom) but sleeping in Regulus’ old bed had reminded him of the depths of
how dreadfully they’d been treated as children, not even having a mattress that didn’t have broken
springs or places where the padding had stiffened with age. It reminded him of the sharp sense of
understanding he felt when he arrived at the Potter’s house that first night after he’d left home,
when he realised what it was like to actually have warm food and a soft bed and people who
genuinely gave a shit about him.

As he buttoned the shirt, he left the top two undone, forgoing the tie he’d been wearing yesterday,
afraid he might choke over anything even remotely tightened around his neck, the acidity in his
throat threatening to boil up with every anxious churn of his stomach. And with a little less
difficulty than he’d had with the shirt, he managed to slip into his suit jacket, loose and rumpled on
his frame.

To get the hair off his neck (just in case his body decided to expel the vast amounts of liquor he’d
consumed the night before), he piled it all on top of his head and secured it with the band that he
always kept around his wrist, just for such an occasion. It was wildly haphazard at best, with pieces
falling all around his face, a few requiring a tuck behind his ears, but he wasn’t going to fight with
it further.

Not like he needed to look nice to attract the attention of a handsome young priest. In fact, he
wondered if Remus would be the one to say funeral Mass at all today. Maybe they had already
shipped him off to another church where he wouldn’t be tempted. Maybe they had
excommunicated him. Maybe Sirius would never see him again. Maybe Sirius should’ve spirited
him away when he’d had the chance.

Unwillingly, except in his will to protect Remus, Sirius took his place on the first pew, next to his
mother, who thankfully refused to look over at him. His father’s casket was still in the front of the
pulpit with the same crucifix that had been lain over the pall the night prior, though the church was
even more packed than it had been for the prayer vigil. Sirius couldn’t quite correlate those two
things – someone being well-liked enough that some hundred people showed up to their funeral
and the loathsome piece of shit that was his father. Until he realised – most of these people were
probably just like him.

Out of the corner of his eye, Sirius caught the unmistakable colour of Lily’s red hair and he
glanced over to make eye contact with James. Sirius hadn’t told him anything about what happened
with Remus, about getting drunk arse over tit the night before his father’s funeral, about the
ultimatum he’d made with his mother just to make sure Remus made it through today unscathed.
Apparently, it was written on Sirius’ face, because James’ expression took on an immediate shroud
of concern.

All Sirius could muster to assure James he was alright was a pathetic smile, and that only made the
concern on James’ face deepen. As Lily and James joined Dora and Teddy and Harry (who
practically jumped from the pew into James’ arms) in a back row, James shot him another glance
of worry. And strangely, seeing the uneasiness in James actually brought out a genuine smile to
Sirius’ face, reminded of the fact that he still had James and Lily. Even if today was the last day he
would ever see Remus.

At that moment, a melody began to build in the wide expanse of the church, originating from the
piano and sweeping broadly over the congregation. It was a song that Sirius knew, one that was he
was so recently reminded of through a note scribbled in cramped handwriting over aged sheet
music.

“Come thou fount of every blessing, tune my heart to sing thy grace,” the woman sang from the
pulpit, the professional singer his mother had hired so that her perfect ears wouldn’t dare be
subjected to an amateur on the most important day of her life. Next to Sirius, however, his mother
stiffened.

“This is not the song I chose,” she fussed under her breath, wringing her necklace so tightly that
Sirius thought she might inadvertently strangle herself. Well, one could hope, anyway.

As she muttered about the staggering level of incompetence of the church staff, Sirius listened
carefully. Not to his mother, but to the song. Because if his mother specifically chose a different
song for this portion of the funeral, that meant someone else chose this one, and that someone else
was more than likely Remus. If Sirius knew anything about Remus, it was that he did nothing
without intent.

Of course, Sirius was familiar with the song, and he’d seen the sheet music hanging in that frame in
Remus’ bedroom, the one with the blue Post-It note emphasizing what Sirius could only assume
was his favourite line, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Maybe Sirius had been wrong.
Maybe there was no intent behind his choice of song. Maybe this hymn carried a meaning that only
Remus knew.

But when the songstress started on the third verse, Sirius discovered Remus’ design. “Let thy
goodness, like a fetter,” she sang, her voice high as she moved into the next line, “bind my
wandering heart to thee.” It was a line he had seen memorialized in a beautiful, flowing script,
surrounded by a wreath of ivy and jasmine, and permanently inked onto skin that was so foreign,
yet so familiar.

Just then, the swinging door at the back of the church opened, and Sirius turned immediately in his
anticipation. Remus was the first through the door and his intensely amber gaze was clearly
searching for Sirius the moment he moved into the nave. When their eyes met, there was a slight
but meaningful rise in both of Remus’ dark brows, but he left all interpretation up to Sirius, giving
him no other gesture. Since all other eyes in the room were on him, including those of Father
Albus, who was walking down the center aisle behind him, Remus seemed to avoid Sirius’ gaze
any further, eyes on the pulpit.
He and Father Albus stepped onto the elevated pulpit, Father Albus moving to his left as Remus
took his expected place behind the lectern. Without lifting his head toward the congregation, he let
out a careful sigh before reciting a traditional prayer, making the sign of the cross as he spoke, the
movement of his right hand slow and laboured. “Glory be to the Father, and to the Son, and to the
Holy Spirit.” His head remained bowed, but his resinous gaze moved up over the golden frames of
his glasses to meet Sirius in a burdened stare, clenching his jaw tightly before he spoke the next
refrain. “As it was in the beginning, so it is now, and ever shall be, without end.” He spoke slowly,
methodically, emphatically, brows furrowed, refusing to break his insistent eye contact with Sirius
as the congregation said amen.

Finally, with what looked like it would’ve been a grimace of frustration had Remus let it grow
across his face, he stepped away from the lectern and Father Albus moved forward. “A reading
from the Book of Wisdom,” he said in his calm but authoritative tone. As soon as he said the
words, “The just man, though he die early, shall be at rest,” Sirius stopped listening, visibly rolling
his eyes before he looked away from Father Albus, only to find that Remus hadn’t stopped looking
at him, and was very clearly trying to subdue an amused smile behind his lips, pulling them into his
teeth and dropping his gaze.

At the end of the reading, the church said amen (Sirius himself remained intentionally quiet,
despite the angry glares from his mother), and Father Albus stepped to the side to relinquish the
lectern back to Remus. Sirius didn’t overlook the stern look on Father Albus’ face as Remus moved
forward.

“My soul is thirsting for you,” Remus began, noticeably leaving out the ‘O Lord my God’ that
traditionally followed the opening line of that Psalm. “You are the one I seek. For you, my flesh
pines, and my soul thirsts like the earth for rain, parched, lifeless, and without water.” For a briefly
charged moment, Remus glanced up again, his eyes looking to Sirius alone before they returned to
a downward position as he continued reading. “For your kindness is a greater good than life.”
There was a pause in his recitation, his short sigh audible against the microphone. Once more,
Remus looked up, but this time he lifted his chin, defiant and proud, and he flagrantly turned his
head toward Sirius, meeting him in a gaze that was incendiary and unambiguous as he said, “With
exultant lips, my mouth shall praise you.”

It seemed as if he would say more, if not for the sharp way Father Albus stepped in front of the
lectern, less than gently coercing Remus to move aside. There were a few murmurs throughout the
congregation and Walburga jerked her face toward Sirius to glower at him, but his attention was on
Remus, and Remus alone. Remus’ eyes were drawn to the floor, but his expression was impenitent.

Father Albus read another verse, though Sirius was no longer listening. He was just counting the
seconds until Remus looked up at him again, silently pleading for just one more stolen glance.
While Father Albus called for family and friends of the deceased to speak aloud what was on their
hearts about Orion (which nobody offered to do because they were all terrified of the Black
family), Sirius kept his eyes on Remus, noting how he was wearing the same funeral vestment he’d
been wearing the day before. The same one that brought out the darkness and depth of his curls as
they hung carelessly over his downcast face, the same one that warranted a certain ruthlessness in
his gaze, the one with the gold quatrefoil pattern that lent a supplementary glimmer to the gold
frames hanging precariously on the tip of his nose.

For a moment, Sirius’ attention was diverted as Father Albus indicated for the congregation to
stand for the Lord’s Prayer, followed by Holy Communion. A terrible thought moved into the
forefront of his mind, and when he looked up to find Remus, he discovered that Remus was already
watching him closely from over the tops of his glasses, his head still bowed. The hint of a smile
appeared in the corner of his lips, though he washed it away quickly, and Sirius knew he was
having the very same thought.

After the Eucharistic Prayer, as the congregation said their amens, Father Albus swept down the
steps of the pulpit, the long edges of his cassock dragging behind him. At first, it seemed as though
maybe Sirius had been wrong, that Remus wouldn’t be distributing the eucharist alongside Father
Albus, because he remained on the pulpit while another member of the congregation stepped up to
take a chalice from the altar at the front of the nave. Sirius’ dashed hopes were renewed, however,
when Remus stepped down from the pulpit, politely touching the shoulder of the man and
whispering something into his ear.

With a smile and a nod, the man eagerly handed the chalice to Remus, the hidden smile in the
corner of Remus’ lips making his face look awfully pleased while the sharp edge of his
straightened back made him look violently defiant. Quickly, Sirius discovered the reason why. A
chalice in his own hand, Father Albus stepped in, roughly taking the sleeve of Remus’ chasuble
with his free hand, and pulling Remus down so that he could reach his ear to speak to him through
obviously clenched teeth.

The smile on Remus’ face didn’t diminish in the slightest. It remained in place, even as Remus
replied. As the church members were ushered into two lines to receive their communion, Sirius
lingered for a moment in trying to hear what the two men were saying. There was a slight rise in
Remus’ voice as he replied, just enough for Sirius to hear before he moved to the back of the
church, and unless he was mistaken, he heard Remus say, “This is my fucking church. I’ll do what
I please in it.” The smile on Sirius’ face as he stepped in line to receive communion, specifically
from Remus, was tremendous.

A few people refrained from taking communion (James, Lily, Dora, and the boys among them), so
there were only a few people ahead of Sirius, giving him just enough time to work himself into a
nervous fit before reaching Remus. Should he take it by hand or by tongue? Of course, all his life
his mother had indoctrinated him into believing that it was practically sacrilegious to accept the
eucharist by hand, not to mention the fact that he hadn’t participated in communion in over fifteen
years. Surely, in a religion that dated several millennia, the customs wouldn’t have changed all that
much in the last decade or so.

Still, there were a couple people ahead of him who were doing just that, their left hand over their
right as they received it. That would be best, Sirius decided. Especially with all the tension that was
bound to be between the two of them, it might put Remus in an awkward position, standing next to
Father Albus and all. Right, yes, he would receive the eucharist by hand. It made the most sense,
despite how Sirius had built up an entire fantasy in his head about the way Remus would place it
on his tongue.

As the person ahead of him stepped off to the side, Sirius was, for the first time in more than
twelve hours, face-to-face with Remus Lupin. Whatever expression had been on Remus’ face prior
to that moment suddenly melted away, and he seemed almost relieved that Sirius was standing in
front of him.

When Sirius moved forward, he instinctively began to place his hands out in front of him, aware of
the way Father Albus was watching every move he made. But when he looked up into Remus’
face, Remus playfully narrowed his gaze, giving a subtle shake of his head. Sirius let his hands fall.

“Forgive me, Father,” Sirius whispered, earning a sharp rise in Remus’ dark brow, the one with the
scar running through it. “I have committed a mortal sin by deliberately engaging in impure
thoughts.”

The look on Remus’ face was sinful. “Open your mouth and I’ll absolve you,” he said with a
particular lilt, keeping his tone low and willful. “If it happens again, I’ll make you get on your
knees.”

A heavy breath moved through Sirius’ nostrils as he licked his lips to part them slightly, not nearly
giving Remus enough space to place anything between them. With the eucharist between his
thumb and forefinger, Remus let the backs of his knuckles brush against the exterior of Sirius’ lips,
coaxing them to open further. With a devilish smirk, Sirius obeyed, letting his tongue move
forward just enough to contact Remus’ fingertips as Remus reverently placed the eucharist upon it.
He tasted like second-hand nicotine.

“The Body of … Christ,” Remus said designedly, putting pointed emphasis on the last word, using
it more as an exclamation, while his own mouth absently hung open as he watched Sirius taste him.

“Amen,” Sirius agreed in earnest, a muffled growl moving through his throat. From Sirius’ left,
Father Albus was trying to stare holes through Sirius’ skull. Sirius blatantly ignored the attention.

Taking the chalice into both hands, Remus held it in front of Sirius’ face, and instead of letting
Sirius fully take it from him, he held it so that Sirius placed his hands on top of Remus’ own. As
Sirius sipped the wine from the chalice, he felt Remus’ fingertips ghost fondly underneath his chin.

“The Blood of Christ,” Remus recited the second half of the mantra, his eyes unjustifiably focused
on the movement of Sirius’ throat as he swallowed a greedy mouthful of sacramental wine.

“Amen,” Sirius repeated, letting his mouth hang wide as he swept his thumb underneath his bottom
lip, as if to wipe away any drops of wine. Remus’ eyes followed the whole motion fluidly.

And then, before Sirius was ready to let it be, their isolated moment was over. They shared a
disappointed smile, and Sirius returned to the pew, throwing himself into the empty place next to
his mother. She gave him a glare of warning, flickering with irritation. He rolled his eyes in return.

After the last of the congregation was seated, there was a brief exchange between Father Albus and
Remus in front of the altar. To Sirius’ surprise, Father Albus moved to sit in one of the front pews,
looking at Remus with a glare very similar to the one Sirius just saw in his mother’s face. Remus
returned to the pulpit, shuffling some pages before shooting an unreadable expression toward
Sirius. With a deep breath and that defiant rise of his chin, Remus held onto both sides of the
lectern, leaning into the mic.

“Orion Black was a good man to men who were good to him.” Remus stated clearly, that same
opening line that he and Sirius had written several nights before. By the way Father Albus seemed
to stiffen in his pew, Sirius knew this was not the eulogy he’d been expecting. “If anyone was
unlucky enough to have crossed Orion, God help them, because He would then be the only one
who could.”

A few murmurs moved through the crowd, a few awkward laughs, a few hums of agreement, as if
nobody could quite decide on how to interpret that line. As Sirius glanced around, he was deeply
unsettled to find the police officer that had nearly assaulted Remus the night they first met sitting
very near the front row, laughing innocently. The man watched Remus with a fond smile, as if he
wouldn’t have done Remus real, physical harm for no other reason than the color of his skin – and
he would have if Remus had been anyone else, if Sirius hadn’t mentioned Orion, if that man hadn’t
found out that Remus was the priest of his church. But Remus didn’t see him. Remus continued
without looking up at anyone.

“Orion was a devout Catholic all his life, giving more money to the church in a single tithe than
most people earn in a year, though I’m sure most of you already know that, since he enjoyed
telling that to people directly,” Remus said with a very false, very wide grin. Most of the
congregation laughed (hell, even his mother let out an unwilling laugh), but Father Albus clearly
understood the intent.

“Joined with us this afternoon is Orion’s wife of nearly forty years, Walburga Black.” The church
members clapped as Walburga stood, totally unprompted, and bowed like a fucking celebrity. “She
stood by Orion through good times and bad, through rumours and truths, through faithfulness and
infidelity, through the many illnesses and injuries of their two frail children, and through a string of
financial failures, though it should be noted that she stayed with her brother Cygnus during that
difficult period.” A wave of laughter moved through the church, as if Remus had told a joke, and it
obscured the fact that Remus had blatantly stated that Orion had been unfaithful to his wife. Even
Walburga had to give a showy laugh to prove she was a good sport, but her manicured fingers were
digging sharply into her handbag.

“We’re also honoured to have Orion’s oldest son, Sirius, with us in the congregation for the first
time in fifteen years,” Remus announced with a soft smile before he added, “Orion did everything
in his power to make sure Sirius followed in his footsteps, though we all know how well that
worked out.” More laughter, people glancing over at him hoping to see anger on his expression, but
truly, Sirius could think of no greater compliment than the fact that he turned out nothing like his
father. Not to mention, he was the one who came up with that line. “I’m sure Orion wished that the
God of the Old Testament would strike Sirius down for his sinful ways, but when that obviously
didn’t work, Orion did his very best to strike Sirius down by his own hand.” If Sirius hadn’t been
expecting it, he would’ve been enraged over the way people laughed at that statement, as if Orion
beating his own child was a source of their entertainment.

“Of course, as we all know, Orion was preceded in death by his youngest son, Regulus,” Remus
said with a solemn expression and a weighted tone. One of his mother’s acrylic nails chipped from
the way her grip instantly tightened on her designer leather handbag, clearly unsettled by the
uncertainty of what Remus would divulge about the manner of Regulus’ death. “Orion loved
Regulus the way Abraham loved Isaac, willing to offer his perfect son as a sacrifice to secure his
place in God’s kingdom.” An unnerving silence filled the church as people tried to determine the
meaning and purpose behind Remus’ metaphor. Undisturbed by the silence, Remus continued. “So
pious in his faith, Orion wanted to ensure that his beloved sons followed the law of God precisely
the way he did, lest they be lost to eternal damnation, despite the fact that he was actively inspiring
one of them to take that very route.” This time, the silence was drowned out by the buzz of fervent
whispering, every voice in the church turned to the person sitting next to them to ask the same
phrase. Did he say what I think he just said?

It was clear that Father Albus was having a crisis in his seat, trying to decide if he should intervene
and risk causing a scene or hope that the audience was too stupid to figure out what Remus was
heavily implying. After taking a meaningful pause to let the confused whispering disperse and
carry and grow, Remus continued, encouraged by the fact that Father Albus didn’t jump up to stop
him.

“However, I am here to tell you that taking one’s life in a moment of misery and despair due to the
inescapable circumstances of one’s birth cannot be unforgivable to a God who is supposed to be
compassionate and unfailing and kind,” Remus emphasized deeply, holding his hand to his chest, a
look of profound conviction on his face. “Contrary to what you’ve been led to believe, faith is not
paying more tithe than anyone else, faith is not securing your seat in the front pew so that you’re
seen as better than those who silently slip into the back.” With this thought, he directed his
wrathful gaze toward Walburga, lingering long enough so that there was no ambiguity. Once his
point was made, he redirected his stare downward for a moment, as Sirius began to realize that
these were words they hadn’t written together. These were Remus’ words alone. As he continued,
Sirius listened with rapturous focus.

“Faith is a shout into the dark,” Remus said, his voice suddenly thick and troubled. “It is a grief-
stricken, gut-wrenching scream of agony into an otherwise endless void. It is a desperate cry for
help, to someone that you can only hope is out there, that you can only hope is listening to you.”
He paused, taking in an unsteady breath as he found Sirius’ tear-filled gaze and held it resolutely.
“Faith is a soft sob of ‘I don’t want to live here anymore, can I come and stay with you?’ that is
swiftly answered with a resounding and enthusiastic response of ‘Of course you can, you don’t even
need to ask’,” Remus said with a heavy swallow, wrinkling his nose as he appeared to try to stave
off the tears that Sirius was not even trying to choke back, tears that had long since spilled over his
cheeks as he considered the possibility that maybe Regulus wasn’t with him anymore, but maybe
Reg wasn’t alone anymore, either.

With a great, difficult breath as he watched the tears roll unhindered down Sirius’ face, Remus
closed out his thought. “And if the people of this church believe in a god that was saving a place
for someone like Orion, but not Regulus,” he paused, tightly clenching his teeth, “then we believe
in very different deities.”

The murmuring intensified, and Father Albus began to rise from his place to put an end to Remus’
heretical rant, but Remus stopped him first. “Bow your heads for a word of prayer,” he commanded
in a strong voice and the congregation obeyed. Father Albus was forced to choose between
disrupting prayer or remaining in place. He chose the latter, keeping his hands clasped tightly
behind his back.

With every head bowed, Remus used the new silence and inattention to look over and bestow upon
Sirius the warmest, most genuine smile Sirius had ever received in his life. He didn’t bow his head
as he spoke aloud the prayer. Instead, he held Sirius’ gaze. “Father in Heaven, grant in us a love so
abundant that we have no choice but to share it with everyone around us, a compassion so deep that
we forgive others for the same countless failures that you forgive in us.” He blinked slowly, letting
out a careful, but contented sigh into the microphone. “In peace, as we bring Orion to his place of
final rest, may you also provide rest to those who truly knew him, those for whom the sting of his
death is not nearly so sharp.”

“Amen,” Sirius replied in a whisper heard only to himself, watching as Remus let a smile of relief
wash over his features. Remus repeated the expression aloud and the congregation said it back to
him.

With a soft bow, Remus stepped away from the lectern as the woman leading the songs moved in
to take his place, the pianist taking a seat on the same bench where he and Remus had been caught
together the night before. The hymn that began was clearly another that Remus had chosen, another
one of those old sheets of music he had framed in his bedroom, decorated with an emphatic Post-It
Note.

“This is my Father’s world, why should my heart be sad?” the songstress crooned as the
pallbearers carried the casket down the center aisle, followed closely by his mother and his three
cousins, but Sirius didn’t go with them. Instead, he looked back for Remus, hoping to see the look
on his face as the lyric he’d written on that note in his bedroom was sung aloud. But Remus wasn’t
in sight.

Idly, Sirius leaned around the lectern, looking to see if Remus was still on the pulpit, and when he
didn’t find Remus there, he went wandering toward the piano. There was a side door at the pulpit,
the same door that Sirius had seen Remus walk out the first time he’d seen Remus in his religious
vestments. It was open just enough for Sirius to see inside from where he stood in front of the
pulpit steps.

Inside the room, Remus was facing him. Well, Remus was facing Father Albus, but Remus towered
over the older man, so there was nothing obstructing the view of Remus’ face. The look Sirius
found there was abject defiance – jaw clenched, shoulders thrown back, amber eyes on fire.

“It has already been decided,” Father Albus stated, though Sirius strained to hear it. “I will lead the
church in the interim until a permanent decision is made. You will remain here as my curate.”

“So, they’ll relinquish control of my church over to someone who fathered an illegitimate child
with a woman of his congregation, a woman who was married to his head deacon, rather than let a
gay man lead it, that sounds about right,” Remus ranted, chewing furiously on his bottom lip, not
having noticed Sirius.

Father Albus continued, unruffled. “It is simply a probationary period. If you stay in line, and you
refrain from pulling another stunt like you did today, Bishop Crouch will repeal the decision.” That
didn’t seem to pacify Remus in the least, and Father Albus made it worse by heaping fuel onto an
already raging fire. “Whether you realise it or not, the tithe given by Orion and Walburga is what
pays your salary.”

“I don’t give a fuck!” Remus nearly shouted, laughing maniacally. “Orion Black was a piece of shit
who abused his youngest son to death, do you get that? Do you not see the harm it does putting
someone like that on a church-sanctioned pedestal just because he gives us a fuck ton of money?”

“Watch your language, son.”

“I am not your fucking son!” he said, his voice finally breaking into a shout. It fizzled out into a
bitter, frantic laugh. “I am the son of Lyall Lupin, a man you relentlessly bullied for having dark
skin, for being Hindu, for falling in love with your daughter, for having me outside of marriage,
which by the way, is the same fucking thing you did, except you had the church to cover it up for
you!” His laughter continued, sounding unhinged and broken. “I don’t know why I’ve spent all
these years listening to you.”

“Are you really willing to risk everything you’ve worked for, everything you have, for a man like
Sirius Black?” Father Albus condescended. Remus’ jaw immediately went tight. “He will
inevitably grow bored of you, and you will be left with nothing.” Sirius went absently still,
knowing that Father Albus was wrong, invariably wrong, but afraid Remus might agree. “Are you
willing to give up your home, your career, your life for someone like that?” Father Albus asked
sharply. Remus spoke before he finished.

“Yes,” Remus answered, without pause and without question. A nearly inaudible breath moved
from Sirius’ lips as he watched Remus cock his head angrily to one side, rolling his shoulders to
ease the tension in them. But that nearly inaudible breath still made enough sound to attract
Remus’ violent amber gaze, falling on Sirius from over Father Albus’ shoulder, and he met Sirius’
gaze steadfastly. At first, Sirius let himself smile, though that smile was filled with a sadness he
couldn’t quite explain, even to himself. Remus furrowed his brows at Sirius’ expression.

For a moment, Father Albus was silent. “Stay away from Sirius Black or lose your ordination. The
choice is yours. And I suggest you take some time to think before making any rash decisions.” As
Father Albus let his hand rest atop Remus’ shoulder, and Remus swatted it away, Sirius held onto
that smile as he turned to leave.

Before he could walk out the church doors for the last time, he heard Remus’ voice ring out over
the sudden silence of the empty nave. “Sirius,” he called, standing at the altar. Sirius didn’t turn.
“I think we knew this was a delusion, Remus,” Sirius said back, back still turned. “Your granddad
was exactly right, I’d probably get what I wanted from you and toss you aside.” He swallowed
heavily.

“Don’t do that,” Remus argued, voice steady and sure, but with an underlying growl of irritation,
likely from the conversation he’d just had with his grandfather. “Don’t talk to me like I don’t know
you.”

“You don’t know me,” Sirius snapped, turning his head just enough to glance at Remus through his
periphery. “You’ve only known me a week. And I spent that whole week consistently trying to get
you into bed, or did you forget that?” An indignant laugh of disbelief moved through Remus’ lips.

“Did you forget?” Remus replied, his voice sharp and distressed. “About the day we spent with
Harry and Teddy? About what I said to you that night?” His voice lowered as he continued making
it harder for Sirius to leave. “Did you forget about how you showed up in the middle of the night to
tell me you didn’t want anyone else but me? How we stayed up until dawn to write that stupid
eulogy, but instead we spent the whole night talking and crying and you –” He stopped as his voice
broke, and the tears in Sirius’ eyes were instant. “And you’re telling me I don’t know you?” he
asked in a voice that was more fragile than Sirius had ever wanted to hear it. “Don’t let my
grandfather dictate this.”

“He has dictated it,” Sirius barked, refusing to turn to face Remus fully, because he was afraid that
his will would waver when he saw the despair in Remus’ face. He blinked back the tears to say,
“He’s given you an ultimatum – your whole life … or me. And I’m going to make sure you make
the right choice by taking one of them away from you.” Straightening his back, he moved to the
door with laden steps. The empty way that Remus said his name was almost enough to make him
turn back. But not quite.

If walking away from Remus had been the hardest thing he’d ever had to do, the second hardest
was not going to the Holyhead show that night. James and Lily had done their best to try and
convince him to go with them (Fidelius was still playing, after all), but his mind hadn’t been
changed.

It didn’t help that Remus (or Moony, for that matter) hadn’t texted him all evening. If anything, it
strengthened his resolve, because Remus was probably finally recognizing that Sirius was right.
This never could’ve worked, even if they had tried to keep it a secret. It would’ve gone down in
holy flames.

All evening, Sirius sat at home alone (rather, at James and Lily’s flat – why did he even still keep
his own flat?) and played sad songs in the dark. When The Sun and the Moon by Mae came on,
Sirius had skipped it immediately. It was hard to believe only twenty-four hours had passed since
then.

As soon as he heard keys jangling outside the front door, Sirius was in front of it, waiting for James
and Lily to walk through it. Just because he wasn’t allowing himself to see Remus directly didn’t
mean he didn’t want to get all the indirect details about him from James and Lily. Was he wearing
the mask? Which sunglasses? What did his ironic T-shirt say? What colour was his plaid overshirt?
Were there holes in the knees of his jeans? As soon as James opened the door, it seemed like these
questions all tumbled out of Sirius’ mouth at once, in an unintelligible heap, and James gave him a
strange look.

But the strange look lingered. In fact, he glanced back to share it with Lily, and the look on Lily’s
face was the same, but stranger. Almost like they were … nervous. Worried? Concerned? What
was it?

“What’s going on?” Sirius finally asked, eyes darting between the two of them.

James swallowed. “Sirius, I think you should sit down.”

“Was he not there?” Sirius pressed, slowly following James’ request as he sat down onto their sofa.
With a sigh through her nostrils as she worried her bottom lip, Lily sat down next to him.

“He wasn’t there,” she confirmed, settling a placating hand atop Sirius’ knee. Oh, this was bad.

“We heard Holyhead broke up,” James stated quickly, letting out a full breath as he spoke.

“Oh.” Sirius let out a breath, too. That could only mean one thing. Remus’ grandfather won. His
ultimatum had been too heavy for Remus, and Remus had given in to it. Which meant that Sirius
really never was going to see him again. Not as Father Lupin, not as Moony, not as anyone, not
ever.

“I think you should text him,” Lily suggested, urging in her voice, her hand moving from his knee
to take his fingers lightly into her own. James mirrored her action on the other side.

Sirius gave them both a sad smile. “No, if …” he paused to pull in a breath, then restarting. “If this
is what Remus wants, then I shouldn’t try to change his mind.” He squeezed both their hands. “You
didn’t see how hard this whole thing was on him. It’s better that he chose this. It’ll be easier this
way.”

“Sirius,” James said insistently, placing his other hand atop Sirius’ forearm.

“Doesn’t mean it doesn’t suck though,” he laughed, though it barely had time to move through his
teeth before it fettered out into nothing more than a thickness in the air. “Listen, I’m going to go in
my room now because I think I might cry a little bit, but if you could just stay and pretend like I’m
not crying, that would be a great help to my ego.” This laugh was a little more genuine, but James
and Lily still didn’t let go of his hands. If anything, both their grips increased as Sirius moved
toward the edge of the sofa.

“Don’t go,” Lily urged him. “Stay. I’ll put on Pushing Daisies.” Finally, the laugh that was
expelled from his throat was loud and boisterous and full. Leave it to Lily to get him to laugh when
he felt like this.

“I appreciate the offer, but maybe we can save Lee Pace for tomorrow?” he bargained.

James nodded, patting his arm. “Tomorrow, we can watch The Fall and Possession. Hell, the
whole Hobbit trilogy. His whole fucking filmography, if you want,” he said, letting go of Sirius’
hand only so he could place it onto Sirius’ face, pulling him close so that James could press a kiss
to his temple.

“I love you both so much,” Sirius said with a sigh that was both sad and contented.

“We love you just the same,” Lily said, pressing a mirrored kiss to Sirius’ opposite temple.

“I’ll see you in the morning,” Sirius nodded, moving from the sofa. “Tomorrow will be better.”
“And if it’s not, we’ll make it that way,” James said defiantly as Lily nodded in fervid agreement.

As Sirius shut the door behind him and turned on the lights for the first time that evening, he
realised he’d been lying on the stupid funeral programme all night, having apparently set it on top
of his mattress before turning on his music. Just before he’d left the church, Mary had handed it to
him with a peculiar look in her eye, telling him what a great job Remus had done making it.
Through the entire Mass service, he’d been so focused on Remus that he hadn’t picked one up.
Hell, he still hadn’t looked at it.

And Mary was right – it was very well put together. The photos that Sirius had chosen were
displayed on every side of the paper, an unflattering photo of Orion everywhere the eye fell. It
gave Sirius one last smile. He wondered if he should keep it, if for no other reason than Remus had
made it.

As he went to fold it again, his eye caught something in the center. It was a programme, after all,
so it had the order of events for the funeral Mass. Next to each one was the person responsible for
that portion of the programme. The woman who had sung the songs had her name there. Father
Albus’ name was there for the Lord’s Prayer. And across from the line that read ‘Delivery of
Eulogy’ was a name. A full name. Not just first and last. It included his middle name. John. Remus
John Lupin.

That was the name Marlene had given him that night. When Sirius had asked her for Moony’s real
name, she’d told him Moony’s name was John. His name was John, and he was a teacher. And
what is a priest but the teacher of a single, ancient book? This was Remus’ final sign. He really was
Moony.

And now, Sirius couldn’t have him under either name. It only added more weight to the news of
Holyhead’s breakup, knowing that Remus had to give up one of his favourite pastimes just to
please his curmudgeonly grandfather. How far would Remus go to make him happy when he was
so unworthy of it?

It didn’t matter. Sirius wasn’t allowed to be in Remus’ life anymore. It was the right decision, of
course, but that didn’t mean it hurt any less. Sirius hadn’t even really given himself the time or the
attention to say goodbye to Remus. Not properly. He’d been trying too hard to make Remus hate
him.

This whole thing sparked an idea in Sirius’ mind. Maybe he couldn’t see Remus, maybe he
couldn’t text him, but he could send him one last message. A message that only Remus would
understand. A message that told Remus that Sirius had seen him for who he truly was, that Sirius
had found all of the breadcrumbs Remus left him. It might be the last message he’d ever send to
Remus.

Quickly, he pulled his laptop from his bag and settled onto his bed, folding his legs underneath
him. He typed in a fury, typing and deleting, typing and deleting, reading and rewording and
editing and reading again, until the message would be clear to Remus. He sent three emergency
texts – one to his copy editor, one to his art director, and the last to his publisher. He had a last-
minute addition to tomorrow’s edition – he wanted to throw in an editorial piece. And his first ever
editorial would read:

Local band pick of the week: Holyhead out of the dirty suburbs of London. The fiery blonde female
lead is more proficient on guitar and vocals simultaneously than most veterans are at either one
alone, backed by a drummer with not only the tightest braids in town, but the tightest rhythms and
the sickest stick tricks. Their mysterious bass player, who remains nameless by intention, stabilizes
their melodies through the same channels he unravels them, ensuring they remain tight in their
timing, but feral and rough in their delivery, making Holyhead a paradox to hear. Using a
metaphor that could only suit a band who uses religious imagery against its labeled purpose,
Marlene is the messiah, a long-awaited saviour who delivers the souls of the damned with angelic
vocals and a brutal crucifixion of her fingers against the strings. Dorcas is the prophet, leading in
the arrival of the second coming with apocalyptic-level drum rolls that could only signal the end of
times, as there can be no other who could dare compete with her immense level of honed skill and
raw talent. And finally, their nameless bassist is the priest, and you had better get on your knees
and bow your unworthy head before the glory of his immaculate basslines, a gift of divinity
bestowed upon him by god himself that leaves you breathlessly begging, “Bless Me, Father.”
 Say Anything, But Say What You Mean
Chapter Summary

James and Lily convince Sirius to go to a Fidelius show after six days of moping.

Chapter Notes

The song featured in this chapter is Suspension by Mae, which you can listen to here!

“Come on, go with us,” James begged, tugging faintly on Sirius’ arm from where Sirius was lying
on the sofa, where he’d been for the better part of the week. He’d watched every single piece of
Lee Pace cinema he owned or could stream, and he was still feeling the sting of the emptiness
without Remus.

“Sirius, you need to leave the house, it’s been six days,” Lily added, burying her hands underneath
where his stomach was pressed to the sofa cushions beneath him so she could find and excavate his
other arm, doubling James’ physical encouragement. Sirius remained limp to weaken their
attempts.

“More of a reason not to go,” he mumbled, face pressed to the sofa. “I haven’t showered all day, I
haven’t washed my hair in three days, and it’ll take me at least an hour to do both of those things.”

“Great, the show doesn’t start until seven o’clock, so we have plenty of time,” James said,
plopping down onto the carpet with a patient smile, still holding onto Sirius’ hand, no longer
pulling.

“Plus, there are three little upstart bands opening for us, so we have even more time than that,”
Lily grinned, sitting down on the coffee table directly behind her, still also holding onto Sirius’
hand.

Sirius let out an irritated groan. “You aren’t going to let me off the hook, are you?” he asked,
glancing back and forth between both their expressions. Simultaneously, they shook their heads.

“I promise you’ll enjoy it,” Lily said simply, keeping her smile at a constant level.

“And if you don’t, we’ll buy you ice cream on the way home,” James agreed. As Sirius began
looking closer at the two of them, it was almost as if they were plotting something. Their smiles
were too sincere, the way they looked back at one another too conspiratorial. Oh, God, they were
trying to set him up with someone, weren’t they? This was exactly the way they looked when they
forced him to go out with Fabian Prewett, and that had been a bloody fucking disaster. He
narrowed his eyes at James.

“If this is some sort of blind-date setup, like it was with the Prewett kid …” Sirius cautioned, but
James held up his one free hand (the other still holding Sirius’ own) and shook his head fervently.
“No blind date setup, I promise.” James drew a cross over his chest to prove his fidelity.

“We’re playing your favourite cover of You’re an Ocean,” Lily said to sweeten the deal.

Sirius felt like his ears visibly perked up. “With Alice on the keyboard?” he asked chastely. With a
smile, Lily nodded, glancing victoriously at James. “Fine, I’ll go. But I’m taking my time getting
ready.”

“Which is why I lied, the show doesn’t start until eight,” James said with a knowing smirk.

“You know me far too well,” Sirius grumbled, letting them pull him off the sofa.

Three hours later (with hair that had been meticulously washed and conditioned, followed by his
favourite curling crème that made his hair smell like shea butter and coconut and ginger, and dried
on low heat with a diffuser), Sirius followed James and Lily into the pub. For a moment, earlier, as
he’d gotten dressed, he’d considered wearing his Holyhead T-shirt, but it was bound to still smell
like Remus, considering Remus had fallen asleep on his chest the last time he wore it, so it stayed
in his wardrobe.

Instead, he stuck to the classics – black jeans, black shirt, black boots. It was almost more black
than he’d worn to his father’s funeral. It sort of felt like attending a funeral, going to this show after
finding out that Holyhead had broken up. Sure, he still had Fidelius, he still loved Fidelius’ music,
but his gloom had nothing to do with the music. He’d grown to associate this scene with Remus –
watching him dance, serenading Sirius from the stage (or off the stage), kissing him through a
paper mask.

During the first three acts, Sirius tried to be enthusiastic, tried to be supportive, but it was a futile
effort. Sure, the kids on stage were energetic and loud and raw and talented, even, but Sirius’ heart
just wasn’t in it. He wondered if his heart ever would be in it again. Being here was harder than he
expected.

Of course, it didn’t help that this was the same bar where Sirius had seen Holyhead play for the
first time. The first time he’d seen that black mask, those white sunglasses, that throat tattoo, that
matte-black Rickenbacker six-string bass with the floral strap. The first time Sirius had seen
Remus. Little did he know then that he would see him again the very next day, in very different
circumstances.

Throughout the first three bands, Sirius stayed toward the back, unable to connect to the dynamic
composition of the music, to the candor of the lyrics, to the spirit of the crowd. James and Lily had
gone off to set up the Fidelius merch table before they went on, and Sirius hoped that James would
smooth-talk Rubeus (the owner of the pub who not-so-secretly loved James) into keeping an eye
on the merch table so that James could adoringly watch his wife absolutely murder her drum kit.

The last band had just announced their last song, but before Sirius could push himself out of the
dent he’d nestled into the wall he was leaning on, the door to the pub opened. He automatically
looked toward it, brows furrowing in confusion as he watched Peter Pettigrew walk into the pub.
As soon as Pete realised that Sirius was standing in front of him, that trademark smile moved
across his face.

“Sirius, wow, hi, what a coincidence running into you here,” he said in that strangely rapid rhythm
to his speech, grin still present, hand outreached to take Sirius’ into it. Just like the first time, when
Sirius grabbed his hand, Pete added his other on top of it, leaning in and shaking with sincerity in
his grip. “You look good, tattoo looks good, I’m glad you’re here,” he nodded, half-shouting to be
heard over the music.

“Good to see you too, mate,” Sirius reluctantly smiled against his mood. Pete seemed to have that
effect on him. “What brings you all the way out here? We’re two hours from your shop.”

“A good show is worth the trip, don’t you think?” he said, his smile taking on a different energy. It
was something that Sirius couldn’t quite place, but it reminded him of the way Pete had said his
name was cute in the tattoo shop, as if he were on the inside of a joke. Sirius narrowed his gaze, in
suspicion, but Pete just altered his smile a bit until it was more lightweight. “Frank Longbottom is
a friend of mine.”

“Oh, you’re here to see Fidelius,” Sirius said, feeling oddly disappointed, as if he expected Pete’s
presence to inherently accompany Remus’ presence. “You’ve seen them before, then?”

“Once or twice,” he shrugged, moving back into that curious tight-lipped mode that he was able to
slip in and out of effortlessly, the same trick he’d used when Sirius questioned him about Moony.

At that moment, just as the audience began their cheering for the close of the last song, James
swept into Sirius’ view, taking both Sirius and Pete by the hand, and pulling them along into the
crowd. He must’ve spoken to Pete before Sirius did, he didn’t seem surprised to see Pete at all.
Wait, no, Sirius spoke to Pete the moment he walked into the room. James couldn’t have spoken to
him first.

Before Sirius had time to analyze it further, they were directly in front of the stage, which was
another thing that Sirius found odd, considering the way he’d had to push through the last time
he’d tried getting to the stage at a Fidelius show. This time, it seemed like the crowd just … parted
for them.

With James beside him and Pete behind them, Sirius suddenly felt an intense sense of emptiness,
an unfillable hole in the center of his chest. Would he always feel like someone was missing when
Remus wasn’t around? He’d felt a bit of that longing for Pete at the prayer vigil, but it was so
much more pronounced, so much more painful when it was Remus. They were supposed to be
Moony and Wormtail and Padfoot and Prongs, but there was always one missing. And now, one
always would be missing.

With his head half-bowed, Sirius watched Lily carry her kick drum onto the stage, the one that said
FIDELIUS in bold, black letters. Alice set up her white keyboard, but she angled it fully behind
one of the speakers, which was strange, because Alice was also the lead singer. She usually set her
keyboard at the front of the stage. Or at least only a bit to one side to make room for Frank and
Kingsley.

The mystery of what the fuck was going on only deepened when Frank carried onto the stage a
guitar that clearly wasn’t his. Frank’s guitar was a dark blue Epiphone. The one in his hand was a
cherry-red Stratocaster. Sirius’ eyes widened as he sharply realised whose guitar that was. It was
Marlene’s.

His suspicions were proved correct when Kingsley carried a characteristic matte-black
Rickenbacker bass with a floral strap onto the stage, setting it into the stand as he gave Sirius a
clandestine smirk and an accompanying wink. With a wild expression, Sirius turned to James who
was wearing the exact same smirk. Out of his periphery, Sirius saw Pete’s face light up in
excitement.
The moment Sirius turned back to the stage, Moony was knelt in front of him, in glamorously
oversized white sunglasses and a black paper surgical mask. A staggering breath of surprise
slipped from Sirius’ lips, and Moony reached out, as if to catch it, his fingers unsettling the warm
air around Sirius’ mouth as his callused touch moved down Sirius’ jaw, filled with reverence and
blatant adoration.

“Moony,” Sirius managed to say in a wavering whisper, frozen still in his place by the awe he felt
at being in this unyielding, formidable presence again. Silver eyes still wide, he let Moony tilt his
head back with the gentle wave of his nimble fingers as he leveled Sirius’ gaze precisely to his
face. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Moony replied softly, and it was the first time Moony had ever said anything to him directly,
not by song, not through the phone, but spoken to him, face to face. That one word was enough to
crystallize every one of Sirius’ conceptions. Without a doubt, this was a voice he knew intimately.

Suddenly, it didn’t matter that his face was still hidden behind sunglasses and a mask. Sirius could
see the smile on that face because he had memorized it. He could follow the lines of those
cheekbones because he’d traced them with his fingertips. He knew the shape and the taste of those
lips without the barrier of fabric in the way because he had recently been profoundly introduced to
them.

As Moony drew his hand away from Sirius’ cheek to set up his instrument and his pedals, Sirius
just watched him with shock and astonishment. “I thought I’d never see you again,” he breathed
out, his voice on the verge of cracking under the strain of emotion building in his throat. Moony’s
mask shifted a bit under the sudden movement of his skin underneath it, and Sirius smiled,
knowing he was smiling.

Moony didn’t answer verbally a second time. Instead, he just reached out and curled his fingers
underneath Sirius’ chin a single time before patting him quite condescendingly on the cheek, and
Sirius could practically hear Remus’ voice telling him, ‘Sirius, you are such an idiot.’ Sirius’ smile
widened.

“I know, I know,” Sirius said in response to an unspoken statement. “I’m an idiot.” This time, the
response was audible, but it was in the shape of a breathy laugh, one that he moved his hand up
over his mask in an attempt to keep behind it. Still, he nodded, tapping Sirius gently on the nose a
couple times, as if to say Sirius was on the nose with that comment. Sirius was smiling so widely,
his cheeks burned.

While Moony continued setting up his bass, Sirius was just happy to watch him, happy to
appreciate him. He took this uninterrupted time to study him. He was wearing those familiar white
sunglasses on his face that made him look like a Hollywood super model, the same ones he’d been
wearing the first time Sirius had ever laid eyes on him, with the same style surgical mask.
Concealing his trademark dark curls was the same maroon knit cap as the very first show with a
maroon plaid overshirt to match, sleeves only rolled up halfway round his forearms, covering the
only tattoos with which Sirius was directly familiar. Across his chest was the phrase ‘I gave myself
to Jesus but now he never calls’ and, with a laugh, Sirius tried to reconcile this version of Remus
with the one who led prayer in Sunday mass.

Suddenly, Marlene’s voice shook him from his daydreams about Moony. “Hi, how the fuck are ya,
we’re Holyhead, and we’re still here,” she said with a victorious smirk as the crowd burst into
raucous cheering. Finally, as Marlene started in with a note of sharp feedback, Sirius realised that
Alice was standing at her keyboard playing the first few familiar notes, Dorcas backing her from
behind Lily’s drums.
For a moment, it was just the three of them, Marlene holding out a single note with her hand in the
air, Alice playing a repeating four-note pattern, and Dorcas holding a steady, but subdued drum
beat, all while Moony stood from his kneeling position, matte-black bass hanging from one
shoulder. Marlene intensified the note, it grew as Dorcas built the crescendo, rattling her drumstick
across the hi-hat.

It was a song that Sirius knew, one he knew well. It was clearly chosen with intention, because this
song was sung by the same band who wrote the song that Remus and Sirius had serenaded each
other with the night before the funeral. It was Sirius’ last clue to Moony’s hidden identity.

All at once, the melody exploded, the four of them coming in loud and with perfect synchrony to
one another. There was immediate movement in Moony’s body as his fingers leapt across the
strings, his shoulders dipping into the rhythm, his feet separating to steady the sharp way his upper
body swayed and snapped to the beat. With every change in chord, he raised the neck of his bass
only to slam it down in his emphasis of the note, raising his head and letting it roll back on his
shoulders, leaving Sirius to remember how it felt to forget how to breathe under the weight of
Moony’s sublime existence.

After a short instrumental introduction, Moony stepped up to the mic, making sure that Sirius
could tell that his face was pointed toward him. “Lately I’m alright, and lately I’m not scared, I’ve
figured out that what you do to me feels like I’m floating on air,” he sang with an audible smile in
his voice as Dorcas backed him with an insistent double tap of the snare with every other beat. “I
don’t need to know right now. All I know is I believe in the very thing that got us here. And now I
can’t leave.”

It didn’t make a difference that Sirius had heard this song a thousand times, it was like he was
hearing it brand new. With the way Moony presented it, the lyrics were like a love letter, written
specifically from Remus’ pen. Lately I’m not scared, I figured it out, I believe in the thing that got
us here. It was like Remus was telling him that none of that other stuff mattered anymore. The
church didn’t matter, his grandfather didn’t matter. He figured it out, Sirius was worth pursuing,
and he wasn’t leaving.

With Moony singing to him, Sirius remained enraptured, watching the way Moony excitedly
bounced in his place as the verse led into the chorus, his masked lips pressed close to the mic as he
sang, “Say anything but say what you mean. ‘Cause I’m caught in suspension.” In the short break
between the end of the chorus and the next verse, Moony let out a sharp, little ‘woo!’ as he craned
backward a bit, like he was having the absolute time of his life, and Sirius understood that feeling
better than anyone else.

Quickly, he returned to the mic, a delicate laugh threading through the next line. “Now, I’m
wanting this for sure, and I’ll beg for nothing more,” he crooned, lowering his voice significantly
as he let his shoulders sway in an alternating pattern. “I’ll plan all day and drive all night. You’ll
love what’s in store,” he hummed contentedly as Sirius realised they had to have been planning
this. James, Lily, Pete, Marlene, Dorcas, Alice, all of them. Remus, most of all. All along, he had
never given Sirius up.

“I can’t seem to stop this now, even if it’s not so clear,” Moony continued, shifting in his place like
he couldn’t bear to stand still, all while making sure Sirius kept his eyes on him, making sure
Sirius heard every word he was saying. “And I’ll take what I can get …” When he paused, every
instrument stopped so that he could sing clearly and singularly into the mic as he added, “If you
want me here.”

It was less than a second, suspended in the wake of the silence that line left, but in that peaceful
moment, after Sirius let himself smile wildly, he shouted out an enthusiastic, “Fuck yes!” And
when the chorus detonated the stillness, there was a little laugh in the back of Remus’ throat as he
kept singing.

“Say anything but say what you mean!” His voice went high in multiple places, leaving behind that
little gasp of air in lungs so used to being filled with smoke, but it dropped low rapidly as he
slipped into the seduction of the following line, “When you whisper you want this, your eyes tell
the same.”

There was no time for Sirius’ cheeks to go pink. Or, maybe it was more accurate to say he wasn’t
sure they hadn’t stayed pink since he first laid eyes on Moony. Whatever the case, when Moony
moved into the next line, Sirius found himself holding his breath so that not even the air moving
through his throat would hinder the sound of Moony’s voice. “We are gaining speed, I can barely
breathe,” Moony howled into the mic, moving in and out of the vocal notes of a trill so fluently that
the breath that Sirius had been holding moved from his lips without his command. “’Cause I’m
caught in suspension.”

A short breakdown moved through, and this time, Dorcas was the one to call out her fervour, a
shrill yowl from the drumkit that made the audience go wild. As the notes changed into the bridge,
Moony stepped back to the mic, the celebration in his feet translated into a swagger in his hips, a
shake in his shoulders, and an unbroken fever in his voice. “It’s enough for me to get excited, it’s
enough for me to feel, oh …” he let the rest of his words fall off as he vocalized the rest of the line,
letting out another one of those exhilarated shouts into the air that made Sirius feel chills all the
way down to his soul.

For a moment, the melody continued with no vocals, the four of them playing off one another,
Marlene and Moony standing face to face as they danced and shimmied and bounced together, the
overwhelming smile on Marlene’s face guaranteed to be mirrored on Moony’s, Sirius had no
doubt.

Suddenly, after five quickly successive beats, the melody dropped out, and Moony took the mic
into his hand as Alice and Marlene played a light melody behind his singing. As he slung his bass
to the side, he knelt, bending the mic stand with him so he could kneel in front of Sirius and sing to
him, just like he had done at the second show, and at every show since. “Say anything,” he sang
low, reaching out to tuck a strand of Sirius’ hair behind his ear. Sirius craned into his touch. “But
say what you mean, when you whisper you want this.” In keeping with tradition, Moony leaned in,
letting Sirius close the distance, but when he did, Moony flicked the loop of the paper mask from
his ear just in time to press his lips, his unmasked lips, directly against Sirius’ own, using his
fingers at the back of Sirius’ ear to pull him in deep, as the girls on stage joined in a three-part
harmony to sing the words ‘Your eyes tell the same.’ Just as Sirius expected, he tasted like a
particular brand of cigarette smoke and cranberry-orange scones.

After a familiar, mischievous smile splashed over familiar copper skin, Moony returned the mask
to his face, returned the mic to its place, and resumed the chorus, slinging his bass back around
into his hands with just the movement of his hips. “We are gaining speed, I can barely breathe,” he
sang, his voice high and bright, another gasp to replenish the air in his aching lungs. “Say anything
but say what you mean. I’m caught in suspension,” he repeated for the last time, hurry in his voice
as he lifted his bass and ripped the strap over his head. The girls carried on the song without him as
he settled his bass less than gently back onto its stand. And without hesitation, he dropped to his
knees in front of Sirius.

Just like the last show, the crowd seemed to disseminate in an instant, making room for Moony to
move off the stage, and he did it so gracefully, the way Sirius vaulted over the hedge fence at his
mother’s house. Without a word, Moony held out his hand, their song still playing in the
background.

It was just like the first time that Father Lupin had extended his hand to Sirius, back when they
were still awkward around each other, when they were still flirting without intention, when Sirius
didn’t even know his first name. Now, Sirius knew him infinitely. With a smile, he eagerly took
Moony’s hand.

As the girls kept singing, Moony pulled Sirius through the crowds toward the bar, where he shared
a cute, surreptitious waggle of his fingers with Rubeus, who was still sitting at Fidelius’ merch
table, a supportive shimmer in his eye. Behind the bar, Moony led Sirius to a door, opening it and
motioning with his head for Sirius to move into what appeared to be an office. Sirius obeyed
quickly.

Once behind a locked door, Sirius stood in front of Moony, waiting. Waiting. Waiting. Slowly,
Moony reached up and tugged at the beanie covering his hair, his dark curls breaking loose in
every direction. The white, oversized sunglasses were next. As Moony pushed them to the top of
his head, it left his curls perfectly framing the distinct amber eyes underneath them. Finally, he
tucked a single finger behind his left ear, watching Sirius carefully as he removed the once ever-
present surgical mask.

And Sirius found himself letting out a broken sob of a breath in only the space that it took him to
breathe it out before he whined, “Oh, thank God,” and surged forward to take Remus’ face into his
hands, covering Remus’ lips with his open mouth before Remus could say anything in response,
pressing him greedily into the locked door behind him as a grunt of surprise moved from Remus’
fatigued lungs.

“Were you worried it wasn’t me?” Remus laughed, words broken by the voracity of Sirius’ kiss.

“I knew it was you, God, I knew it, I knew it,” Sirius said, his voice nearly a whimper as he moved
his tongue into Remus’ mouth for the first time, eliciting an indelicate groan from Remus’ throat.

“I wanted to tell you,” Remus confessed, a comical shift in their roles. “I wanted to tell youso
fucking badly.” In his impatience, Remus gripped Sirius by the collar of his shirt and turned on his
heel, using the momentum to push Sirius into what had been Remus’ place against the door, the
sudden, violent movement pushing the air from Sirius’ lungs all at once, escaping as a loud,
desperate moan.

“Call me Padfoot, please, please,” Sirius begged just before Remus drove his tongue into Sirius’
mouth again. And it was several long minutes of frenzied, frantic kissing before Remus said
anything.

“I meant what I said, Padfoot, I meant every word,” Remus purred, every phrase from his tongue,
every movement of his fingers against Sirius’ skin feeling rabid and nervous, like they would be
forced to separate at any moment. “I’ll take what I can get. I want you in whatever way I can have
you. I don’t care if we have to hide, I don’t care about what the church will say. I want this. I want
you. I’m choosing you.”

“Moony,” Sirius said in an outward breath as Remus’ lips traveled down his throat.

“God, say it again,” he growled, his grip intensifying against Sirius’ waist to the point of bruising.

“I’ll do one better,” Sirius hummed, finding his arrogance again now that the high of seeing
Remus’ face behind that mask began to level. Lips to Remus’ ear, he whispered, “Fuck me,
Moony.”

“Oh my God,” Remus groaned, vowels twice as long as they were meant to be.

“All the flirting, all the sexting, encouraging me to get off on your couch while you were in the
other room,” Sirius said with a laugh of disbelief. “I still almost can’t believe that was really you
all this time.” As Remus’ mouth traveled down the length of Sirius’ neck, he let out a breathy
laugh.

“Really? Can’t believe it?” Remus asked, humming contentedly against Sirius’ skin. “Even though
it was definitely me, in my clerical collar might I add, who dry-humped you on my couch the next
day?”

“Ooh, fuck, you’re right. Let’s do that again.”

“I was thinking we could try it with less in between the next time.”

“God, you’re so fucking cute,” Sirius growled, eliciting another soft laugh from Remus’ lips, warm
against Sirius’ neck. With his lips still to Sirius’ skin, Remus spoke again, words humming and
vibrating.

“I was a pitiful sight this last week, you know. The one I had to spend without you.”

Sirius smiled, and it grew as Remus looked up, matching it. “You could’ve texted me.”

“Could have,” Remus nodded, wincing, “if I hadn’t thrown my mobile at the wall of my flat right
after you left the funeral and shattered it in a fit of rage.” This time, it was Sirius’ turn to laugh.
“Plus, I’ve been plotting this elaborate way to win you back ever since that editorial in Something
Wicked.”

“You saw that?” Sirius grinned arrogantly. “I was hoping you would,” Sirius said with a lilt of a
breath that fell in a strange point lying somewhere in between a sigh, a whine, and a laugh. “I was
also really hoping I wasn’t wrong about that, because when I thought it wasn’t you, I was fucking
devastated.”

“Tell me the story,” Remus sighed, pulling the collar of Sirius’ shirt off his throat so that Remus
could place his lips there instead. “When did you first figure it out? Why did you think you got it
wrong?”

“Actually, it was right after the dry-humping, when you had that crisis of identity and told me to
get out,” Sirius said with a laugh that Remus moved his mouth to taste as it rolled down Sirius’
throat and over Remus’ lips. Remus made a grunt of disagreement, but ultimately didn’t argue the
facts. “Right before that, I had called you Moony by mistake, and I think you almost called me
Padfoot.”

“I did,” Remus leaned backward to show Sirius his amused grin, and while his lips were away
from Sirius’ throat, he moved them back to Sirius’ mouth for a moment. “Keep talking, I’m
enjoying this.”

“Yeah, same,” Sirius moaned, letting his head fall back against the door as Remus returned his wet,
open kiss to Sirius’ throat, moving his hand underneath the hem of Sirius’ shirt. “What actually
made me realise it was you was even more subtle than that. During your little crisis, you said in
less than three days, I had destroyed your conviction. But I’d only met you, as Father Lupin, two
days before that.”
“Jesus, you were really paying attention, I didn’t even realise I’d said that,” Remus said in an
outward breath, standing to his full height so he could look Sirius in the face to show he was
impressed.

Sirius preened a bit, but it watered down quickly when Remus pressed Sirius into the door with his
hips. “To be fair, you’d said a few things that Moony had specifically said to me in texts, so I was
listening very closely to everything you said.” As Remus’ weight against him grew heavier, Sirius
lifted one leg and wrapped it deliberately around Remus’ hip. Instantly, Remus’ amber eyes were
on him, and it was like being caught in the hungry, yellow gaze of a feral wolf. Without breaking
his gaze, Sirius swallowed.

“I wanted to get caught,” Remus confessed. “I left you little clues so you would know it was me.”

“Couldn’t you have just come right out and told me, if you wanted me to know so badly?” Sirius
raised an eyebrow, letting his expression descend into annoyance, but it was still overly playful.

“Where’s the fun in that?” Remus said with that terrible, arrogant smirk that drove Sirius mad. In
fact, it worked so well that Sirius leapt forward and claimed Remus’ lips in a flurry of hunger and
skin.

“Well, considering how miserable I was when I thought it wasn’t you …” Sirius began, and Remus
suddenly, intensely resumed his efforts to dishevel Sirius, gently angling Sirius’ face away so he
could open his lips just underneath the curve of Sirius’ jaw, rotating his hips with focus. Sirius
thought of their conversation that night, after he’d first found Remus at the piano, when he’d told
Remus he stopped texting Moony because, ultimately, he wasn’t Remus. Now, it had turned out
that he was all along.

“When you looked at me then,” Remus said, his warm breath panting out rapidly against Sirius’
throat, “And you said the words ‘because he wasn’t you’ …” he paused to let out a sigh, heating
Sirius’ skin so suddenly that he shivered underneath Remus’ open mouth. Remus responded to it
by placing a delicate kiss to the corner of Sirius’ jaw. “I still think about the way you said that. I
think I always will.”

“But it was you,” Sirius laughed, craning his head to encourage Remus to cover more of Sirius’
skin with that affectionate kiss, and Remus seemed more than happy to comply.

“Now you know why I reacted the way I did when you said that.” Remus’ weight against him
became less urgent and more comfortable. “I didn’t expect you to want it to be me.” With a
contented hum in his throat, Remus continued to press soft, lingering kisses to Sirius’ jaw, behind
his ear, down his throat. “If anything, I expected you to choose him over me when you got bored
with the priest.”

“But he is you!” Sirius said with a slightly manic ache in his voice. Remus just laughed.

“I know it doesn’t make sense,” Remus said, his continued laugh tickling Sirius’ skin to the point
that Sirius flinched at it, and Remus wriggled his fingers against Sirius’ sides to make it worse.
“But when you chose me, the stuffy priest, over the hot guy who plays bass in a punk rock band, I
think I …”

“Remus, we’re going in circles here, you are the hot guy who plays bass in a punk rock band.”

“Shut up and let me declare my affection for you, damn it.”

Sirius smirked. “Yes, Father.”

“What I’m trying to say is,” Remus continued, only giving Sirius a bit of side-eye with raised brow
at the Father comment before his gaze went soft, “you chose me. Not the character I play when I
perform with Holyhead, not the voice I hide behind in a text, but me, with my complicated religious
baggage and my on-again-off-again vows of abstinence and my limits of affection. You chose me,”
he breathed out.

“Moony,” Sirius half-argued, unsure of what he wanted to say, but wanting to rid Remus of these
ideas of self-loathing. Before he could start, at the sound of his favourite pet name, Remus moved
forward with assurance as he pressed his lips deeply into Sirius’ own, and Sirius couldn’t find
himself wanting to pull away to speak. Except that he had to prove Remus wrong. “You’re talking
like you’re some lesser version of the real you, like Moony is somehow better than you. But it’s
still you,” Sirius gushed, finding spaces in his speech to smother Remus in multitudes of kisses.
“You can simultaneously be the hot bass player who serenades me on stage and the adorable priest
who bakes cinnamon rolls for fun.”

A subdued laugh moved from Remus’ lips, now pressed to Sirius’ lips. “I do love baking.”

“And don’t get me wrong,” Sirius continued, letting his fingers move across Remus’ bare throat
for the first time (well, sort of), reveling in the absence of a stiff clerical collar. “The way you
move on stage with that bass at your hips and this tattoo on your throat and those gasps in your
voice when you catch your breath after a verse, Jesus Fucking Christ,” Sirius paused to let out a
growl, his fingers tightening around Remus’ neck for a moment, not ignoring the way Remus’
mouth absently fell open at the sudden change in Sirius’ grip. “But, at the same time, I think you
must be forgetting the way I reacted to seeing you in that little velvet number just before the prayer
vigil.” At first, Remus laughed, giving Sirius a perfect viewing of that deep red colour that often
bloomed underneath the surface of his brown skin, a closer than ever appreciation of the bright
splash of pink that illuminated both his ears.

“Sir, that is a sacred vestment,” he grinned, knowingly.

“And I am a heathen, which means I felt no guilt about wanting to do very sacrilegious things to
you while you were wearing it,” Sirius replied as he lifted Remus’ chin a bit, finally placing his
lips (and his teeth) onto the heavily inked and deliciously bared skin of Remus’ throat. The more
he explored, the heavier Sirius’ breathing became, the more pronounced his triumphant moans
grew until Remus’ hold on his hips began to dig into the naked skin of Sirius’ waist. “What I’m
saying is,” Sirius repeated Remus’ phrasing as he worked his kiss up to Remus’ ear. “The priest
might be more attractive than the rock star.”

There was a huff of disbelief through Remus’ nostrils. “Coming from the one with the priest kink.”

“We’ve discussed this,” Sirius reminded him, breathing sharply into Remus’ ear as he said, “I have
a very specific kink for you, as a priest.” The weight of Remus pressing him against the door grew
heavier.

“So, you just chose me to satisfy your kink, then,” Remus teased, fingers toying at Sirius’ waist.

Sirius let out a disapproving grumble, but it evolved into a desperate growl as Remus let his
fingertips drag across the border between Sirius’ skin and the waist of his jeans. “Yes, I broke it off
with a hot bass player who was offering me guilt-free sexting in favour of a priest I couldn’t sleep
with just for the kinks,” Sirius said, taking Remus by the face and holding him still so Sirius could
show his eyes rolling.

“We never got to that, by the way,” Remus reminded him, though his voice faded off into a
contented sigh as Sirius found a particular spot just behind Remus’ ear that made him swallow
heavily and tilt his head further in, as if in some effort to bury Sirius’ lips deeper. “What was it that
made you think you were wrong about it being me?” As Sirius opened his mouth to speak, Remus’
lips instantly moved to Sirius’ throat, as if they’d traded responsibilities, and Remus was proficient
in his task.

“After the show that night, the one where you sang The Starting Line song, I went off to find you
because I was going to tell you I knew,” Sirius explained, but his story was abruptly silenced as
Remus inadvertently popped a seam in the collar of Sirius’ shirt, bending his knees a bit so that his
kiss could reach Sirius’ collarbone a little easier. “Remus,” he said quietly, driving one hand into
the back of Remus’ hair. At first, Remus seemed apologetic, but seeing the look on Sirius’ face
evidently changed his mind.

“You haven’t finished the story yet,” Remus said, his smile audible. “Keep going.”

“I asked Marlene your first name and she told me it was John. She said you were a teacher.” His
voice wavered as he spoke, wondering how far Remus would let him go in the office of a pub.

“She and Dorcas decided that’s what they would say if anyone asked them directly,” Remus said
just before he sucked lightly at the muscle just above Sirius’ collarbone, leaving Sirius to arch back
into the door, his fingers curling into a fist within Remus’ hair. “We found out pretty early on that
people don’t really care who I am once the mystery is gone. And John is a perfectly normal,
domestic sounding name.”

“Doesn’t quite have the exotic appeal of Remus,” Sirius purred into his ear. Remus shivered.

“Yes,” he agreed enthusiastically. “Especially the way you say it.” Much to Sirius’ surprise, Remus
let himself slide a bit down Sirius’ body, his knees bent, and he wrapped Sirius’ legs around his
hips, so that when he stood to his full height, he was holding Sirius up, his weight still pressed
against him.

“Jesus, Remus,” Sirius repeated, like Remus would want him to, and Remus let out a groan.

“Yeah, just like that,” Remus exhaled heavily, arching into Sirius to give him a clear impression of
his need, just like that morning on his sofa. Unlike that morning, however, Remus had already won
the battle against his unwarranted guilt – there was nowhere left to go but deeper between Sirius’
legs.

“When I saw your full name in the programme, that’s when I knew for sure,” Sirius said.

There was an instant, roguish smile on Remus’ face. “You saw that? I was hoping you would.”

“And you played this song at the funeral,” Sirius said as his fingers slipped over Remus’ forearm,
mostly pressed to Sirius’ thigh from where Remus was still holding him against the door.
Carefully, Remus adjusted, holding Sirius with only a single arm and the weight of his hips just so
Sirius could take Remus’ arm into his hands, to press his lips to the delicate script that read ‘Bind
my wandering heart to Thee.’

“What can I say, I really wanted you to figure it out,” Remus emphasized under that smile,
returning his grip to Sirius’ hips and readjusting Sirius’ weight in his arms with a soft groan.

“You could’ve just told me, you know,” Sirius said, against his better judgement to let the
conversation flicker out in favour of less speaking and more heavy breathing. “When I came back
to the church that night, you could’ve told me the truth.” At first, Remus’ shoulders sagged, giving
Sirius the impression that he meant to lower Sirius back to his feet. But Sirius wasn’t ready to
relinquish Remus’ weight against him, so he pulled Remus’ face to his, kissing him fiercely.
“Don’t let me go.”

Remus responded by sliding his tongue into Sirius’ mouth, letting his hands slip deeply underneath
Sirius’ thighs so that the whole of his weight was leaning against Sirius before jumping back to
their previous conversation. “I wanted to,” he confessed into Sirius’ open mouth. “But I was still
trying to pretend like I could keep myself from acting on my feelings for you, and if you found out
that I was the same guy who had just described getting himself off to you a few hours before that
…” Remus trailed off to let Sirius’ mind wander as Remus used his kiss to push Sirius’ mouth open
further, bringing up one hand to cup Sirius’ face in his fingertips, angling Sirius’ face so he could
kiss him more deeply.

“I’m going to give you so much shit when I go back through all these texts,” Sirius hummed.

“Good,” Remus replied, unruffled. “And then I can tell you all the times I gave you blatant hints
that I was the bloke you’d been sexting all this time and it went right over your innocent, little
head.”

“I picked up on all the blatant ones, thank you,” Sirius argued back. “When you said you were
going to nick my phone for the Crookshanks photo, that was a Moony text. And after the funeral
when you patted my chest, that was the same thing you did the night we met when we swapped
phones.”

“Oh, didn’t expect you to get that one,” Remus grinned proudly. “Well done.”

“Okay, hot shot, what about my test that you absolutely failed?” Sirius asked, poking Remus
several times in the chest only to get immediately distracted by the contradiction of the soft give of
Remus’ skin with the firmness of the muscle and bone underneath. “Remember you said you
wanted me to record a voice memo?” A curious expression moved over Remus’ face as he leaned
his head back.

“That’s right,” he said, quelling a smile, tilting his head. “What was it that I wanted you to say?”

“Fuck me,” Sirius reminded him naively as Remus pulled his bottom lip into his teeth.

“Yeah, that was it,” he grinned wickedly, slowly rocking his hips into Sirius’ again, leaving Sirius
to tense his legs around Remus’ waist, to tense his fingers in Remus’ hair, to tense his jaw in
anticipation.

“Oh. Fuck me,” Sirius repeated, sincerely, breath falling from his lips in staggering paces.

“Jesus Christ,” Remus groaned, quickly burying his tongue into Sirius’ mouth again. The door
creaked with both their weights being pressed into it all at once as Remus gripped Sirius’ thighs
firmly.

Desperate to prove he’d had the upper hand at one point, Sirius continued. “Moony was the one
who requested it, but when I mentioned it to you, Father,” he said deliberately, and unless Sirius
was mistaken, he was pretty sure Remus let out a subtle whimper, “You seemed to know all about
it.”

“Shit,” Remus laughed under his breath, realizing Sirius was right. “That was sneaky.”

“Says the person who used sexting under a secret identity to get around his celibacy vows.”

“That is a very valid point.” Remus continued to laugh, but it tapered off as he delicately moved
forward, brushing the bridge of his nose down the underside of Sirius’ jaw until Sirius felt Remus’
lips dust across his throat. “Though, I feel obligated to remind you,” Remus spoke against Sirius’
skin, “that I wasn’t using my secret identity when I very explicitly stated that I was going to have
sex with you.”

As Remus’ kiss grew heavier, Sirius swallowed. “And here we are,” he said. For only a second,
Remus paused, both in word and in deed, his breath falling in uneven intervals against Sirius’ neck.

“Here we are,” he repeated softly, shifting a bit so he could look Sirius in the face. His amber eyes
scattered over every available surface of Sirius’ skin, watching the way Sirius breathed anxiously,
studying the way Sirius darted his tongue out to wet his lips that were now so accustomed to being
moistened by another tongue. With a deep breath, Remus tilted his head forward, pressing his
forehead to Sirius’ as he kissed him, though this one felt so much more fragile and breakable than
all the ones before it.

“We don’t have to rush this, you know,” Sirius offered in between the kisses that seemed to feel a
bit more nervous, a bit more hesitant, a bit more reluctant. “Just being able to kiss you is enough.”

A tenuous laugh slipped through Remus’ lips. “I spent all week making this decision, Sirius.
Going back and forth over whether this was the right thing to do, trying to reconcile what I know I
want with the guilt and the panic and the regret that I was sure would settle in fast once we got
here, with me between your legs and my tongue in your mouth. And now that we’re here, I …” he
paused, bringing up one hand to brush the hair from Sirius’ face, to tuck it behind Sirius’ ear, to let
his fingertips ghost along the shell of Sirius’ ear and down his jaw. “I’ll admit, I’m a little
nervous,” he laughed gingerly, his quivering touch moving to Sirius’ lips to relearn the curves of
Sirius’ mouth, and Sirius reached up to hold his hand in place so that he could press a kiss to
Remus’ fingertips. Silently, Remus watched him, the austerity in his expression washing out as a
soft sort of relief moved in to replace it. “We’ve built up all this tension and I don’t want to
disappoint you,” he stated candidly, an anxious swallow moving down his throat.

“Moony,” Sirius said with a light but incredulous laugh, and just like every other time Sirius said
his nickname, Remus let out a short breath, clipped by an impatient clenching of his teeth. As if he
suddenly remembered that he could now kiss Sirius without restraint, he leapt forward to do just
that, an indelicate moan forming in his throat as soon as their lips were together. But Sirius
interrupted their kiss to finish his point. “If I’m being honest, I’ll probably just have to look at you
naked and I’ll come.”

“Jesus,” Remus whined, his vocalization falling somewhere between a hiss and a groan.

“I don’t want to have sex with you just because I expect you to have good form,” Sirius laughed,
sliding his arms around Remus’ neck and tightening his legs around Remus’ hips. "I’m fairly sure
I’ve mentioned this to you before, but I am shamefully attracted to you.” He leaned forward to kiss
Remus, not ignoring the satisfied smile that was just beginning to bloom over Remus’ face,
eyebrow risen high.

“You may have mentioned that,” Remus hummed onto Sirius’ lips.

“We’ll figure it out together, Remus,” Sirius said, keeping his gaze tight to Remus’ as he grabbed a
fistful of Remus’ T-shirt and tugged softly to move the hem out from underneath where his legs
were wrapped around Remus’ hips. He lifted it just enough to slip his hand underneath it, just
enough to see that Remus’ tattoos were continuous across his body. “Tell me what you like, and
I’ll do the same.”

“Yeah?” Remus asked absently, apparently very focused on the movement of Sirius’ fingers
against his abdomen, his breathing spiking suddenly. He licked his lips to compensate for the brisk
air.

“Yes,” Sirius agreed, letting his gaze flitter down Remus’ chest in some effort to see if he could get
a glimpse of the shapes of the ink on Remus’ stomach. “But I don’t want to push it on you. I don’t
want to make you break any vow you’re not ready to break.” With a breath, Remus pressed his
hand atop Sirius’ fingers from outside his shirt, holding Sirius’ hand flat against his chest, skin
warm and thrumming.

“I’m going to be honest with you,” Remus said with an unsettled breath. “I’m not sure I’m ready to
leave the church.” When he looked up at Sirius with uncertainty, Sirius just responded with a
smile.

“Then we just won’t have sex at the church,” he grinned before adding, “If that’s what you want.”

“Yes, yes, God, that’s exactly what I want,” Remus insisted excitedly, as if Sirius had predicted the
perfect thing to say, and Remus gripped Sirius’ face decisively as he pulled him into another fitful
kiss. “I want to keep you, I want to be with you, but I hate that I have to make you feel like I’m
hiding you.”

“Remus, don’t be an idiot, of course you’re hiding me,” Sirius argued between kisses, and it was
enough to make Remus slow, watching Sirius carefully. “You have to. But I’m fine with that, it
really doesn’t matter to me. What matters to me is how it’s going to make you feel,” he said,
slipping his hand across Remus’ chest to move down his waist. “If the sex is going to make you
feel guilty all the time, then I’ll suffer the tension. I don’t care. I just can’t be without you again. I
have never felt so unhappy.”

The smile on Remus’ face was almost shy, but it quickly shifted into something a bit more
rebellious. “See, when you say things like that, it only makes me want to have sex with you more.”

“Oh,” Sirius said with a blush and a triumphant flash of his eyebrows. “Well, I mean it.”

“I know,” Remus said, leaning forward to kiss Sirius sweetly. “And believe me when I say I
agonized over this all week, to the point of making myself sick with it. But the moment I laid eyes
on you tonight, and you said my name the way you do, I felt better than I have in days. You’re what
I want, the church be damned.” A fragmented breath moved from Sirius’ lips, his brows turned up
in a hopeful expression, silver eyes lit. Remus continued, “I don’t want to pretend that I’ll never
feel guilty about it, because I might, but right now?” He let his voice trail off, pulling his bottom
lip into his teeth as he let his eyes rove hungrily over Sirius’ face, down his chest, to the swelling
between his legs where he was straddled and pressed to Remus’ hips. “Right now, I want to break
every vow I’ve ever made.”

“Fuck,” Sirius swallowed tightly, not blind to the way Remus watched him do it.

“Do you want to get out of here?” Remus asked suddenly, speaking on a very short breath.

“Yes,” Sirius answered without hesitation, equally lacking in breath. There was something that
looked like relief on Remus’ face, amplified by a quick swipe of red that crossed over his cheeks,
and Sirius couldn’t help the desperate way he leaned forward to taste that colour on Remus’ lips.
“My flat is a bit of a walk from here, we could rent a room somewhere closer if you want,” Sirius
offered, speaking into Remus’ open mouth as Remus made an eager attempt to devour Sirius with
another extensive kiss.

“I wouldn’t mind an evening stroll,” Remus answered, his voice so much softer and more delicate
than the brutality of his impatient kiss. “If you promise to hold my hand the whole way there.”

“Jesus, how are you so fucking cute?” Sirius whined, his frantic voice stretching into something
that sounded like a euphoric growl. Remus deepened his salacious kiss to contradict Sirius’ point.

“Take me home, Padfoot,” he whispered onto Sirius’ lips, letting both hands slide down to Sirius’
hips, where he strengthened his hold to lift Sirius from where he was pressed to the door, and (with
some groaning and contorting, Sirius wasn’t in his twenties anymore, after all) set his feet on the
floor.

Before Sirius turned to open the door, he watched Remus hang the surgical mask on one ear and
lower the sunglasses back over his amber eyes. With a smile, Sirius stepped in and adjusted the
frames on Remus’ face, slipping the beanie on over his dark curls. “I’ve never seen you without
your glasses.”

To Sirius’ surprise, Remus let out a loud laugh. “I’m surprised you didn’t catch me squinting,
because I can’t see a fucking thing,” he laughed, adjusting his stylish frames. “Prescription
sunglasses.”

“Oh, is that the reason you were keeping me so close?” Sirius asked playfully. “Just to see me?”

With an arrogant smirk, Remus lowered his shades so he could look at Sirius from over the top of
them, his scarred eyebrow rising high on his face. “Well, I do enjoy the view.” The blush that
Sirius felt move through his face surprised him, though by the victorious expression on Remus’
face, all wild grin and half-dilated pupils, it looked like that was the exact response Remus had
been expecting.

“You’re such a flirt, Remus,” Sirius said, for old-times’-sake. With that smile still in place, Remus
moved the surgical mask over it, settling the sunglasses onto his face before holding his palm flat.

“You promised to hold my hand,” Remus reminded him, a smile in his muffled voice.

“How else can I lead you home?” Sirius asked, pushing his fingers through Remus’ own.

“You’re such a flirt, Sirius,” Remus parroted as Sirius opened the door back to the pub, expecting
that Fidelius would be on stage by now. Instead, they were met with every single one of their
friends lined up down the bar, each of them with their faces propped up in their hands, each of them
with the same shit-eating grin on their faces. Sirius was sure his face was bright red, but he spoke
anyway.

“Yeah, so, obviously we’re not staying for the rest of the show,” he rambled, tugging Remus along
behind him as they moved out from behind the bar, “James, don’t leave the lights on for me
tonight.”

The smile on James’ face grew. “I don’t expect to see you home until … oh, I’d say Sunday
morning,” he said purposefully, glancing over at the hidden expression on Remus’ face.

“Supposed to be a good Mass service a couple towns over,” Pete added, beaming and giving James
a very obvious high-five. “I heard the handsome, young priest is a very persuasive speaker.”

Lily joined in, mirroring a smile. “Very hands-on with caring for his congregation, I hear.”

“Fuck all of you,” Remus laughed, suppressed behind his paper mask, as he chaotically waggled
his pointer finger at everyone sitting at the bar, which included literally everyone they knew.
“Same time next week?” James said with the biggest grin of them all.

“Great, fine, sounds wonderful, we love you, don’t call for a few hours,” Sirius spoke rapidly, his
grip on Remus’ hand tightening as he pulled Remus along behind him, and Remus picked up the
pace, pausing only to take a small oblong case that Pete handed to him as they passed, pocketing it.

“Have fun!” Marlene waved with her whole hand. Dorcas just grinned. Alice and Frank shared a
shrewd glance while Kingsley blew them both kisses before they disappeared through the front
door.

For a little way, they walked in relative silence, their hands still together, but hanging comfortably
from one another’s fingers. Once they put a reasonable distance between themselves and the pub
and found no more concert-goers on the streets outside, Remus took that case from his pocket as
Sirius realised that was his glasses case. With a feeling of nostalgia, Sirius watched Remus
exchange the glamorous white sunglasses for his typical round frames, a golden halo around each
of his golden eyes.

Casually, Remus reached up behind his ear and delicately slipped his finger behind it, loosening
the paper mask from his face, and it hung from the other ear for a moment before he stuffed it into
his back pocket, exchanging places with the pack of cigarettes that dwelled there. With a glance
and a raised brow, he offered one to Sirius, but Sirius just shook his head, not wanting anything to
take away his attention from watching Remus Lupin, Father Remus Lupin, take an excessively
deep drag on his smoke.

Sirius immediately went pink in the cheeks, a characteristic quickening of his heart from being
allowed to watch Remus take off that mask a second time, from being allowed to watch smoke-
filled breath roll all the way down Remus’ exposed throat with no clerical collar in the way.

As they walked a few more steps, Sirius let himself appreciate the sight of Remus, entirely
unmasked for the first time – his dark skin covered in vibrant ink, his untamed curls half-hidden
under a knit cap, his elegantly long fingers entwined in Sirius’ own, the large lenses of his round
glasses refracting the pink light from the streetlamps until it blended with the dull orange glow
from the ash at the end of his cigarette. Watching him smoke reminded Sirius of the first time he
saw Remus, with strawberry leaves and garden dirt in his hair and a lit cigarette between his half-
parted lips. The look of surprise that had been on Remus’ face then suddenly made so much sense.
It was because Remus already knew him.

That day would be seared into his memory for the rest of his life. The musty smell of wet, unsettled
earth contrasted against the sweet, floral scent of the strawberries in the basket by his feet, the
shimmer of the sunlight against the grey in Remus’ hair as it fell down over his panicked
expression, the curtain of cinder cigarette smoke that clouded the rich but rugged softness of his
face. God, it had been such a striking sight that Sirius had immediately texted a stranger to gush
over how enamored he was.

Sirius came to a sudden, agonizing awareness. With a groan, he brought his free hand up to his
face, and before Remus could ask, Sirius spoke. “I just realised you made me describe you to
yourself,” he said in a defeated voice, mumbled through his fingers that were spread across his
face. And he was met with immediate, raucous laughter, so sudden and so full and so substantial
that Remus had to stop walking to clutch his ribs, breathless with it, cigarette smoldering
dangerously between his fingers.

“I’m so sorry,” Remus wheezed, all while he continued to laugh, doubled over. “You painted a
very lovely picture of me, I was very flattered, but you also compared me to myself at least twice.”

“Oh my God,” Sirius groaned loudly, letting his head fall back dramatically.

“What was it you said? I’m lanky,” Remus struggled to subdue his laughter.

“I said it was a compliment!”

“You also said I was eight feet tall.”

“You are eight feet tall, but I said that about Moony, and I meant it as a compliment.”

“Oh, you said you liked my greys,” Remus grinned, biting his lip. “That was a compliment.”

“That one I also said directly to you, if you remember, Father,” Sirius argued, still adding. “And if
you count the fact that I said you wore adorable glasses,” as he shot Remus a very specific look, he
continued, “then, by my count, that’s four times I complimented you and I got nothing in return.”

“It doesn’t count if you were talking about me,” Remus said sagely, taking in a long, famished drag
of smoke. “Besides, I called you adorable three times in the prior conversation, did you forget?”

“No, I definitely didn’t forget that you admitted that you were flirting with me, then immediately
took it back,” Sirius huffed playfully, throwing a dramatic look of betrayal in Remus’ direction.

“I didn’t take it back!” Remus laughed loudly. “I just wanted you to know my intentions.”

“And what were those intentions, exactly?” Sirius said, driving Remus into a corner as he prepared
to deliver the blow with the most damning evidence. “Because, if I’m remembering this correctly,
just before that, you offered to talk dirty to me and implied that you have a huge cock.”

There was a surprising and sudden halt to their banter as Remus let out an unexpected, short breath,
his grip tightening slightly on Sirius’ fingers as he glanced over. “Jesus Christ, Sirius.” He took in
a slow breath, his chest expanding deeply. Despite how he kept his voice cautious and low, spoken
with measured breaths, he moved back into the teasing, but he kept it at the same provocative level
to which Sirius had brought it. “That was only after you said the way I play bass is sexual. You
started it.”

“You know, now that I think about it,” Sirius said, narrowing his gaze toward Remus. “Were you
texting me smut while you were on the pulpit?” The smirk on Remus’ face gave his answer first.

“Not during,” Remus said, but the inflection of his voice sounded more like a question. “But
definitely immediately before and immediately after.” His expression was blatantly proud.

“Honestly, I don’t know how you kept this a secret all this time,” Sirius said, shaking his head and
nudging Remus’ ribs with his elbow. “Especially after all the dirty texts that I was clearly on board
with.”

“Let me tell you, it was not easy,” Remus laughed. “That first night in my flat was the worst.”

“Oh, you mean the one where you tried to convince me to masturbate on your sofa?” Sirius asked
brazenly, leaving Remus to take in another hissing breath of unsettled surprise. “In fact, I distinctly
remember you telling me that the priest was probably getting off to me at that very moment, so
now I’m wondering if that was a confession, Father.” Sirius leaned heavily into him, settling his
lips to Remus’ ear as he spoke and letting them wander a bit down his tattooed throat. Remus
swallowed.

“I won’t pretend like I wasn’t thinking about it,” he admitted with an immoral smile, and just as
Sirius pulled away, Remus leaned in to press his lips to the curve of Sirius’ jaw, whispering, “I was
thinking about it really hard,” in the breathiest, most indecent tone Sirius had ever heard him use,
leaving a cloud of cigarette smoke in the wake of his words, and Sirius desperately tried to breathe
it into his lungs.

“Oh my God,” Sirius whined, nearly letting his head fall back in the ecstasy of Remus’ lips against
his skin, except that it threw him immensely off balance as he tried to keep walking.

“Be honest,” Remus said, straightening his back as they continued walking toward Sirius’ flat,
which was so close, but felt so much farther than Sirius would’ve liked. “When I made you
breakfast the next morning, that’s the first thing you thought, right?” The wide grin on his face
was criminal.

“Considering you were the one who told me that cooking breakfast was a telltale sign that the
priest had gotten off to the thought of me, yes, that was my first thought, Moony.”

If Remus’ smile grew any larger, Sirius was afraid it would permanently crack the rest of Remus’
face. “I was planning to make you breakfast before I ever even sent that text,” he laughed sinfully.

“Surely you considered the fact that leading me to believe that you masturbated to me with me in
the adjacent room would only make me horny for you the next day,” Sirius reasoned, but as he
looked over at Remus again, at the mischievous smirk on his lips, he realised that was probably his
goal all along.

“Well, I did wake up between your legs that morning.”

Sirius hummed blissfully. “With a hard-on, might I add.”

“Yes, thank you, that is correct.”

“Which was also sort of pressed against me.”

“It was more of a deliberate thrust, but yeah.”

“And then you had a conflict of ethics and politely told me to fuck off.”

“Okay, that did not happen.”

“Was the whole conflicted priest bit just to torture me, then?” Sirius asked, trying to keep his tone
as soft as he could, not wanting to come off as accusing but having a hard time reconciling the
Remus who said Sirius had destroyed his conviction to this Remus, who kept his hand in Sirius’
and kissed Sirius whenever he wanted and talked about thrusting into Sirius’ hips without even a
hitch in his voice.

“No, no, not at all,” Remus said with a painful sounding groan, bringing up one hand to pinch the
bridge of his nose from underneath his glasses, apparently forgetting the still smoldering cigarette
that was very close to smudging ash on his lenses. “I … I really was struggling with this, Sirius. I
mean that.”

Sirius winced. “I didn’t mean to come off as –” Remus gently interrupted.

“No, you’re right,” Remus said under a deep breath. “I haven’t been very fair to you.”

“I knew what I was getting into, Moony. I told you I wanted this, however I could get it.”

“But I’ve been so … indecisive with my affection, and I’m really sorry for that,” he said, letting out
a softened sigh. “I was afraid of the risk, afraid of getting caught, terrified of the consequences.”
He stopped in his place, flicking the spent cigarette onto the pavement before pulling Sirius close
to his chest, though his hands almost immediately moved down to Sirius’ hips. “But you are worth
the consequence. If my grandfather finds out about us and I lose the church … then so be it.”

“Remus, I …” Sirius began, but Remus silenced him with a kiss.

“Sirius, you make me happy,” Remus said, emphasis filling his voice. “And I want to be happy.”

With a careful smile, Sirius replied. “Then you’ll be happy to know that’s my flat.” He nodded his
head to the left, and Remus’ gaze instinctively moved in that direction with a subdued grin.

“Fuck, now I actually have to deliver on all the cocky shit I said in those texts,” he laughed, and it
was genuinely nervous. Feeling arrogant in response to Remus’ apprehension, Sirius bit down on
his lip and pulled Remus toward the building. As he walked backward, he let his gaze travel down
Remus’ torso.

“I think I said this already, but all you have to do is take your clothes off in front of me and I’ll be
ruined.” As Sirius pulled Remus along, he was more than pleased to see Remus’ left brow rise
hungrily.

“You could take them off for me,” Remus offered eagerly. Sirius let out a dramatic breath.

“See, that comment alone has me a little hot and bothered already.”

“Is that all it takes?” Remus teased as Sirius turned to unlock his front door, keeping one hand
tangled in Remus’ fingers. But Remus let him go, letting that hand settle onto Sirius’ hip, the other
moving up to push the hair off of Sirius’ neck so Remus could place his lips there instead. “That’s
barely dirty.”

“And as we both know, you can get really obscene if you need to,” Sirius hummed as he craned his
neck, reminding Remus of one of the earliest text conversations they’d had under his pseudonym.

“Would you prefer generally obscene or specifically obscene?” Remus asked knowingly, with
practically a purr in his softened voice. His fingers flittered underneath Sirius’ chin, craning his
head slightly so that Remus had more space of his throat to explore. Sirius’ task was left forgotten.

“Does specific mean … specific to you?” Sirius answered with the same reply he’d given in that
text, back when he first suspected that Remus and Moony were the same person. As Remus’ hand
traveled across Sirius’ waist, tucking underneath the hem of his T-shirt, his lips opened against
Sirius’ skin, his kiss becoming wilder and wetter. On the doorknob, Sirius’ fingers hung absently,
unremembered.

“Specific to me,” Remus said quietly, his lips hovering over Sirius’ ear for a moment before he
tilted his head to place a kiss behind it, half buried in the wilderness of Sirius’ dark hair.

“Yes,” Sirius exhaled heavily, his grip on the doorknob tightening. “I want that. I want you.” On
empty lungs, he turned in his place, hand still tucked away behind him from where it rested on the
doorknob to his flat. When he met Remus’ impatient gaze, with Remus’ hand on his throat, they
went still for a moment, save for heaving chests, each of them searching the other’s face for a sign
to continue.

“I kept my promise that day, you know,” Remus said in a voice that housed a restless tremor, and
when he swallowed it heavily, Sirius watched it move all the way down, admiring the way his
sharp Adam’s apple unsettled the vibrantly coloured skin on the lower half of his throat. The
bravado in his voice strengthened, however, as he leaned in slowly, using the movement of his
mouth to part Sirius’ lips, coaxing him into a kiss before speaking against Sirius’ lips. “When I
said I would call out your name.”

“Fuck,” Sirius replied with a helpless whine in his throat at the memory of reading that text,
wondering if it had been Father Lupin who had said to him ‘want me to say your name while I
come?’

“And I’d really like to say it again in the same context, but I think I’ll enjoy it so much more now
that I’ll get to watch you respond to it,” Remus whispered before biting softly onto Sirius’ bottom
lip.

“Not quite the same context,” Sirius corrected as he struggled to find his voice, struggled to find
his usually ever-present arrogance in the wake of Remus’ subtly commanding presence. As he
spoke, he pressed his palm to the center of Remus’ chest before languidly forming a fist with the
fabric of his shirt, contorting a bit so he could simultaneously open the door to his flat. “This time,
you won’t be getting yourself off, as I fully intend to take care of that for you. Hopefully more than
once and in many ways.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Remus growled, immediately pressing forward with all his weight, lips first
as they collided with Sirius’ in a frenzy of breath and warmth and want. Sirius used his grip on
Remus’ shirt to pull him through the threshold, and once the door was closed behind him, he
pressed Remus against it, not once letting his lips stray from Remus’ fanatical kiss. Remus’ hands
went into his hair.

With that arrogance he’d been searching for, Sirius spoke. “I have never wanted to kneel before a
religious figure until this moment,” he said haughtily, eliciting a whimpering, helpless laugh from
Remus’ throat, but it fell from his lips as an aching breath as Sirius slipped both hands underneath
the hem of Remus’ shirt. That breath evolved into a subdued moan as Sirius brushed his fingers
along the waist of Remus’ beltline, evoking a shudder from Remus’ skin as he instinctively arched
away from Sirius’ touch.

At first, Sirius went to pull away, worried that he was moving too fast, too quickly. But Remus’
hand slipped over Sirius’ own, encouraging Sirius to press his hand very low on Remus’ waist and
tucking his fingers into the waist of Remus’ trousers. “Please don’t stop. I want this. I want you.”

“The rattle in your voice says otherwise,” Sirius cautioned, but he kept his hand in place.

Remus laughed, that tremble still present in his throat. “I’m not going to lie, I am legitimately afraid
that I’ll come the moment you touch me.” Instantly, Sirius felt the automatic rise in his brow.

“Can I try for that? I’d honestly be very flattered,” Sirius grinned wickedly. Again, Remus laughed,
but there was something dark in his gaze as another nervous swallow rolled down his throat.

“Considering how badly I want you to touch me right now, I guess there’s nothing left to do but
find out,” Remus said, his voice gone soft, but the look in his golden eyes roguish and ruthless.

“I’ve got to make you really want it first.” With a deliberately slow, evocative kiss, Sirius gently
tugged at Remus’ maroon plaid overshirt, which Remus managed to shed while deepening the kiss.
He broke away only to say, “You have no idea how much I really want it,” into Sirius’ open mouth
just a single second before slipping his tongue into it. Sirius responded with a grateful moan.

“Well, I want to admire every tattoo on your body, so we’ve just got to take these wants one at a
time,” Sirius said, bargaining as he slipped both hands underneath the hem of Remus’ T-shirt.

“That might take a while,” Remus stated simply, letting his brow rise a bit. “I don’t have a lot of
blank canvas left.” Impatiently, he fulfilled Sirius’ request, grabbing a fistful of the collar of his
shirt and tearing it off over his head, displaying skin that Sirius had never seen and the ink
imbedded into it.

“Jesus, fuck,” Sirius exhaled heavily, desperate breath moving out in staggered pieces. He was only
given a fraction of time to appreciate the bare skin in front of him, to take in all the new images he
had never been allowed to see, before Remus slipped his hand around Sirius’ throat and drew him
in.

“You can study them all later,” he mumbled breathlessly against Sirius’ lips, holding Sirius’ hip
with his free hand and pulling Sirius tightly against him. Remus’ want had never been more
explicit.

Just as he had that first time on his sofa, at the warm, welcome contact of Sirius pressed hard
against him, Remus’ mouth fell slightly and absently ajar, his amber eyes glossing over as they
drank in every minute transition in Sirius’ rapturous expression. Again, he arched his hips upward
for friction.

Unlike the first time, at the sensation of sliding himself along Sirius’ covered but blatantly erect
skin, at the sound of the moans from Sirius’ lips, breathy and obscene, Remus didn’t retreat in a
flash of guilt and panic. Instead, he let his head fall back in bliss and revelry as he listened to Sirius
say his name.

“Oh my God, Moony,” Sirius whined, his voice already rough from excess breath.

“Fuck me,” Remus howled with an uncivilized growl behind clenched teeth just before he lunged
forward to capture Sirius in another brutal kiss, his tongue in Sirius’ mouth before Sirius even
knew his mouth was open to receive it. So, he opened his mouth wider to taste Remus as deeply as
he could.

Despite the brazen way Remus kissed him, when his fingers moved underneath the hem of Sirius’
shirt, it was timid, his fingers carefully ghosting along the skin below Sirius’ navel before he
molded his hands into the curves of Sirius’ waist, sliding them up to cup the underside of Sirius’
ribcage. For a moment, Sirius almost mirrored Remus’ action from a moment ago, nearly tore the
shirt off over his head in a violent bid to get Remus to touch him more, God, so much more, but he
waited.

The wait proved to be worth it because when Remus’ need grew to be too great for him to handle,
he violently pulled out of the kiss with a breath-starved gasp, and it sounded just like the way he
took in a sharp breath on stage when the verses fell too closely together. With Remus’ fingers
tightly gripping the hem of Sirius’ shirt, Sirius found himself also taking in a sharp breath in his
anticipation.

But Remus intentionally slowed his movements, gradually inching Sirius’ shirt up as he let his
covetous gaze wander over every newly available space of Sirius’ bare skin. Finally, in a flurry of
dark hair that billowed down over Sirius’ face, Remus leisurely pulled the shirt over Sirius’ head,
his golden eyes immediately falling on the tattoo under Sirius’ collarbone that read ‘sometimes i
feel like i’m the oxygen between the cigarette and gasoline.’ Reverently, he leaned forward to place
a soft kiss against it, one hand on the opposite side of Sirius’ neck, the other sliding gently over
Sirius’ naked ribcage.

Quickly, his kiss progressed into something much more greedy, much more intense, and Sirius
soon found himself being held so tightly, his feet barely even touched the floor. As Remus’
voracious lips moved to the curve of his throat, Sirius felt him sink his teeth in, sucking until Sirius
was sure it bruised.

Sirius couldn’t take the suspense any longer. With malicious intent, he pulled Remus’ mouth back
to his lips, finding his own feet on the floor so that he could angle all of his weight against Remus,
pinning him to the door. As his lips wandered down Remus’ throat, so did his hands wander down
Remus’ chest, and they both continued to travel with purpose in a singular direction. All the while,
Sirius kept his eyes open to memorize every sacred place of Remus’ skin that he placed his lips
upon – the portrait of a dark-haired woman just underneath his left collarbone, the wiry wolf on his
ribcage underneath it, a dozen different flowers, lines of Celtic runes adjacent to lines of Scripture,
a forest of greenery and the bird who lived within it. Every tattoo a different story, and Sirius
wanted to learn every single one of them.

Eventually, Sirius’ lips reached Remus’ navel, and by design, Sirius had nowhere left to go but to
his knees. With a trembling fist, Remus threaded his fingers through Sirius’ unruly hair as Sirius’
knees hit the hardwood beneath them, the anxious panting and cautious whine of Remus’ breath
audible.

“Padfoot,” Remus breathed out, as if in warning, as Sirius carefully unbuckled Remus’ belt,
keeping his touch delicate and light, tucking away a smug grin at the way Remus kicked off his
shoes.

“Moony,” Sirius replied in like measure as he mirrored Remus’ movements and worked off his own
shoes, while his lips continued painting Remus’ exposed hipbone with precise, graceful kisses.

“Sirius, I’m … I can’t .. I won’t last,” Remus finally managed to say in an adorable whimper that
left Sirius looking up through his long, dark lashes just to see the vulnerable expression on his face.

“I know,” Sirius insisted softly as he carefully pulled at Remus’ zipper to uncover the noticeable
swelling underneath his black boxers. Without breaking his gaze, Sirius wittingly licked his lips as
he let his fingers brush lightly over the full length of Remus’ erect skin. Remus’ mouth fell wide.

“Oh, God,” he called out on an empty breath, letting his head fall back against the door.

“Remus,” Sirius called out softly in a tone of worship and adoration, his fingers tenderly dragging
up and down Remus’ covered skin while Remus’ reactions grew progressively louder and more
lawless.

“Please,” he finally mumbled, half a moan, affectionately curling his fingers around Sirius’ ear
from where they were buried within the depths of Sirius’ hair. “Padfoot, please.” In a silent answer
to a prayer that Remus hadn’t fully spoken, Sirius leaned in and slowly pursed his lips against the
soft, concealed head of Remus’ cock, glancing up to watch Remus as he did it. Though Remus’
mouth fell open, jaw nearly unhinged, not a sound moved out. His fist tightened within the tendrils
of Sirius’ hair.

“Is this okay?” Sirius asked, trying to keep his voice level, but worried he would push this too far,
worried that Remus was only taking this step for Sirius’ benefit, worried that it would all be too
much.
But Remus answered with an enthusiastic, “Yes. God, yes,” and it spurred Sirius into slipping both
hands into the open waist of Remus’ jeans, winding around Remus’ hips, settling under the curve
of Remus’ arse, Sirius’ fingers kneading eagerly at the soft skin at the back of Remus’ ample
thighs.

Once more, with warm breath, Sirius leaned forward to feather a trail of formless kisses down
Remus’ length, and the sounds from Remus’ throat made it seem like he was in agony. When
Sirius flicked his hungry gaze upward, lips still pressed to the formed impression of Remus’ tightly
rigid skin, Remus was already looking down at him, his dark hair enveloping his face and making
the urgent expression on his face look wretched and ruined. Keeping his eyes on Remus, Sirius
bared his teeth before settling them carefully around the shaft of Remus’ cock. And without
breaking that gaze, Remus brought his fist up to his mouth to bite down on it, letting out a deep,
hollowed breath through his nostrils, his chest caving.

“Moony.” Sirius spoke his name quietly, piously. “Move this for me.” At first, Remus furrowed his
thick brows at Sirius’ request until Sirius nosed at the elastic waistband of Remus’ boxers, as
Sirius’ hands were still tucked away below Remus’ backside. His fingers tensed. As realization
settled in, both of Remus’ brows moved up his forehead, the one with the scar a little higher than
the other. He took a breath.

“You want me to do it?” Remus clarified, swallowing tightly. Sirius nodded. For a moment, they
stayed in solemn silence as Remus seemed to search Sirius’ gaze for something specific. And while
Sirius couldn’t tell what that something was, or whether Remus found it, it still left a violent flutter
in the pit of his stomach at the intensity of Remus’ gaze. That flutter grew as Remus moved one
hand down to his waist, the other left to roam within the once cultivated, now tameless curls of
Sirius’ long, dark hair.

Not once did Remus’ stare falter from Sirius’ eyes, despite the trepid movement of his fingers as
they tucked into the elastic band of his boxer briefs, despite the rapid rise and fall of his chest with
his anxious breath, despite the erratic bob of his Adam’s apple from the way he kept swallowing
down the worry that seemed to build over and over again in his throat. From his peripheral, Sirius
saw the movement of the dark fabric, exposing more skin, and more of the ink that lived within it.

After a few hesitant back and forth glances, Sirius let his attention divert to the skin underneath
Remus’ thumb and the rosary beads that were tattooed around Remus’ naked hipbone. With an
aching breath of satisfaction, Sirius craned his neck to bury his lips into the plush skin of Remus’
hip.

“Fuck,” Remus immediately hissed, a dull thud as he let his head fall backward against the door.

“Fuck,” Sirius agreed in a half-mumbled growl with his lips still pressed to Remus’ skin. Without
consideration, Sirius widened his kiss, deepened it, hollowed it out until he was sucking
ravenously.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Remus howled suddenly, arching away from the unexpected, sharp contact
of Sirius’ teeth, his fist in Sirius’ hair tightening to the point of pain as he seemed to pull Sirius
away.

“Sorry, is that – was I –” Sirius pulled away, breathless, licking at the wetness still on his lips. And
in the way that Remus always did the thing that Sirius least expected him to do, his hand slipped
out from within the raging wilds of Sirius’ tousled hair, dragging it staunchly down the length of
Sirius’ jaw.

“Fuck me, Sirius, please, God,” Remus panted, his pleading voice rough and ravaged with breath,
and if it wasn’t for the propriety in his proposition, it would’ve sounded like a commandment
behind the authoritative thunder in his chest and the desperate snarl in his throat and the strident
snap of elastic.

With a shift of Remus’ wrist, he bared himself for Sirius, an echo of the way he bared his teeth,
sucking in a tight breath at the abrupt vulnerability it left him. At the sight of Remus before his
parted lips, unyielding and unreserved, Sirius let out a breath that felt two measures too long for his
lung’s faculties.

“Moony.” Sirius said, but it bore repeating. “Moony.” He felt like there hadn’t been enough
emphasis in his throat the first time, enough reverence in his tone, enough wonder in his voice.
“Jesus, fuck,” he whispered as he let his fingers curl around the shape of Remus’ length, taking a
moment to acclimate to the heat of Remus’ naked skin, to the substantial weight of him in Sirius’
hand.

As Sirius brushed his lips to the uttermost tip of Remus’ cock, it left a reflexive twitch behind in
Remus’ eager and thrumming skin, and it further unsettled Sirius’ already open mouth. At once,
Remus was ready with the apology, as if he’d been holding one in his mouth the whole time. “Shit,
sorry, I –”

Sirius interrupted him by slipping just the head of Remus’ cock into his lips, sucking keenly, as
soft as it was crude, as brutal as it was affectionate. And Remus’ apology was lost to the dark as it
shifted into an ethereal moan, howling out into the empty hallway of Sirius’ flat like the call of a
restless spirit.

Just as Sirius began slowly sinking more of Remus into his throat, just as his lips met the hilt of
Remus’ hips, just as Remus’ voice began to rise to a shout with the rapturous repetition of Jesus
Christ, Sirius and fuck me, Sirius and oh my God, Sirius in his throat, his hand suddenly shot down,
and he held Sirius by the chin, both of them immediately going still. With Remus still in his mouth,
Sirius glanced up.

Even in the dark, even under his dark complexion, Sirius could see the flush under Remus’ skin,
mostly in the bright red that illuminated his ears. He swallowed, biting down harshly onto his
bottom lip with a snarl of teeth, canines glinting in the dark and amber eyes glowing like they were
incandescent.

With a wet smack and one last purse of his lips, Sirius slipped Remus from his teeth. “Tell me what
you want,” Sirius hummed, explicitly licking his moistened lips. Remus’ attention to it was sharp.

“You,” Remus replied swiftly. “I want you.” With a subtle smile, Sirius dragged the back of his
hand across his bottom lip, mouth open wide, just so he could enjoy the way Remus went vacant as
he watched it. But before Sirius could utter a demand for Remus to strip, fully, Remus did the
opposite.

His wrist released its tension on the elastic of his pants and, much to Sirius’ very audible
disappointment, he tucked himself up within them again. In the next moment, however, with a loud
crack, his knees hit the hardwood just in front of Sirius and the hand that had been on Sirius’ chin
spread instantly down to his throat. As he drew Sirius in fiercely, Sirius made sure to show his
delight at Remus’ sudden dominating demeanor by driving his tongue deeply, slowly into Remus’
mouth.

At the sensation of Sirius’ tongue against his, a feeling that was so recently familiar and so
historically foreign, Remus’ movements seemed to slack, the opening of his mouth spreading wide
to make room for as much of Sirius as Sirius would give him, his grip on Sirius’ throat relaxing
until his fingers were loosely and lazily expanded across Sirius’ skin. Gradually, he increased the
pressure of his weight against Sirius’ body until Sirius realised he was lying on the floor, Remus
kneeling over him.

Their lips remained together, the pace and rhythm of the kiss waxing and waning in alternating
waves of immediate passion and a comfortable savouring of one other. It kept Sirius’ attention so
focused on the changing behaviour of Remus’ mouth, on the fluctuating company of Remus’
tongue, that Sirius didn’t notice that Remus’ hands were conspicuously absent until they most
suddenly were not.

Balancing solely on his knees and using nothing but the strength of his torso to lean forward
enough to keep his mouth to Sirius’ own, the touch of Remus’ hands were briskly at Sirius’ waist,
fumbling at the button of Sirius’ jeans before Sirius was even aware of it, before Sirius even had
time to prepare for it, before Sirius could convince himself not to take in a stirred, impulsive breath
at his touch.

“Remus,” Sirius gasped, directly into Remus’ mouth, spurring Remus to devour him in a more
furious kiss, to slide his hand into the open waist of Sirius’ jeans, palming at Sirius’ cock. “Oh my
God.”

In a resonant voice, pulled low like a note he could only reach on bass, Remus said, “Take me to
bed,” with his fingers still drawing indelicate contours over Sirius’ erect skin. And it would’ve
sounded like a demand if not for the reserved way he spoke it, the hush in his contented and
sedated voice.

“I don’t want you to stop,” Sirius answered honestly, arching off the floor and into Remus’ touch.

“Do you want me to fuck you right here on the floor?” he wondered quietly, the tenderness of his
request for permission not reconciled with the drag of his rasping voice, the sweetness of his
curious expression not matched to the violence and sedition in his eyes. Sirius sucked in a profound
breath.

“I think I do, yeah,” Sirius replied on hollow lungs. There was something unmerciful that flashed in
Remus’ sharp gilded gaze at that response, it echoed out as a snarl in his otherwise quiet lips.

“Christ,” he muttered, smothering Sirius in another all-consuming kiss and grinding his hips down
into Sirius’ with intent and conviction. Before Sirius could really start to appreciate the warmth of
Remus’ tongue in his mouth, the pressure of Remus’ full weight on top of him, the rigour of
Remus’ cock between his legs as Remus rocked his hips against him, Remus went to his knees
again, all but removed from Sirius.

“Moony, please,” Sirius begged, clawing at his shoulders in a bid to get him back, the emptiness
that Remus had left behind making Sirius feel uncomfortably weightless. But when he looked
down to where Remus was knelt between where Sirius’ legs were spread, he saw Remus bow his
head low, shuffling and kicking out of the trousers still hanging half-forgotten from his hips. When
the task was accomplished, when he glanced up to look at Sirius through dark, fanned lashes, head
still hung low, a deliberate grin splashed over his face as he let Sirius watch him fully disrobe,
tossing the fabric aside.

There were more tattoos on his hips, on his thighs, on his knees, but Sirius didn’t have the presence
of mind to look at them just then. Because Remus, at that moment, with absolutely cruel intention
in his fingers and that subtly arrogant smile on his face, settled his loosely curled fingers around
the shaft of his erection and shifted his wrist, several times, to watch how Sirius grew so wildly
provoked.
“Say it again,” he insisted, letting his touch subside from his own skin so that he could move both
hands to Sirius’ hips, his fingers intentionally dragging over Sirius’ aroused skin as he dragged the
jeans from Sirius’ legs, even taking the time to lovingly remove Sirius’ socks, until Sirius was left
in only a single garment, lying on the hardwood floor of his hallway in front of the man who was
once his priest.

“Please,” Sirius swallowed heavily as Remus traced his fingertips at the waistline of Sirius’ boxers,
curling one finger underneath the waistband the moment he reached Sirius’ gaunt hipbone.

With a glance, Remus shook his head. “No, I want you to say the other thing.” He doubled over,
pressing a wet, open, salacious kiss to the inside of Sirius’ hip, and Sirius suddenly, violently
understood why Remus bucked away like he had when Sirius had done the same thing. As Remus’
lips moved lower, biting and sucking at the sensitive skin despite Sirius’ moaning and writhing, he
spoke again, the movement of his sharply protruding Adam’s apple dragging across Sirius’
throbbing skin. “I want you to say my name. I want you to call me your Moony while I’ve got your
cock down my throat.”

“Fuck, Moony, fuck,” Sirius called out, burying his fist into his own hair as a way to hold onto
something, anything, as he spiraled into desperation. At that moment, Remus tugged at the last
thing that kept Sirius hidden, but Sirius could only feel the sharpness of the chilled air on his
heated skin for a single moment before the warmth of Remus’ breath moved out against him in a
concentrated sigh.

“Jesus,” he whined, each vowel twice as long as it needed to be as his once-slight Irish accent
continued to amplify the further Remus became unraveled. And Sirius had only enough sense
about him to open his eyes to look at the way Remus admired his naked skin, with divinity and
devotion, at the way Remus took Sirius into his open hand, with fragility and fervour. “My God,
Padfoot.”

“Moony,” Sirius called out, throat raw and raked from an overabundance of breath.

“Stay with me, Sirius,” Remus said, darting his tongue out quickly, eyes fixated on the plush head
of Sirius’ cock as he brought it to his lips. “I just need to get you a little wet.” Sirius throbbed in his
hand.

“Oh God,” he howled, throwing his head back onto the hardwood floor as Remus tasted him,
tongue first, drawing a wide, wet line across the slit at the utmost head of Sirius’ cock. “Fuck,”
Sirius said, but it was more like a cry, a beg, a whimper. And then, all at once, Remus took him
into his throat, in full, with no acclimation and no warning. “Oh, God, Remus, fuck,” Sirius
shouted, echoing into the dark.

“Don’t come yet,” Remus cautioned as he pulled off, his voice thick and wet as he slipped Sirius’
boxers down to his ankles, positioning over him with one knee on the floor between Sirius’ legs
and the other outside of Sirius’ hips. “I want to feel it when it happens.” With one palm pressed flat
to the floor next to Sirius’ head to keep himself up, Remus took Sirius’ hand within his other,
gently coaxing Sirius into curling his fingers loosely around his own erection before Remus added
his own hand on top of it.

“I think I’ve said this before, but –” Sirius panted on a dry throat, unsure how he was finding the
words to speak with how wrecked he was to have Remus, naked, on top of him, but he managed to
hold Remus’ gaze as he said, “Fuck, you’re good at this.” A sharp laugh of surprise moved through
Remus’ lips.

“Only because I’m so fucked up for you,” he growled as he aligned his hips and thrust into the
space of their combined fingers, sliding along Sirius’ slicked-up cock. And Sirius couldn’t find any
more of those words to say. Instead, every thought came out as a curse, as a moan, as a semblance
of Remus’ name but not fully formed, as an utterly pornographic scream emptied into his vacant
hallway.

The natural lubricant Remus had provided with his tongue proved to be short lived, and in a few
short strokes, the effortless glide of their skin garnered unwanted friction. Remus winced at the
sudden interruption, but with the way he bared his teeth, his expression looked much more irritated
than he likely intended it to be. For a moment, he went still, looking at Sirius like he was making a
decision.

“I have lube in the bedroom,” Sirius offered the solution to an unspoken question.

To Sirius’ surprise, Remus laughed, and it was soft and sweet, so different from the ruthless stroke
of his tongue and slide of his hand. “This is your fault, you know. I did tell you to take me to bed.”

“Shut up,” Sirius huffed, smiling with a roll of his eyes as Remus moved to his knees, and it struck
Sirius as being so strange to be this comfortable with someone in the middle of interrupted sex. “I
think you’re doing this shit on purpose to stave off your own orgasm so I’ll be impressed by your
stamina.”

“Is it working?” There was an adorable wrinkle in Remus’ nose as he grinned insolently. And
Sirius took just a split second to treasure this picture of Remus, stark naked and absolutely debased,
with his already unmanageable hair split into a dozen independent factions, with the once pristine
lenses of his glasses smudged with fingerprints, nose prints, lip prints, and sitting cockeyed on his
face, with the budding rose of a love bite possibly just crossing the line where his clerical collar
would usually cover.

“Considering I was expecting you to practically come at the snap of my fingers, I’m a little
disappointed, honestly,” Sirius hummed, playfully disgruntled as he managed to stand with a little
difficulty (God, being over thirty and being pressed into unforgiving hardwood was no picnic).

When he pulled Remus to his feet, and Remus (in the same over-thirty club as Sirius) surged
forward a little in the unsteadiness of aching knees, Sirius held up his hands to balance him, his
fingers sliding up Remus’ chest. There was an immediate smile on Remus’ face as he pulled Sirius
closer.

“If it makes you feel better,” he said, whispering into Sirius’ mouth as his fingers softly fondled
Sirius to keep him hard, “I’ve probably only got a few more strokes left and I’ll be done for.”

“Then let’s go to bed, love,” Sirius crooned, rising onto the balls of his feet and angling his hips so
that he’d be pressed to Remus directly, using Remus’ fingers still cradling him as a bridge.
“Because I want to feel it when it happens,” he said, repeating Remus word for word, watching
Remus’ eyes flutter closed.

“Fuck,” he said with a satiated grin, reveling for a moment in the heat of Sirius against him before
Sirius pulled away, taking Remus’ fingers into his hand and leading him down the long hallway,
through the unlit living room, and eventually into Sirius’ bedroom. On their way through the dark
flat, Remus snickered, rather sarcastically, “You have a lovely home.” With a smile, Sirius reached
back to swat him in his naked tummy, eliciting a soft ‘ow’ through Remus’ sustained laughter. “I
mean it, I’d like to see it again in the morning, properly, when you’re not trying to charm me into
bed with your godless seduction.”

With a wicked grin, Sirius turned to him, pulling Remus into his bedroom. “You act like I will not
also be trying to seduce you first thing tomorrow morning.” That smile mirrored on Remus’ face.

“God, I hope so,” he growled, leaping forward to claim Sirius’ lips for his own again. Carefully,
Sirius walked backward, dragging Remus with him, until he felt the edge of his bed against his
thighs.

As he let himself fall back onto his mattress, he also let himself enjoy the way Remus’ gilded gaze
roved over every naked inch of his skin with a soft, pleasured sigh. When Remus set his knee onto
the pillowtop between Sirius’ legs, Sirius nodded over to the bedside table next to him. “Top
drawer.”

“I’m not ready yet,” Remus said with a disobedient grin, easing himself down to where he could
press his lips to Sirius’ throat. “I’m on the edge as it is, Sirius.” The words on his lips vibrated as
they moved out over Sirius’ Adam’s apple. “And I need you a little closer to it.” He spoke
contrition into Sirius’ skin, like an apology for what he meant to do, lips to Sirius’ chest. “Because
I want you to come first.”

“Oh, fuck,” Sirius groaned out in anticipation, knowing he was closer than Remus thought he was,
knowing he would only last seconds in the warmth of Remus’ mouth. “Remus, wait.”

“Just a taste, Sirius, I promise,” he said, hushed and hurried, speaking of sucking Sirius’ cock like
it was his new addiction, and just like the first time, he gave no warning, no assimilation. Before
Sirius could let out an unlawful breath, he was in Remus’ mouth again, the circling of Remus’
tongue like a ring of fire around his already sensitive skin. Without thought, Sirius reached out to
bury his hand into Remus’ hair.

It sounded distant, but he could hear himself calling out Remus’ name, over and over and over,
swearing and howling and bucking into Remus’ mouth, and Remus took every flinch of Sirius’
hips with an enthusiastic hum, with vigorously tightened fingers on Sirius’ hips. Against his thigh,
Sirius could feel movement, followed by the distinctive push and pull of Remus’ fist pumping his
own cock in time with the relentless stroke of his tongue on Sirius’ skin. It felt like seconds, turned
to minutes turned to hours, but in truth, it was only a few strokes before Remus pulled off with a
wet pop, looking starved.

“Fuck me,” he growled heavily, his voice deep and grainy, the gold in his eyes completely blown
out by wide pupils, full of avarice and destitution. With no transition, Remus moved his fingers to
Sirius’ skin, and Sirius was surprised to find his hand was already drenched, obviously taking no
chance of letting friction interrupt him again from his objective. He wasted no time, maintaining
the stroke of his fingers as he climbed over Sirius, easing himself adjacent to Sirius’ cock within
his fingers in one fluid motion.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Remus,” Sirius moaned, throwing his head back, deep into the mattress, but
it only gave Remus the space and incentive to put his mouth to Sirius’ throat, kissing and sucking
and biting hard until Sirius found himself struggling to catch his breath under the weight of Remus’
canines.

The mattress creaked, the springs popped under the ferocious thrust of Remus’ hips. “Christ, I’m so
fucking close, Sirius, please,” he begged, and Sirius realised sharply, even in the fog of the
nearness of his own orgasm, that Remus was begging him to come, because Remus wanted him to
come first.

But that wasn’t going to happen today. Because Sirius knew the thing that would push Remus over
the edge. And he wasn’t going to hold it back. “No, not yet,” he whispered, gripping tightly around
the back of Remus’ neck to pull his ear close to Sirius’ lips. “I’m not ready yet. Because I’ve
fantasised about this since the moment I met you, Remus. I suppose that makes me some sort of
sinner, doesn’t it?”

“Don’t you do it, Sirius, goddammit,” Remus groaned, breathing racing, edging closer.

A wicked, satisfied grin moved over Sirius’ face as he strengthened his grip around Remus, as he
mouthed an open kiss to the place behind Remus’ ear that made him go a little weak, as he
continued speaking into Remus’ skin. “I never did get that confession from you the first time we
met, back when you said I was ogling you while you were trying to do your job. I think it’s about
time I asked for forgiveness.”

“Oh my God,” Remus whined helplessly, vowels elongated into a moan, a growl, a prayer.

“But I don’t want forgiveness,” Sirius said in a low, controlled voice, despite the heaving of his
chest. “I want the same thing you want. I want you to do things to me that are godless and vile and
profane, and I want you to call out my name when you come in my hands, and I want to make you
feel fucking euphoric about the choice you make to break this vow for me.” The pace of Remus’
hips didn’t slow, though Sirius noticed he was careful to keep his face pressed tight to Sirius’ lips
from where they were still breathing promises into Remus’ ear. “I’m going to use their divine
mantra for my benefit.”

“Just say it, Padfoot, please, God,” Remus begged, his fingers twitching over their joined skin.

“I’m sure they’d say it’s blasphemous to use it this way,” Sirius said, hurrying his words before all
this build-up was for nothing, “But I can think of nothing more sacred to me than getting to watch
you orgasm on top of me as I beg you to come.” As Sirius felt the impatient pulse of Remus’ skin
underneath their entwined fingers, he delivered a finishing blow, his lips pressed tightly to Remus’
ear so that his message would be deliberately, sinfully clear. “So, now I’m begging you. Bless me,
Father.”

“Oh, fucking hell, Sirius,” Remus groaned at once, loudly, slowly, profoundly, with a shudder
ravaging his upper body, both thighs trembling underneath him, and his cock throbbing against
Sirius’ own as he spilled out into their fingers with a howling moan. The remnant of his orgasm
trickled out of their fists and splattered onto Sirius’ naked belly. Under an exhausted, sated sigh,
Remus let out another, breathier, “Fuck me,” just a split second before adding a playful but crass,
“And fuck you, too, honestly, for making me fetishize my own goddamn profession.” With an
ephemeral flush in his cheeks at this hallowed sight, Sirius laughed softly before the movement of
Remus’ hand increased vastly, and the delicate laugh in Sirius’ throat mutated into something
much breathier, something much more hollow.

While Remus let himself fall to Sirius’ side, blissful and satisfied but bitter in his defeat, he didn’t
dare stop the insistent movement of his fingers, using the added slickness and warmth of his spent
need to bring Sirius to a breaking point. And, it seemed, that though he hadn’t used it at the critical
moment, he knew just the thing to say to Sirius, too, to push him into the same blinding, aching,
blistering climax.

Settling his lips right to Sirius’ ear, he whispered, “That first night in my flat,” he began, and Sirius
already felt his breathing spike, his heart flutter, “I wasn’t just thinking about it,” he confessed,
breathy and bright and bragging. “I had my hand on my cock, waiting for you to say the word.”

“Fuck, Remus, God, fuck,” Sirius moaned senselessly, balling a fist in the sheets.

“In fact,” Remus continued, mercilessly, “I think if I’d heard you breathing even a little heavier
through that wall …” he trailed off, taking Sirius’ earlobe into his lips, biting softly and breathing
heavy to drive his point deeper into Sirius’ anxious hips. “I don’t think I could’ve done anything to
stop myself.” He let out a weighted breath. “I probably would’ve fucked you right then, if you’d
asked me to.”

“Oh my fucking God,” Sirius drawled out, tucked away within a salacious moan, the muscles in
his abdomen fluttering, the muscles in his thighs twitching, the blood in his cock pumping, and he
spilled out into Remus’ fingers as Remus peppered soft kisses to his throat while a moan moved
through it. “Fuck.”

With Sirius’ mess, and his own, still splattered across his fingers (and across Sirius’ belly), Remus
rolled onto his back, his tacky hand still resting comfortably on Sirius’ naked stomach. “God, we
should’ve done that days ago,” Remus said with a fatigued but euphoric sigh that Sirius quickly
echoed.

Sirius glanced over, licking his lips. “Just means we get to make up for lost time.” For a moment,
Remus just looked at him, amber eyes glazed over with the heaviness of orgasm but bright with
affection, sparkling behind lenses that were clouded with smudges from Remus’ hasty adjustments.

“Amen to that,” he said with a smirk as he leaned over to bury his tongue in Sirius’ mouth again.
 This Photograph is Proof
Chapter Summary

So, we're talking forever and you almost feel better

But, better's no excuse for tonight
You see, it's never bad enough to just leave or give up
But it's never good enough to feel right

Now I'm lying on the table with everything you said

It will all catch up eventually
Well, it caught up and honestly
The weight of my decisions were impossible to hold
But they were never yours.

(This Photograph Is Proof by Taking Back Sunday)

In the grey of early morning, cut by the thick curtains he kept on the windows of his bedroom to
prevent exactly the thing he was now suddenly looking forward to, he woke. And what he woke up
to was Remus Lupin lying in bed next to him. Lying in his bed. Curled in his sheets. Resting on his
pillow.

It was almost surreal, seeing Remus so relaxed and informal like this, with the wild curls of his hair
looking more tousled and disheveled than they ever had. The strong lines of his unclothed back
were visible from where he’d fallen asleep on his belly with one arm tucked high underneath his
head, and Sirius’ charcoal sheets were slung low over his naked hip in an obvious indication of
their activities the night before. And for a moment, Sirius could do nothing but stare at him in
absolute, sacred awe.

He looked comfortable there, in Sirius’ company, in Sirius’ flat, in Sirius’ bed. His face was buried
deep in Sirius’ pillow, angled up by the way he’d fallen asleep against his shoulder, but Sirius had
never seen him look so peaceful. Even the way he breathed was even and quiet and leisurely.

For the first time, Sirius had the opportunity to discover parts of Remus he’d never gotten the
chance to see, ink he’d never gotten to explore, tattoos he’d never been allowed to study. To Sirius’
surprise, Remus’ back had the most available blank space, most of what was there was runoff from
the tattoos on his waist or his shoulders or his ribcage. It was almost as if Remus didn’t want a
tattoo that he couldn’t see at least part of with his own eyes, without relying on looking in a mirror.
It was endearing.

As if on cue, Remus shifted in his sleep, turning slightly onto his side, pushing out a deep, satisfied
breath that left Sirius feeling rather flushed, especially with the way Remus’ arm draped heedlessly
over his bare waist, pushing the sheet much further down his bare hip. Sirius let out an aching sigh,
grateful to be given the opportunity to study the new ink on Remus’ abdomen. And there was so
much of it.

There were many easy-to-miss little tattoos in between the larger, more eye-catching pieces on
Remus’ dark skin – a tiny pack of cigarettes, a plaster over a scar on his ribcage, a lightbulb
terrarium, and a mouse that looked suspiciously identical to the one on Pete’s wrist. Plus, there
were dozens of small quotes or song lyrics scattered between the images. One on the front of his
shoulder read, ‘there it lies under the smile, it drains me mile after mile, but seldom proves to slow
me down,’ and there was a single word on his inside of his elbow, in very shaky stick-and-poke
penmanship. Holyhead.

All of what he had seen was only a third, less than a third of the total ink on Remus’ skin. And
Sirius was looking forward to spending days getting to know each one, spending weeks making
Remus quiz him on their locations until he knew where every single one was and what every single
one meant to Remus. No, not just looking forward to it, he was ecstatic about it. Couldn’t wait to
start.

With that thought in mind, he carefully adjusted the sheet at Remus’ hip in an effort to see some of
the ink on Remus’ thighs, if they were continuous around the back of his thighs or if he only filled
the half of his body he could see when he looked down. As Sirius got a glimpse of the rosary beads
on Remus’ opposite hip, he inadvertently traced over their shape on Remus’ skin with his middle
fingertip.

“Getting an early start, aren’t we?” he heard Remus say in a voice that was deep with sleep, raked
with exhaustion, raw with overuse. As Sirius pulled his lips into his teeth, he covered Remus’
naked hip with the edge of the sheet that he had moved out of the way, glancing up to Remus’ face,
unable to stifle the unsettled breath of appreciation that moved through his lips at the sight of
Remus’ amber gaze.

“You told me I could study your tattoos, I’m starting now,” Sirius explained smugly. The smile on
Remus’ face was serene, and Sirius was sure no other smile had ever had this level of effect on
him.

“Well,” Remus said, his voice drawing out as he stretched lithely, turning in his place with a
prolonged moan of contentment that produced an expected reaction in Sirius’ hips, as did the next
thing out of Remus’ mouth. “I’m stark fucking naked, no better time to study me, I guess.” He
made it all that much worse by lazily pushing the sheet down his hips and it blatantly tented
between his legs.

“You know,” Sirius stated, shifting closer to Remus as his fingers moved with autonomous purpose
toward Remus’ newly exposed skin, “I can’t believe you actually had the audacity to pretend like
you were nervous about having sex with me when you’re as proficient as you are.”

Under an extremely arrogant grin, Remus closed his eyes, making it clear with his expression that
he was greatly enjoying the way Sirius’ fingers traced up and down his arm, up and down his
ribcage, up and down his sternum. “I’m not proficient in anything. I just really fucking like you.”
He opened one eye, deliberately just to watch the pink that he knew would inevitably be spilling
across Sirius’ cheeks, and when he watched it happen, he smiled again, that same cavalier smile,
before closing his eyes again.

Indifferent to Remus’ eyes being closed, Sirius pushed himself up and settled his lips to Remus’
own, and Remus responded with a pleased hum. “Good morning,” Sirius whispered against his
mouth.

“Mm, good morning,” Remus whispered back emphatically, raising one hand to bury it in Sirius’
hair as he let his tongue languidly slip between Sirius’ lips. “God, what a way to wake up,
honestly.”
Sirius pulled away, smiling shrewdly, despite the fact that Remus’ eyes were still closed. “Oh, it
hasn’t even gotten good yet,” Sirius teased as he let his hand move all the way down Remus’ torso,
over his hip, around to the inside of his thigh. Remus took in a sharp breath, and then let it out
slowly.

“You’re going to spoil me, Sirius,” he said with a sigh, words rumbling deeply within his chest as
Sirius pressed his lips against it, making good on his promise to study Remus’ skin as he did so.

“That’s the idea,” Sirius hummed, his lips crossing over Remus’ other hip, this one tattooed with a
long stalk of purple flowers, the petals of which seemed to curl in on itself, surrounded by slender,
spiky leaves. “What’s this one?” he asked softly, pressing delicate kisses to every petal, moving
closer to the center of Remus’ hips with every kiss. It was clear by Remus’ breathing that he could
feel it.

“Aconite,” he answered softly. “My mum used to plant it in her garden when I was a kid.” A
subdued smile moved over his face. “She used to tell me the petals would turn into moths when
they wilted.” Sirius’ kiss slowed as he looked up at Remus, at the vibrant moth tattooed on Remus’
throat.

“Do all your tattoos have a meaning like that?” Sirius asked even as he absently placed his lips to
Remus’ hip again, his eyes still scattering between Remus’ varied gaze and the moth at his throat.

“For the most part,” he answered, and there was a sentimental sheen on his face, but it was
overshadowed by the focused way he watched the parting of Sirius’ lips against his skin.

“And these?” Sirius asked, gliding his hand all the way across Remus’ hips, and everything in
between, to trace delicately along the rosary beads hanging from Remus’ opposite hipbone. “I’m
going to laugh at you if you told me you got these while you were still in seminary.” Instead,
Remus was the one who laughed, but it was short-lived – it was cut off in the middle of his throat
when Sirius took Remus into his delicately curled fingers. The moth on his throat fluttered as he
swallowed with significance.

“You’re going to make me keep talking while you blow me, aren’t you?” Remus asked bluntly, and
Sirius gave his silent answer in two parts – in the slight nod as he leaned forward and in the purse
of his lips just off-center to the head of Remus’ cock. “Fuck. I didn’t get that one in seminary, no.”

The response he received was nothing more than a hum of encouragement to continue as Sirius
feathered light kisses down the shaft, heedlessly nuzzling his face into Remus’ thigh just to
appreciate the way it felt against the stubble on Sirius’ cheek. For a moment, Remus was quiet.
Well, not quiet, necessarily, just wordless, in that his only sounds were breaths and moans and half-
uttered curses.

Finally, he said, “When I first went away to university, my grandfather gave me a rosary to keep
around my neck. He told me it would help protect me and keep me … em, pure.” After a sardonic
rise of his brow and a sarcastic half-wince, he cleared his throat to accentuate the irony of the
situation before continuing. Sirius only let out part of a laugh. “I was wearing it every day. Until I
met Pete.”

“Oh my God, did Pete corrupt you?” Sirius had to ask, but he asked it quickly, returning his mouth
to Remus’ naked, thrumming skin the moment the words were no longer occupying his lips.

“Sort of?” Remus said with a cautious laugh, but he sucked it into his teeth with the next breath as
Sirius began mouthing at the tip of Remus’ cock. “Jesus, Sirius,” he whispered, pupils wide. Again,
Sirius hummed, trying to prompt Remus to keep talking, but it only resulted in Remus arching his
back off of the mattress a bit at the added stimulation. After a few more seconds of explicitly heavy
breathing as he grew accustomed to the warmth and pressure of Sirius’ mouth, Remus continued,
with significantly less air in his lungs than when he started. “Pete introduced me to whiskey. He
drank quite a bit back then, too.”

When Remus didn’t proceed any further, Sirius was mildly concerned that he’d pressed a sore
topic, but his fears were eased when Remus affectionately pushed his fingers through Sirius’ hair,
holding him at the base of his skull. Surprisingly, he spoke again. “One drunken night, I told Pete I
was afraid of going to hell because I’d stopped wearing the rosary. The next day, he gave me a
permanent one.”

This response required further questioning and, against his desire to bring Remus to climax as
quickly as he could, Sirius pulled off to ask, “Was this your first one, then?” But his mouth was
only away from Remus for as long as it took to voice his query before he sunk Remus into his
throat again.

“Yes,” Remus exhaled heavily, both a reply and an exclamation at once. “I just substituted one
addiction for another. The ink was better for my liver. Still haven’t kicked the smoking habit
though.”

“Who are you kidding?” Sirius asked, using the space between his words to sloppily roll his tongue
over the tip of Remus’ cock, much to Remus’ undoing. “You haven’t kicked the whiskey either.”

“Only when you’re around,” he argued half-heartedly.

“Says the person who had plenty of whiskey on hand the day he met me,” Sirius shot back, fury on
his tongue as he spoke, and he used it to ravage Remus’ skin once it was back in Sirius’ mouth.

“Christ Almighty,” Remus groaned, the Irish in his accent thickening the way it did when he
wasn’t paying attention, and Sirius would’ve laughed at the still-reverent way Remus managed to
take the Lord’s name in vain, if his mouth wasn’t so devoted to its current task. “Fuck me.”

Since the urgency in Remus’ voice wasn’t at that desperate peak it had climbed to the night before,
Sirius knew he wasn’t on the verge of climax just yet, so he tugged at the sheet that was still
lingering over Remus’ thighs. On the front of Remus’ left thigh was a phoenix that looked like it
had been painted onto his skin with watercolours, bled out through his veins in shades of red and
yellow and blue with large wells of black ink that had spilled over onto the canvas. Sirius tapped at
it, coaxing Remus to tell him the story without speaking, not wanting to remove Remus from his
throat. But his fingers got swept away in the sumptuousness of Remus’ skin, and they spread out to
grip Remus’ thigh instead.

“You want that story?” Remus asked, a soft sort of permission in his voice, despite the harshness of
the aching sighs that moved through his chest when he spoke. Sirius hummed his assent. “Pete did
that one before I went off to seminary in Ireland. I was … fuck me.” His sentence was broken by a
shameless moan, his fingers moving through Sirius’ hair a bit so that he could curl it into his grip,
tugging a little less than softly, and Sirius let him instruct. “I’d just come back to the faith, but on
my own terms. Fuck.”

There was a preliminary swelling of Remus’ skin between his teeth, a prelude to his impending
orgasm, the difference of which was stark enough that Sirius could feel it on his tongue. He didn’t
dare pause for more questioning, didn’t dare slow his movements for fear that Remus might make
him stop.

With an imminent waver in his voice, Remus somehow continued talking. “My body is a walking
portfolio for Pete’s work. I don’t have a single – oh my God, Sirius – a single tattoo that Pete –
Jesus fucking Christ – that Pete didn’t design and ink himself. God, can I stop talking now? I’m –
fuck.”

Sirius’ reply was unspoken, just a moan in the back of his throat that vibrated into Remus’ overly
stimulated skin, leaving Remus to writhe and whine and whimper underneath him, his fingers still
fiercely knotted into Sirius’ hair. Beneath Sirius’ fingers, the muscles in his thighs began to
constrict as he bucked slightly into Sirius’ mouth, his fingers subtly holding Sirius in place to thrust
into his throat more deeply.

“Sirius,” he called out on a voice that was suddenly small, borderline fragile. “Sirius,” he repeated,
more insistently and with more volume. “Fuck me, God, fuck me.” It was loud and reckless and
strict, and Sirius obeyed fully, taking Remus to a previously unfathomed depth, sucking and
gagging and moaning.

When Remus spilled out into Sirius’ throat, he was wordless again, with only a gasping, sighing
groan that moved out from underneath the moth that decorated the sharp angles of his throat. The
pleasured flutter in the muscles of his abdomen that followed swept over the ink on his skin,
making it look like the ferns and the flowers were swaying underneath the influence of a strong
wind. In the twitching of his thighs, the phoenix shuddered like the embers of its dying flame, and
with the tightening of his hips, the rosary beads trembled like they knew their original intent had
gone unfulfilled.

With a loud sigh that sounded more like the howl of the wolf that guarded Remus’ ribcage, Remus
let his body relax with a singular release, collapsing back onto Sirius’ pillow. A few heaving
breaths followed, his chest filling with breath, and the ink upon it filling with movement. As his
breathing began to even, his fingers fell weakly from their insistent grip in the recesses of Sirius’
hair, moving up into his own hair as he said in a reverent, rapturous whisper, “Christ, what the fuck
are you doing to me?”

After a wet, deliberate swallow, Sirius replied with, “Corrupting you with my godless seduction.”

“God, I’ll say,” Remus said, maintaining a straight face for only a moment before his tired face
broke out into the widest, most genuine smile that Sirius had ever seen there. It was practically
divine.

“And now, I’m going to make you breakfast, since you’re my guest and all,” Sirius said with a
sarcastic rise of his brow, not blind to the way Remus watched him get out of bed, still naked.

“I’ll let you, but only if I’m allowed to watch,” Remus smirked with an adorable wrinkle of his
nose before turning to Sirius’ bedside table to try to find his glasses, using the edge of the sheet to
clean off the lenses that had been heavily smudged with tacky, slippery fingertips the night before.

“Oh, you’re encouraged to watch,” Sirius said as he slipped his black boxers over his naked hips,
feeling an unreasonable surge of affection at the way Remus raised his chin to watch him do it.
And Sirius didn’t wait for Remus to get dressed before he moved from the room, despite Remus’
protests.

“You didn’t give me a tour, you know,” he called, hopping into one leg of his pants as he tried to
keep up with Sirius, who was intentionally leaving him behind. “I don’t even know where the
kitchen is.”

“Just follow the sound of my voice,” Sirius said, sharply letting his voice fade on purpose.
“How am I so attracted to someone who is such an arsehole?” Remus laughed from the hall.

“It’s because I’m an arsehole. Like attracts like, as they say.”

“I thought they say opposites attract.”

“Nothing more opposite to me than a priest,” Sirius said, smile growing as he began to rummage
through his fridge, realizing that he hadn’t been home in quite some time, and there was almost
nothing left that wasn’t spoiled or well on its way to getting there. As he let out a sigh, he shut the
door just as Remus appeared in the open doorway of his kitchen. And for a moment, he was
distracted by the breathtaking view of Moony, of Father Lupin, of Remus with nearly all his tattoos
on display, casually leaning against the frame of the threshold, bathed in orange, late-morning
light. There was a fatigued smile on his face, his glasses hung down recklessly at the tip of his
nose, the state of his hair was absolutely bedraggled, and Sirius had never in his life seen anything
more beautiful than this sight.

That smile still in place, Remus pulled his lips into his teeth. “You have no food, do you?”

“Unless you want a smoothie made of spoiled milk and moldy strawberries.”

“Do we have to go out?” Remus asked, stepping in so immediately that Sirius took in a breath of
surprise at the feeling of Remus’ arms suddenly around his waist. “I’d like to stay in. As long as
we can.”

“I’m sure we can get something delivered,” Sirius hummed in response. “How long can you stay?”

“Mary said she would do her best to cover for me, but I can probably only get away with it until
this afternoon. Plus, I’m in Pete’s car, and I’m thinking he might need that back.” The way he
placed his lips to Sirius’ jaw was so ordinary that Sirius forgot they were ever trying to prevent this
from happening.

“Shit, I was hoping I could drive you home,” Sirius said, batting his eyelashes innocently.

“Oh, no, no, you’re not allowed in my church anymore,” Remus scoffed, mostly a laugh.

“You would think that sleeping with the priest would put me in better congregational standing than
this.” At first, there wasn’t exactly a response from Remus, just more delicate kisses.

“That’s precisely why you’re not allowed in my church anymore,” he said, his kisses becoming
more deliberate, slipping lower down Sirius’ throat. “Because now that I’ve given myself
permission to sleep with you, I’ve lost all willpower entirely. I wouldn’t be able to stop myself
from trying to fornicate with you in the worst possible places. For example, the confessional. Just
off the top of my head.”

“Right,” Sirius laughed. “Certainly doesn’t sound like you were plotting it or anything.”

“Of course not. Especially not since the moment I met you. That would’ve been wildly
inappropriate,” Remus said, moving back up to Sirius’ ear, his breathing becoming more audible.

“No more inappropriate than inviting me to sleep over after getting totally shit-faced.”

Remus let out a subdued laugh. “And then cooking you breakfast after insisting it was a sign that I
wanked over you the night before.” After one more sweet kiss to Sirius’ cheek, his mouth hovered
over Sirius’ lips, his fingers holding Sirius’ jaw with an ethereal touch. There was something
venerating in the way Remus pushed Sirius’ mouth open with his own, lavishing him in a
meaningful kiss as he spoke his thought onto Sirius’ tongue, saying, “Speaking of which, what
would you like for breakfast, darling?”

Sirius didn’t have to think about it. “French toast.”

“How many tries did it take you?” Remus asked, a doting smile on his face as he looked down at
Sirius, at the way Sirius was lounged across the bed, his head on Remus’ tattooed belly. His feet
were crossed at the ankles, adjacent to their discarded, empty plastic containers with remnants of
maple syrup and powdered sugar and strawberry juice and crusts of overcooked French toast that
they’d eaten in bed after Sirius made Remus fetch the take-away at the front door in nothing but his
boxers and Sirius’ black silk bathrobe (that only barely covered Remus’ thighs) for no other reason
than to watch him do it (and to salaciously kiss him in proud, broad daylight once the delivery boy
left them with their French toast).

“Fourteen,” Sirius said with a half wince. “But I never told Reg that.” Somehow, throughout the
course of the last several hours, they’d gotten on the topic of Sirius’ tattoos, landing at the two
orange and pink watercolour goldfish on his ribs that he’d gotten for Regulus, for Alphard and
William, for the memory of that one day at the summer festival. Sirius had spent all his money
trying to win those stupid fish for Regulus, tossing ping pong balls to try to get them to land in their
tiny, round fishbowls until he was successful. Then, at the end of the summer, their parents hadn’t
even let them keep them.

“I bet your uncle fed those fish religiously,” Remus said with a soft grin. Sirius nodded.

“I know he did.” His smile faded a bit. “And William did, too.” He was so young then, he’d never
gotten William’s last name, or if he had, he couldn’t pull it from the parts of his memory that he
tried to keep behind very heavily secured blockades. “Sometimes, I think they’re probably still
alive.”

“Did you name them?” Remus asked, his fingers moving autonomously through Sirius’ hair.

“We named them after ourselves. We were so creative as children,” he snickered.

“One of the many perks of living in an abusive home,” Remus said with a knowing, irritated grin,
before letting out a sigh. “My grandfather strictly discouraged art and music, unless it was in direct
relation to the church. The only reason he let me learn bass was because I was in the – don’t laugh,
I know you’re going to laugh – the praise and worship team in my youth group.” And he was right,
Sirius did laugh, and it was loud and irreverent and deliberately, purposefully annoying. Remus
made a face.

“Oh my God, Moony,” he laughed, wiping at tears in his watering eyes. “Did you do anything as a
child that didn’t have to do with the church?” As he thought, Remus’ eyes went wandering, as if
searching for a memory from his childhood that didn’t have something to do with the church in one
way or another.

“No,” he said, shaking his head emphatically, lips pursed. “The answer to that is a resounding no.”
But the expression on his face turned sour, pursed lips twisting to one side. “And now that we’re
on the subject of the church …” he said, trailing off and looking at Sirius very pointedly as Sirius
rolled over.
“Right, speaking of the church,” Sirius said with very specific intent to continue their conversation
in spite of Remus’ obvious attempts to cut it off. “When I named you Moony, you said you were
on the roof of your flat – was that true? Do you often hang out on the roof of your church like a
teenager?”

A brief, knowing smile moved over Remus’ face. “Mostly to hide during my smoke breaks.
There’s a little flat ledge around from the garden, and –” he began, and for a moment, Sirius
thought his endeavors in distracting Remus were successful, until, “– I know what you’re doing,
Sirius, it’s not going to work. I would love to stay, trust me, but I have to get back. It’s a two hour
drive, and –”

“But you can’t even text me now, I’m going to lose my goddamn mind, Moony,” Sirius whined.

“Actually, I can text you,” Remus said with a slightly guilty wince. “Remember how my texts and
Moony’s texts didn’t come from … the same number?” His smile turned comically worried.

“Oh, you bitch, you could’ve been texting me this whole fucking time!” Sirius said with a dramatic
shriek that was half-buried in a sequence of bubbly laughter. “Why didn’t you tell me this
sooner?!”

“Because – ow, stop pinching me! – because I knew you would react exactly like this!” Remus
laughed, curling in on himself from where Sirius was feverishly attacking the soft skin of his
tummy.

“I spent a week thinking I was never going to see you again, and you could’ve just texted me!”

“I mean, you could’ve texted me, too!” Remus shot back. “You knew it was me, anyway!”

“Don’t turn this around on me, I wasn’t one-hundred-percent sure until I saw your face!” Sirius
argued. Suddenly, Remus wrapped one leg around Sirius’ hip and grabbed both hands in one, quick
motion, using Sirius’ own momentum to flip him over onto the mattress and, with a heavy breath of
surprise but a sigh of satisfaction, Sirius found himself underneath Remus again. Smiling at the
victorious roguishness in Remus’ expression, Sirius went still as Remus softly pinned his hands
above his head.

“I didn’t want to spoil the surprise,” Remus admitted, biting down onto his lip as his amber eyes
wandered over Sirius’ contented expression and the docile way he handed control over to Remus.

“I’ll admit, it was worth the wait,” Sirius grinned, leaning up to steal a kiss from Remus’ lips. He
half-expected Remus to comply with a single, chaste peck of the lips. Instead, Remus let out a
heavy breath as the tension in his body melted away as he rested his full weight on top of Sirius,
sliding his knees out a little further from where he was straddling Sirius’ hips until they were flush.
“Moony.”

“I want to stay,” he whined into Sirius’ mouth. “I want to stay and make love to you all day long.”

“Fuck the church,” Sirius mouthed back before sliding his tongue into Remus’ mouth, much to
Remus’ vocalized delight. “You should get one fucking day to do whatever the fuck you want.”

Remus laughed, it dissolved onto Sirius’ tongue. “You’re just saying that because you know that
what I want to do is you.” Sirius’ response was nothing but a hum of enthusiastic agreement as he
arched off the bed to maintain the contact of Remus’ lips against his, his hands still bound by
Remus’ fingers. For several long minutes, they stayed entwined with each other, and with Remus’
straddling his hips, it became very clear that Remus was letting himself get much more involved
than he likely intended.

With that in mind, Sirius turned to bargaining, “I’ll suck you off again if you stay.”

“Fuck,” Remus groaned, heavy and deep and feral, as he buried Sirius in a fathomless kiss. But,
ultimately, it wasn’t enough. With quick resolve, Remus pushed from the bed, and from Sirius,
taking only a moment to let out a slow, pacifying breath before beginning to gather his things
(though he eventually had to wander down the hallway in order to find all the articles of clothing
they’d shed the night before).

“Just for clarification, does this mean we can have phone sex now?” Sirius called from the
bedroom just as Remus returned carrying most of his clothes, his boots pinched between his
fingertips.

“Oh, absolutely,” Remus replied emphatically, wearing a delighted grin. “Tonight, if you want.”

“Oh, hell yes,” Sirius hummed, throwing himself back onto the mattress as he watched Remus get
dressed, and Remus was not shy about giving Sirius a little bit of a show for his efforts.

“I was thinking, maybe we can make this a standing arrangement,” Remus said as he pulled on his
trousers, adjusting himself quite explicitly (for the sole purpose of witnessing Sirius’ undoing)
before fastening his trousers. “Holyhead plays every Friday night, and I’ll come home with you
after every show.”

With a weighted sigh of pleasure, Sirius replied with, “Oh, God, yes.” And his response may have
had something to do with the way Remus writhed to get into his T-shirt, all lanky limbs and inked
copper skin. When he pulled his head through the collar in a flurry of dark curls, he looked through
his disheveled hair to shoot an arrogant smirk in Sirius’ direction before pushing it up, returning
his glasses to his nose.

“Jesus, I like the way you say that,” he said, voice breathy, with that slight but characteristic Irish
drawl elongating and widening his vowels. “I think I’ll make you say it again tonight on the
phone.”

“Are you sure you can’t stay?” Sirius asked again, running his tongue along his teeth.

“If you’d offered to let me suck you off instead of the other way around, you probably could’ve
convinced me,” Remus goaded, wrinkling his nose as a way to show he knew that he’d won.

“Goddammit,” Sirius groaned, rolling reluctantly to the edge of the bed where Remus temporarily
perched as he pulled on his boots. “It’s a long walk back to the pub, you sure you don’t want
company?”

Remus smiled, ears flashing pink. “I’ll be alright, Sirius. I’ll text you the moment I’m home.” As
he stood, he reached for Sirius with a nostalgic flash in his gaze. Of course, there was no longer
any hesitation in Sirius’ response as there had been the first time. Once Remus pulled him to his
feet, he stepped close to press a delicate kiss to Sirius’ lips. “But I wouldn’t mind you walking me
to the door.”

“I have to if I want to kiss you all the way there,” Sirius replied onto his lips. And that was exactly
what they did, dancing down the hallway in choreographed measures to keep their lips together.

At the door, Sirius reluctantly opened it with his left hand, holding onto the front placket of Remus’
plaid overshirt with his right, all while keeping Remus’ tongue in his open mouth. Several long
seconds after Remus rebelliously deepened the kiss in Sirius’ open doorway, Remus spoke, “You
know, I liked the idea of seeing you every Friday evening until I realised it meant I won’t see you
for a week.”

“Especially after we spent nearly a solid week together,” Sirius hummed onto Remus’ lips, and
Remus replied by pulling Sirius closer, letting his fingers trace up and down Sirius’ exposed back.

“I’m literally trying to think of a way to hide you in the church for another week,” Remus grinned.

“I’ve been working from home a lot lately, I don’t think anyone but James and Lily would notice.”

“James and Lily can visit,” Remus said, smiling fondly. “Harry misses them, after all.”

“Right, Harry misses them.” Sirius smiled at the way Remus’ ears went pink.

“He misses you too, you know,” Remus added. “And so does Teddy, though he’d never admit it.”

With a mournful sigh, Sirius let his head fall forward onto Remus’ shoulder. “Next Friday night is
not going to come soon enough.” But Remus was quick to slip his hand underneath Sirius’ chin,
coaxing him to look up at him. When he did, Remus placed a delicate, lingering kiss to his pouted
lips.

“This is already so much better than it was a week ago,” he reminded Sirius softly, punctuating
every word with a reassuring kiss to Sirius’ lips. “We’ll figure everything else out later. Right now,
I’m just happy to have you in whatever way I’m allowed. And besides,” he added, as his smile
turned a little mischievous, his brow rising to match it. “I think I’m really going to enjoy having
phone sex with you.”

“Oh, I know you will,” Sirius scoffed, looking at Remus in playful cynicism. “Considering how
you offered to get – and I quote – really filthy in literally our second text conversation.” Remus bit
his lip.

“What can I say?” he shrugged, trying to look sheepish, but only looking that much more arrogant.
“Think about it – I spent all night fantasizing about the hot bloke I met at the pub, and then he
shows up at my church, basically wearing my shirt, telling me how good I look in my clerical
collar. How the fuck was I supposed to not get turned on by that?” He kissed Sirius again, a little
heavier than before.

“Need I remind you that I only said that after you said the words ‘nobody has a mouth like me,’
like you expected me to not read into that blatantly sexually-charged statement,” Sirius corrected.

Remus immediately grinned. “I said that very much on purpose, by the way.”

“I fucking knew it.”

“You blushed from head to toe, didn’t you?”

“You know I did.”

“I feel like you’re going to spend the next week figuring out all the clues I left you and you’re
going to get a little bit madder at me each time,” Remus said, his raucous laughter cutting his
words.

“I’m already mad just thinking about it,” Sirius grumbled, but couldn’t hide his smile.

“I’m going to miss you so much,” Remus sighed, kissing Sirius again.
“Tell me we’re going to figure it out,” Sirius said with a heavy sigh of his own as he nuzzled down
into Remus’ arms. He could feel the stubble of Remus’ chin against the top of his head.

“We’re going to figure it out,” Remus affirmed, voice rumbling through his chest.

“Tell me you’ll call me the first chance you get.”

“The moment I’m behind a locked door,” Remus said, a smile in his voice.

“Tell me you’d like to make this a little more than a standing arrangement, because I’d really like
to tell James that I’ve got a boyfriend now,” Sirius said, cautioning a glance up at Remus. The
smile on his face was all the answer Sirius needed, but he still appreciated the sentimental kiss that
followed.

“I’d love to be your boyfriend,” he hummed onto Sirius’ lips. “As long as you’re okay being my
secret boyfriend,” he clarified, looking a little apologetic as he pulled away. But Sirius just
shrugged.

“I knew what I was getting into,” he said, unbothered, and Remus’ smile only grew.

“God, you’re so fucking cute,” he growled slightly, kissing Sirius one last time, clearly making
sure it was breathtaking enough to last them the whole week before he stepped toward the street.

“I miss you already,” Sirius called, and he would’ve worried that it sounded too nauseatingly
lovesick if not for the fact that Remus blew him a kiss immediately afterward.

“I’ll text you when I make it back to the pub,” Remus said, spinning on his heels so he could look
at Sirius one last time before walking off into the distance. Sirius watched him the whole way,
continued watching long after Remus turned to follow the curve in the road. He tried swallowing
the heaviness in his throat, but it wouldn’t go down. Instead, he just remained in the open front
doorway of his flat, half-naked and feeling empty, while his uptight neighbour glared at him.
Plastering on a fake smile, he almost waved. Instead, he let the smile drop, gave her the finger, and
went back inside, slamming the door.

By the time Sirius got back inside (picking up the clothes he’d torn off in the hallway during his fit
of passion the night before), and got back to his mobile, there was already a notification there.

(Moony):

i hope you realise

every time i take a step

i have to convince myself not to turn around

and run back to your flat

(Padfoot):

if it makes you feel better

it took a lot not to run after you

 like a bloody romcom

(Moony):

i can see it now

running through your posh neighbourhood

in nothing but your pants

actually, i wish i WAS seeing it now

(Padfoot):

how far away are you?

I have limited endurance

(Moony):

after last night

i can legally argue that point

(Padfoot):

well, I mean

if you said you were taking your clothes off

that might give me a bit more incentive

(Moony):

i’m taking my clothes off

in the middle of the street

(Padfoot):

I’m on my way.

(Moony):
okay, but really

can I call you from the car??

(Padfoot):

are you kidding

of course you can

i’d prefer that

over two hours of radio silence

(Moony):

but you’re not allowed to be lewd

don’t get me hard while I’m driving

(Padfoot):

see, you say that

but now I’M hard

cause here we are

discussing your cock again

(Moony):

we do that a lot more than i think we should

(Padfoot):

oh we should do it more, in my opinion

but we should probably work on timing

(Moony):

as soon as i walk in the church works for me

 (Padfoot):

You could’ve worded that differently

(Moony):

well i thought

since you have a priest kink

maybe it’s a whole religious kink

maybe you’d get off on the idea

of getting fucked in a church pew

(Padfoot):

fuck, remus

(Moony):

you did mention the confessional

(Padfoot):

YOU MENTIONED THE CONFESSIONAL

yeah okay now I see

why I’m not allowed in your church ever again

I think you’re the one with the religious kink

(Moony):

this is all your fault.

i got no pleasure in being a priest before

BUT NOW I AM VERY FUCKING CONCERNED

because eventually someone is going to say the words

Bless me, Father

and i genuinely do not know

how my body is going to react to that

(Padfoot):

I feel like that’s supposed to be a compliment

(Moony):

it absolutely is, I assure you

because i don’t think i’ll be able to hear it

without hearing it in YOUR voice

the way you said it last night

you’ve ruined that phrase for me

it’s completely sexual to me now

(Padfoot):

Should I be sorry for that??

I’m kinda not.

(Moony):

maybe when all the heat has died down

you know, if my grandfather is ever not suspicious of us

you can sneak over in the middle of the night

and i can fuck you wherever i like

(Padfoot):

Jesusfuckingchrist.

god yes.

but i thought i wasn’t allowed in the church

(Moony):
you’re certainly not allowed to attend Mass

because i’d definitely try to get you off

either immediately before or immediately after

so i guess you’re just not allowed in the church

when other people are in it.

since we would absolutely get caught.

(Padfoot):

I want you to know how surreal it is

for me to see the name “Moony” as your contact

as we talk about fucking in your church

(Moony):

THANK GOD you know it’s me now

i was getting tired of hiding it

i love getting to call you padfoot out loud

(Padfoot):

oh, I’m enjoying that immensely.

except now I’m pissed at you

because I was looking back at old texts

HOW MANY TIMES

DID YOU ASK ME

IF I LIKED THE PRIEST MORE THAN YOU

(Moony):

oh yeah that was fun for me

you always answered that really well

never a direct answer

except eventually i got an answer

since you LEFT ME FOR THE PRIEST

(Padfoot):

Don’t start this again

YOU ARE THE FUCKING PRIEST

(Moony):

i know but it’s still fun

i’m at Pete’s car now

i’ll call you in a bit

I’ve got to call Marlene and Dorcas first

they’re currently blowing up my phone

giving me SO much shit in the group chat

(Padfoot):

tell them I used the phrase ‘Bless me, Father’ to get you off

they’ll get a kick out of that

(Moony):

i’m absolutely not telling them that

(Padfoot):

also tell Marlene I said ‘fuck you’

for telling me your name was John

(Moony):

I told you already

that one isn’t her fault

i told her to give everyone that name

no matter what

also, at that point

I hadn’t really told her all that much

she didn’t know how crazy I was about you

besides, i didn’t want you to hear it

from anyone other than me

(Padfoot):

that’s cute but you took FOREVER

(Moony):

i’ll make it up to you, i swear

in fact

i’ll make it up to you

over the phone tonight

more than once

if you can handle it

(Padfoot):

oh I can fucking handle it

speaking of which

when you call me in a bit

give me a little something

to hold me over until then

(Moony):

give me five minutes.

then i’m all yours.

It was the longest five minutes of his goddamn life. But then, five minutes turned into ten minutes
which turned into fifteen minutes, and he still hadn’t heard from Remus. His initial impatience
dissolved quickly into a strange and sudden worry. Just as he was about to call Remus, his mobile
rang.

“I thought you forgot about me,” Sirius answered immediately, dropping his voice low.

“Sirius, listen,” Remus said, his voice sounding unusually strained.

Instead of listening, Sirius spoke again. “What happened? Are you alright?”

“I’m … fine,” he said, but it was vague and uncertain. “I can’t talk long, there’s –” he stopped
abruptly to let out a short breath before continuing his thought. “I’ve got to make another call first.”

“Okay…” Sirius answered with a furrow in his brow. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

When Remus didn’t answer right away, Sirius knew. “Everything’s fine. I’ll text you when I’m
home. But I …” His voice sounded distant and joyless. “I don’t think I’ll be able to call again
tonight.”

“It’s okay, Remus,” Sirius assured him, unsure of the situation. “I’ll be here if you need me.”

A soft, stuttering sigh moved through the line. “You have no idea how much I need you.”

“Remus, what –” But Remus interrupted, his voice sharp and cold.

“I’ll text you later.” The call disconnected before Sirius could reply. When Sirius pulled back the
phone to look at the screen, Moony’s name disappeared as his phone locked again. Where there
was once the flutter of anticipation and excitement and bliss in Sirius’ chest, there was now an
aching weight.

Eight days. It had been nearly eight days since he’d heard from Remus. The day he left Sirius’ flat,
he had texted Sirius when he got back to the church, but it was a vague message that filled Sirius
with even more concern than the phone call had. Sirius read it over and over, until it drove him
mad.

(Moony):

I made it back.

We’ll have to reschedule our call.

Something came up

I’ll text you later.

But Remus hadn’t texted later. Even when Sirius texted him, several hours later, several days later,
he still got no response. Something was wrong, and Sirius couldn’t help but feel like he knew what
it was. It couldn’t be coincidence that this all happened the day after he and Remus slept together.
Despite that, he knew driving to the church to find Remus was most likely not the right decision.
Or was it?

The worry was killing him. He didn’t have Teddy’s number, he didn’t have Dora’s number, or
Marlene or Dorcas or Mary. Once, when the dread got really bad, he looked up the phone number
for the church, but when he called, someone he didn’t know picked up, and he was afraid that
asking for Remus could cause him even more trouble. So, he’d hung up, but he’d called back the
next day. A different person answered. That time, Sirius asked for Sister Mary, but whoever it was
on the other end said that Mary had been out of town since Saturday. Since the day after Remus
spent the night with Sirius.

It all had to be related, which meant it was because of Sirius. He never should’ve convinced Remus
to sleep with him, never should’ve convinced Remus to stay over, should’ve let Remus go home
when he wanted to instead of trying to make him stay. Whatever it was that happened, Remus was
in trouble, and despite James and Lily trying to convince him otherwise, Sirius was sure it was his
fault.

Finally, after a week of unanswered calls and texts, Friday night came. With a heaviness in his
chest of knowing but the foolishness of hoping he was wrong, Sirius still went to the pub with
James and Lily, even though Fidelius wasn’t supposed to be performing. Holyhead was still on the
docket.

But Holyhead never showed. The show ended early, fans went home disappointed, and Holyhead
never showed. At some point, they asked Rubeus about it, and he said one of the girls from the
band had called to pull out only an hour before the show and he didn’t have the time to find a
replacement.

As they’d walked home, James and Lily had tried their hardest to convince Sirius that everything
was fine, but it was so clear that everything was very far from fine. He was quiet on the way home.
He was quiet as he went into his bedroom. He hadn’t slept at all that night. He tried texting Moony
again.

Saturday went by in a blur, like most of the week had. At some point, late into the evening when
Sirius should’ve been sleeping, but couldn’t, he got a text from an unsaved number.

(unsaved number):

hey it’s marlene

i need to talk to you

meet me at Hagrid’s in an hour

bring James and Lily

As soon as they walked into the pub, Rubeus caught sight of them, looking worried. As he came
over, he pulled all three of them into a bear hug, sandwiching Lily in the middle.
“I hope you find your friend soon,” he said in his quietly booming voice. The sentiment was sweet,
but it only deepened the worry in Sirius’ chest. As he let them go, the front door of the pub opened,
and Marlene and Dorcas were both standing in the empty doorframe. At once, Marlene’s eyes were
on him and, while her expression softened, the stress in her gaze thickened.

“Marlene,” Lily sighed thickly, dragging the boys over. “What the fuck is going on?”

For a moment, Marlene was quiet – she took in and let out a careful breath. “It’s not good,” she
finally said, and it looked like she was struggling to maintain her composure. Dorcas squeezed her
hand.

“Rubeus, can we have the office?” James asked quickly, answered by an anxious nod. In a chain
that started with James and ended with Lily, the five of them filed into the same office that Remus
had led Sirius into only a week ago. For a moment, Sirius convinced himself it still smelled like
Remus.

“Sirius, sit down,” Dorcas ordered, and Sirius readily obeyed.

“Is he alright?” Sirius asked, throat tight and voice thick. Dorcas and Marlene shared a look.

“We’re … not sure,” Marlene finally answered, swallowing hard. “When we couldn’t reach him
for a couple days, we drove out to his church.” Her voice wavered, so Dorcas jumped in to take the
lead.

“Neither of us have ever been there – he asked us not to in the very beginning,” she explained,
chewing anxiously on the inside of her lip. “But he’s never ghosted us like this. If he couldn’t
make it to a show, he would always text or call to let us know. We knew pretty quickly something
was wrong.”

Marlene moved back into the conversation. “When we pulled in, there was a woman with short
pink hair screaming at an older man, a priest, wearing some long, formal robes. I mean,
screaming.”

“Father Albus,” Sirius said with a weighted breath, met with looks of confusion from the girls.

“Remus’ grandfather,” James said, watching Sirius with caution.

“Remus’ homophobic grandfather,” Lily corrected for context.

“And Dora, the one with the pink hair. She’s a friend of Remus’,” Sirius added.

“I can see why, she’s just like Marlene,” Dorcas said, trying to ease her own tension with a smile.

“I wanted to yell at this old creep just to help her out,” Marlene said with a sneer. “When we get
out of the car to talk to her, I see her waving around her phone, and she was saying ‘you did this on
purpose, you couldn’t just leave him alone’ and some other things I didn’t really understand at
first. As we’re walking up, the priest goes back into the church and literally locks her out of it.”

Dorcas let out a short breath before taking over. “We tell this woman we’re friends of Remus and
she immediately starts crying, talking about some kid named Harry being taken away.”

“Oh my God.” Lily and Sirius vocalized the same thought at once.

“Did she give you her number?” James asked immediately, on his feet in an instant. Dorcas
nodded, and while they were exchanging these numbers, Marlene continued in her place.
“Dora, that’s her name, right?” Sirius nodded, so Marlene kept going. “She said he set Remus up so
that he had an excuse to remove him from the church. I assume she means the old priest.”

“Yeah,” Sirius choked out. In the pause, James interrupted.

“Sirius, I’m calling Dora, I’m going to find Harry,” he said, stepping toward the door.

“Thank you, James,” Lily breathed out, taking Sirius’ hand as she let her eyes fall closed.

Sirius continued with Marlene. “What do you mean, set him up? Set him up how?” For several,
tense seconds, she was quiet, looking at Sirius like there was something she really didn’t want to
say.

“This photo is apparently circulating through Remus’ congregation,” she said in a dreadfully flat
voice as she turned the screen of her phone toward Sirius and Lily. Instantly, Lily’s grip on Sirius’
fingers tightened as a breath moved through her teeth. Sirius just grit his teeth. It was a furtively
taken photo of Remus, in nothing but his black boxers and Sirius’ skimpy silk bathrobe and all his
massive amounts of tattoos on display, being very zealously kissed by Sirius, who was even more
undressed than Remus.

When Sirius looked up in anger, he saw it mirrored in Marlene’s face. “How the hell did he –”

“That’s not even the worst part,” Dorcas interrupted, expression solemn. “Some couple from the
church – Dursley is the name she said, I think – they said he lied about them to child services.”
And Sirius thought that was the worst part, but it wasn’t. “They apparently made some …
disgusting insinuations.”

Sirius clenched his teeth so hard, he felt one of his crowns shift. “They’re the fucking cunts who
verbally and physically abused Harry, and they’re going to turn this around on Remus?” Sirius
snapped, canines snarling as he tore the phone from his front pocket. “I will have lawyers breathing
down their fucking necks so hard, it’ll leave scorch marks. I am going to tear apart every facet of
their fucking existence until they pray for death under the legal shitstorm I will bury them in.”
There weren’t any curse words that were offensive enough to satisfy him. Even a quick text to his
most ruthless attorney that stated, ‘find me the worst shit you can on Vernon and Petunia Dursley
so that I can fucking suffocate them both under a mountain of it’ didn’t make him feel any less
murderous. His hands were still shaking. His heart still felt stuffed into his throat. With a glance of
concern, Lily gripped his trembling hands tighter.

When James came back into the office, mobile in hand, Sirius felt instantly relieved, just to be in
his presence. His heart lightened a bit more to see the softness of James’ expression. With a
grateful sigh, James said, “Harry was not sent back to his aunt and uncle. They brought him in for
an individual evaluation while they investigated some of these claims, but he’s back with Dora
now. He’s alright.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Lily said, letting out an enormous sigh of relief. “Jesus Christ.” Her grip on
Sirius’ hand loosened for a moment, as if to pull away, but Sirius still needed her. He increased his
hold.

James continued with a grin. “Apparently, some guy named Moody in child services challenged the
Dursley’s whole story until it fell apart. Had nothing but glowing compliments for our Moony, and
for Dora.” Finally, Sirius let himself smile, but it was unsteady, filled with the apprehension of not
knowing.

“And Remus?” Sirius asked, looking back to Marlene and Dorcas. “What about Remus?”
With a heavy swallow, Marlene spoke. “From what Dora told us, there’s a rumor that they’re
forcing Remus to take a position in another church. Somewhere in Ireland. She heard he was
supposed to be announcing it at Mass on Sunday.” With a pained wince, Sirius fell forward,
burying his face into both hands. Without pause, Lily’s hand was on his back, shifting to squeeze
her support into his shoulder.

After a moment of dread and terror and an inability to calculate his next move because of the
swarming panic in his skull, Sirius pulled in a deep breath as he sat upright. “I can’t let him go,” he
said, his throat feeling very tight, his stomach feeling like it was in knots, his head feeling like it
was going to burst, and all of it feeling that much worse when he thought about the possibility of
failure. Despite it all, he stood resolutely, the unsteadiness of his feet only lasting a moment. “I
can’t lose him again.”

A little over two hours later, Sirius stood bleary-eyed in front of the church. The huge double doors
in the front were closed, as he’d expected them to be since Remus likely wasn’t allowed to have
anything to do with the church at the moment. And at that point, it was nearly midnight, he
couldn’t risk breaking into the church to knock on the door of Remus’ flat. His granddad was sure
to answer it.

James and Lily were currently parking their car a short distance from the church. Of course they
didn’t let him come alone, but he didn’t mind. He was happy to have the support, because it was
probably very clear to both of them that, emotionally, he was not doing very well at all.

In his exhaustion and fear, he collapsed onto the pavement just in front of those huge double doors,
staring them down like he could will them to open, like he expected Remus to come barging out of
them at any moment. The more he stared, the blurrier his vision became until the church was just a
soft glow of color on an otherwise darkened canvas. Not a thing moved in the dark, just like a
portrait.

“Sirius,” he heard to his left. Blinking furiously, he looked over to see Dora standing over him,
looking at him in concern. “Marlene told me you were coming. Are you alright?”

“Not really,” he said, wearing a smile that seemed to stay in place without his intent, and based on
Dora’s response to that smile, it probably looked hollow and desolate from her perspective.

“Come on,” she said, bending over to tug at the crook of Sirius’ elbow. “Let’s talk.”

“James and Lily,” he mumbled, mindlessly. “James and Lily are around the corner.”

“We’ll find them on the way,” she assured him, and it sounded a lot like the motherly way she
talked to Teddy. “You need to either drink some coffee or get some sleep, and I can accommodate
either option.” She paused, glancing at Sirius with furrowed brows. “In your case, probably both.”

After a couple of fitful hours of something less than sleep, Sirius woke with a start, the feeling of
something important that he’d forgotten weighing down his chest, churning the acid in his
stomach.

“It’s alright, it’s just now dawn, you still have time,” he heard to his right, and he looked over the
top of the sofa to find Dora seated calmly at the kitchen table, a mug of something warm in her
hands. In his disorientation, he looked around at his surroundings, finding James and Lily slumped
together on the smaller loveseat across from him, still asleep. Sirius was immensely comforted to
find Harry lounging haphazardly across both their laps, holding Lily’s pinky finger in his little,
half-curled fist.

“What time is it?” Sirius asked softly, blinking at the tackiness in his eyes, wincing at the subtle
pounding of his head. “What time is Mass? I need to talk to Remus before he says anything.”

“Sit,” Dora nodded calmly to the chair across from her before indicating the coffee pot on the
counter behind where she sat and the mug that she’d already set out for Sirius. “Drink some coffee
first.”

After Sirius poured himself a cup – not bothering to take the time to add any cream or sugar, he
needed something bitter and bracing just then – he took a seat at the table, head bowed low for a
moment before he flashed an indignant gaze toward Dora, though his anger wasn’t directed at her,
and he was glad that she seemed to recognize that. “How did they get that fucking picture? Who
took it?”

“I don’t know for sure,” she said with a deep breath, letting it out against the rim of her mug as she
took a long sip. “You know I don’t go to church,” she said, the disgust evident in her tone. “Teddy
was the one who told me about it in the first place, he has a friend who managed to send it from
one of his parents’ phones.” For a moment, there was a grave pause before she added with a
weighted glance in Sirius’ direction, “Though Father Albus mentioned your mother when I
confronted him about it.”

An irritated snarl formed in Sirius’ lips. “Why am I not surprised,” he said, but his voice was too
flat for it to sound like a question. Of course she wouldn’t keep her promise to leave Remus alone,
despite the fact that Sirius had kept his end of the deal and (for the most part) had behaved himself
at the funeral. Then again, maybe that wasn’t the only bargain she made that day. Maybe she’d
made one with Father Albus, too. After all, creating a scandal like this would be the perfect way for
Father Albus to get Remus back under his thumb, back into a church that Father Albus had much
more control over. And, for Sirius’ mother, the perfect way to get her revenge at Sirius for the
scene he’d caused before the funeral.

“All the kids in the church are quite upset about the rumors, or so I’ve heard from Teddy,” Dora
said with a disappointed purse of her lips before she corrected herself by adding, “About him
leaving, of course, not about –” Sirius waved her along, so she continued. “I don’t think there is a
child in that church that Remus didn’t help in one way or another – even if all he did was just …
listen to them.”

“This is all my fault,” Sirius said, screwing his eyes closed. “I knew he couldn’t date, I knew he
wasn’t supposed to get involved with me, and I pushed him into it anyway. I never should’ve –”

“Sirius,” Dora interrupted softly, reaching across the table to hold his wrist. With tired eyes, he
looked up at her, wearing a broken expression. “Remus had the capacity to choose, and he chose
you.” A soft, reassuring squeeze moved into his skin. “And, for what it’s worth, I think he made
the right choice.”

When Sirius smiled, it was sincere, but it felt so flat. “I’m glad you think so,” he nodded, turning
his hand so that he could lightly press her fingers into his palm. “But I don’t think I agree. I don’t
think I’m worth enough repayment for what I’ve put him through.” There was an immediate scoff
in Dora’s throat, but Sirius argued with it. “I mean it, Dora – think about it. First, it was the stress
of being found out, now he’s dealing with being unwillingly outed to his whole congregation,
which is humiliating enough, but then he’s going to have to get up in front of those people and
apologize for something that shouldn’t have been their business in the first fucking place, and after
that, he’ll have to uproot his whole damn life to go back to living under his grandfather’s
overbearing control in a place where he has no friends, no privacy, no life outside the church, no
–” With a short, frustrated growl, Dora quickly interrupted.

“Then don’t let him go!” she said, throwing her hands into the air. “If you say you’re not worth it,
you and I were looking at a very different photo.” A rush of pink moved into Sirius’ cheeks.
“Ignore the tattoos, ignore the skimpy robe, ignore the fact that your hand is on his arse, ignore all
the things that the church is going to focus on to make Remus out to be some sort of deviant –” She
paused to unlock her mobile, scrolling through a few things before turning it to show Sirius that
very photo. “Look at this picture and tell me what you see in Remus’ face. And don’t you dare try
to lie to me, Sirius Black.”

For a moment, he was quiet, doing the exact thing that she told him to ignore. His eyes
immediately went to the ink on Remus’ skin, to the black satin robe hanging from one of Remus’
shoulders, to the indecent way Remus let his mouth hang ajar to let Sirius’ tongue in further, to the
indentations in the back of Remus’ thigh from where Sirius’ fingers were digging into his skin. No
wonder this photo was causing such an uproar – it was undeniably salacious. But just as he was
about to continue arguing Dora’s point, his eyes fell on the contented way Remus had closed his
eyes to revel in the joy of kissing Sirius so unapologetically, or the slight smile in the corner of his
open mouth at the joke Sirius had made under his breath just before their mouths came together, or
the delicate, affectionate curl of Remus’ fingers around the sharp curve of Sirius’ jaw. This
photograph was proof, just as Dora said.

As Sirius looked up in acknowledgement, Dora continued. “This is what he looks like when he’s
with you. And I, for one, never want him to stop looking like this. You make him happy, Sirius.”

“But this is –” before he could finish his thought, Dora interrupted again.

“Yes, it’s Remus’ choice to make,” she said with a shrug, but it was so far from nonchalant that it
was nearly a threat. “But this is your happiness, too. And you should have the right to fight for it.”
Sirius let out a short breath, and it came out a little splintered. “Besides, if he’s going to make this
choice, I think it’s only right that he have all the information he needs before making it.” Sirius
furrowed his brow.

“What information?” From across the table, Dora cast him a stern look.

“I think he deserves to know that you’re in love with him.”

A nervous, derisive breath moved instinctively from Sirius’ throat. “Dora, I’ve known him two
weeks, I’m not –” With a dramatic roll of her eyes (that rolled her whole head), Dora let out a loud
groan.

“Call it whatever you want, then.” She shook her head in blatant annoyance. “Falling in love, head
over heels, growing fond of each other, on your way to being in love, whatever semantics you want
to use, I don’t care. I just don’t think Remus knows yet how smitten you are with him. And I think
he deserves to hear it from you directly. At least once.” For a moment, Sirius sat still, blinking at
her.

“I don’t know if you know, but you’re pretty good at this,” he said with a grin, and at first, Dora let
out a sharply loud laugh before trying to subdue it, to avoid waking Harry and the Potters.

“Well, it is sort of my whole thing,” she said, eyes glimmering in the low light. With a deep breath
in through his nostrils, Sirius shot the rest of the black coffee into his mouth, swallowing heavily
before he stood with purpose, hands pressed onto the table. Dora just looked at him expectantly,
mug to her lips.

“Right,” he said with a tight nod. “I think I’ll tell that priest I’m falling in love with him.”

A wildly satisfied grin moved over Dora’s face. “That’s my boy.”

“Remus!” Sirius shouted, pounding on the door to his flat. There was still an hour before Mass
started, Remus should’ve been in his flat. But this was the third time Sirius knocked, now resorting
to recklessly calling out his name, despite the fact that he knew there were people in the church
upstairs who could hear him. “Remus, open the door!” he called again, his voice cracking under
the exhaustion and the strain and the terror. Finally, when there was still no response, he leaned
onto the door and spoke into the wood grain. “I know what happened and I know it’s my fault, but
please talk to me.”

Even with his ear pressed to the door, he could still hear nothing on the other side. If Remus was
there, he was deathly silent. Maybe he blamed Sirius for this mess. Hell, Sirius blamed himself for
it. And maybe this was Remus’ way of showing that he was choosing the church over Sirius, but
didn’t Sirius at least deserve to hear that from Remus? Didn’t he at least deserve some semblance
of a goodbye?

“Remus, if you’re in there, I just came to tell you that I’m sorry,” Sirius continued, closing his eyes
and placing his hand flat against the door. “And I wanted you to know, before you make any
decisions, I thought you should know that I –” He took a breath. “Moony, I think I might be falling
in lo–” Sirius’ confession was cut short as the door to Remus’ flat was torn open, Father Albus
standing in the breach.

“Haven’t you caused enough trouble for him, Mr. Black?” Father Albus asked in his flat voice.

“Is he in there or not?” Sirius asked blankly, meeting Father Albus’ gaze dauntlessly.

Father Albus didn’t give him an answer. “You’re too late to –” This time, Sirius interrupted. With a
sure grip, he curled his fingers around the edge of the door and pressed in, though to very little
success.

“Remus, I’m in love with you!” he shouted into the open space, blocked by Father Albus and the
apparent anger that moved over his expression. “Or maybe I’m still getting there, I guess, I don’t
know, maybe it’s too early to tell, but I won’t ever get to know if you don’t stay. Here. With me.”
Every word was shouted toward blank space, an otherwise empty flat, with Father Albus pushing
him further out of it with every lapse in Sirius’ focus on his grip. “Please, Remus, I told you once
already, and I meant it.” His voice grew lower and more insistent with every unanswered plea. “I
don’t want to have to live without you.”

“The choice has already been made for him,” Father Albus said in a grating voice, and the
assuredness with which he said those words shook Sirius so acutely that he forgot to steady his
fingers on the door. With one hand, Father Albus pushed against Sirius’ chest, and he stumbled
backward onto the stairs, met with the front door of Remus’ flat being slammed in his face. It
rattled on the hinges.
With heavy footsteps and a heavier heart, Sirius made his way up the stairs. But his work was not
yet done. He still couldn’t be sure that Remus heard that confession. It was another story entirely if
Remus had heard it and had chosen not to respond to it, but Sirius didn’t want to think about that
possibility, because that might mean that Remus didn’t feel the same. It might mean that Remus
was going to leave anyway, not swayed at all by the fact that Sirius was fighting for him to stay.

He slid into the last pew, closest to the wall, partially hidden by one of the cedar posts that
connected to the supports in the ceiling. He would make an absolute fool of himself if he had to, in
front of God and Father Albus and even his mother, knowing she would never miss Sunday Mass,
especially not one that was bound to incite drama and gossip for months to follow. If that was what
it took, fine.

Keeping his head bowed low, heavy with the risk of despair, worked in his favour – he looked
much like any other parishioner, deep in prayer. In fact, even when his mother walked in just
before the start of the hour, just before the start of Mass, she walked right past him without even
realizing who he was, and he had never been more grateful for his mother’s consistent inattention
to him.

As the service started with a song, Sirius recoiled at the sight of Father Albus moving solemnly
from the same room Remus had emerged from the first time Sirius had heard him say Mass, the
same room Sirius had overheard Remus’ fight with Father Albus after the funeral. But Father
Albus ascended the stairs to the pulpit alone. Remus was not with him. Remus was nowhere in
sight at all.

If Father Albus was speaking, Sirius wasn’t listening. Maybe Remus wasn’t here. Maybe they’d
already sent him off to his new church in Ireland. Or maybe he was in his flat just then and this
was the perfect moment for Sirius to speak to him alone. Just as Sirius began to stand, someone sat
next to him.

“Good to see you, Sirius,” she said, smiling, and Sirius had to look closely at her face, because he
was so used to seeing it surrounded by a religious habit that was now conspicuously absent.

“Mary?” he hissed, blinking dumbly. Her smile grew wider.

“I made the decision to leave the church,” she said, looking quite pleased with that decision. “As it
turns out, I think I might be coming into a new line of employment in the very near future.”

Sirius hadn’t stopped staring. “Then why are you here?” She just kept smiling. It kept growing.

“I wouldn’t miss this for the fucking world.” Before Sirius could ask what she meant, before he
could even be shocked by the former nun’s choice of words, he heard the sound of a door creaking.
It was the one next to the pulpit. As Sirius looked over, the door opened slowly, and Mary took his
hand.

This time, Remus stepped out of it. And Sirius found himself breathing a sigh of relief just at the
sight of him. But he didn’t look like himself. His face was drawn tight, the dark circles under his
eyes looking like the purple petals of the aconite on his right hip, his eyes themselves bloodshot
and red and worn, like the rosary beads on the opposite hip. The once wild curls of his hair were
tucked back behind his ears, looking like they had been unsuccessfully coerced into good behavior.
Unlike Father Albus, he wasn’t wearing the proper religious vestment – just his black denim, long
sleeves, and clerical collar.

As he stepped to the lectern, Sirius held his breath. The whispers among the congregation grew to a
loud buzz. “Church,” Remus began softly, and the whispers died quickly. “This morning is my last
message to the congregation.” The buzz began anew, and Remus paused to let it die again. “I’ve
served this parish for six years and have grown very fond of my time in this place.” In the whole
time he’d been speaking, he hadn’t looked up from the lectern. “I won’t pretend like we don’t all
know why I’m leaving, I’m sure you’ve all seen the photo by now.” As Sirius let out a shaking
breath, he felt Mary’s fingers squeeze his own. “They want to place me in a new church in Ireland.
Closer to my grandfather.”

“Where they can muzzle him,” Sirius seethed under his breath. Mary just kept smiling.

“What I’m here to say this morning is that I’m sorry,” Remus said with a softened breath, pursing
his lips over his teeth for a moment, and Sirius felt like he was going to scream. Remus shouldn’t
be apologizing for this, for being in love, for being loved, for being human. Just as Sirius felt like
his instability was about to reach a tipping point, Remus continued, raising his head proudly and
gazing into the congregation with fire lit in his amber eyes. “I’m sorry that I have failed in teaching
all of you to love unconditionally. I’m sorry that I have neglected to teach you that genuine
affection between two people, no matter their gender, is not a sin. I’m sorry that I have made you
think that I could be ever ashamed of who I love.” The chatter in the echoing church building
reached a fever pitch. “But most of all, I’m sorry that I didn’t say all of this a hell of a lot sooner.”
Stone-still in his surprise, it took a nudge from Mary to remind Sirius to make his presence known.
When he stood, Remus’ eyes were on him immediately.

With a luminous smile, Remus continued, keeping his eyes locked onto Sirius. “As of today, I am
leaving the Catholic church.” Father Albus had already stood and was making his way back up to
the pulpit to try and stop Remus’ diatribe, among the growing unrest of the gossiping crowd.
“Though, if you haven’t figured it out by now, it should be clear that the Catholic church is forcing
me to leave because of my sexuality, because they refuse to let me continue an entirely private
relationship with someone I care about very deeply.” Taking a definitive breath, Remus finished,
leaning in close to the mic, despite Father Albus’ attempts to stop him. “And he is more important
to me than any meaningless religion.”

As he relinquished control of the mic with hands thrown up at his shoulders, Remus stepped off the
pulpit, and Sirius couldn’t help but meet him down the center of the aisle. Before Sirius could
enthusiastically throw his arms around Remus’ neck, Remus paused, a curious weight in his gaze.
He held out a single hand, just the same way he did when this all started, when Father Lupin made
the decision to reach for Sirius’ hand on that bench in the back garden. This time, it wasn’t
hesitation that slowed Sirius’ hand, but sentiment and affection and a desire to savour this moment
so he could live it again and again in his memories. Because, after threatened with all he could
lose, Remus still chose him. All over again.

There was a small moment where a sharp scoff of irritation toward the front row reminded him that
his mother was a witness to this whole exchange, but he didn’t grant her the satisfaction of even
being acknowledged by her own son. He was too busy looking into Remus’ golden gaze.

Before they walked out, Remus leaned forward with an overwhelming smile to whisper, “You
know, I think I’m getting there, too,” he admitted softly, the pink in his ears reflected in the pink on
Sirius’ cheeks as Sirius realised that Remus had heard Sirius confess, very loudly, that he was in
love with him. Or at least that he was getting there. As the joy in Remus’ face grew, Sirius wound
their fingers together.

“You heard that?” Sirius said coyly, pulling him toward the door. “I hoped you would.”

With a victorious grin, Mary ushered their way out of the church, and they walked from that
building for what Sirius hoped would be the last time, hand-in-hand. Watching Sirius with a
curious smirk, Remus pulled out the white insert of his clerical collar. Just over the elevated black
collar of his shirt, Sirius could see the delicate, feathery moth antennae twirling up over his
Adam’s apple, nestled within forest green ivy and turquoise ferns and wrapped up in tiny white
flowers. As Remus took in a deep, hopeful breath, the ferns and flowers swelled, and Sirius thought
Remus had never looked so weightless.
 I'm Burning Up, I'm Speaking In Tongues
Chapter Summary

Four months after Remus has left the church.

Chapter Notes

The song featured in this chapter is Kiss Me Like Nobody's Watching by Simple Plan,
which you can listen to here.

And if you're interested, there is an official DYH playlist, which you can listen to here.
❤️

It had become so commonplace that Sirius sometimes forgot to fully appreciate it, forgot to bask in
the nostalgic awe he used to feel in those first few months. Quietly, he crept into the hallway,
stopping just outside the bedroom door. Softly settling his back onto the wall, he let his head fall
backward, his eyes fall closed. And he listened. That warm wonder moved through his chest, a
fond, familiar sort of tugging feeling at the base of his sternum that nobody else in the world had
ever been able to give him.

“Hey, oh, hey, oh, I hope you weren’t waiting long,” Remus sang softly to himself from within the
bedroom, and Sirius took in a deep, silent breath as he reveled in the sound. “I hope this night
makes up for time lost.” His voice was softer than it was on stage, and sometimes it grew so
delicate that he lost it somewhere in the middle of a verse. But he always found it again. “Hey, oh,
hey, oh, feels like I met you years ago,” he continued, his voice so sweet that Sirius didn’t notice
that it was drawing closer until it was right next to his ear. Sirius pried one eye open to see Remus
had leaned around the corner of the doorframe just as he finished with the last line. “And we’re
picking up right where we left off.”

“Your voice still does things to me,” Sirius confessed, turning his head to place a quiet kiss to
Remus’ lips. In response, Remus moved from the bedroom and stood in front of Sirius for only a
moment before falling into him, hips first, and pressing him to the wall (which was Remus’
favourite thing to do).

“I would hope so, considering we’ve only been together for four months,” he hummed contentedly,
letting both hands slide up the wall over Sirius’ head so he could lean in even further.

“We should’ve moved in together the day you left the church,” Sirius said, still huffing about it.

“Come on, you’ve got to admit it was a little fun when I stayed with James and Lily in your old
bedroom,” Remus said with an adorable wrinkle in his nose, unsettling his characteristic gold
frames.

Sirius unwillingly gave up a smirk of agreement. “Oh, no, I’m having much more fun now that I
get to watch you walk around our house naked whenever the mood strikes you. Which is often.”
“I’m not naked now,” Remus said with a playful roll of his eyes as Sirius deliberately let his gaze
flitter down Remus’ exposed chest before moving back up to his eyes. “I’m wearing pants, thank
you.”

“Not that I’m complaining, but those boxers are not hiding anything,” Sirius grinned. In retaliation,
Remus rose that one eyebrow that Pete had unsuccessfully pierced in their youth, and shifted his
hips into Sirius’, just to give him a reminder of what those boxers were not really hiding.

“Then I might as well take them off,” Remus replied with an arrogant smile before slowly leaning
in, using the pressure of his kiss to open Sirius’ mouth a little wider (his other favourite thing to
do).

“We’re going to be late if you keep this up,” Sirius breathed into his open mouth, argumentative in
word alone as his fingers found their way to Remus’ hips, tucking into the elastic of his boxers.

“Considering we planned the whole damn thing, I think we’re allowed to be a little late,” Remus
argued, using his tongue to keep Sirius from making a counterpoint before adding, “I think it’s
only right that we have a little celebration of our own beforehand.” A weighted breath moved from
Sirius’ lungs as Remus’ lips migrated down his bared throat, and he couldn’t help but remember
when this was all they had – throat kisses that never dared move to the lips for fear it would lead to
something more, hips flush but never for more than a brief, heated moment, panting each other’s
names in warning and uneasiness.

“Well, I was about to make you breakfast, but your idea is much better,” Sirius laughed as he let
his fingers run through Remus’ unruly hair, while Remus’ fingers moved up the hem of Sirius’
shirt. “But I’d better turn off the oven now, before I burn the whole damn house down when I
forget it later.”

“I’ll allow it,” Remus said, smiling dreamily as Sirius stepped away, spinning so that he could keep
looking at Remus as he walked backward toward the kitchen, raising one seditious brow at the way
Remus tucked both thumbs into the elastic of his boxers, displaying much more of the tattoos on
both his hips, adjacent to the crease at his thigh. “Make it quick or I’ll start without you,” he
smirked arrogantly.

“Dammit, Moony,” Sirius hissed, sprinting off toward the kitchen as Remus sauntered back into the
bedroom. With a flick of his wrist, the oven was shut off, but just as Sirius turned to make a mad
dash to where Remus was most likely taking his only remaining item of clothing off, the back door
opened.

“Morning, Padfoot,” Teddy said simply, lazily swinging the kitchen door closed as he let himself
fall into the closest chair at their cozy kitchen table. “Is Fath – is Remus up yet? I’m hungry.”

“Isn’t Dora home?” Sirius asked in exasperation that was only half-pretend. “Can’t she cook you
breakfast? Remus doesn’t bake a dozen cinnamon rolls every day, you know. He doesn’t run a
bakery.”

Teddy shrugged, adjusting the ring in his nostril. “She’s at the youth center with Harry already.”

“Which is where we should be, which is why we haven’t made breakfast,” Sirius insisted, glancing
toward the hallway in impatience. “Listen, you go on ahead, I’m sure there’s food there, we’ll meet
y–”

“Why are you trying to get rid of me?” Teddy asked, narrowing his eyes in suspicion.
 “Look at me, I’m not even dressed,” Sirius said, gesturing down his torso at the pyjama bottoms
and Holyhead T-shirt with the stretched out collar from overuse. “And Remus isn’t even –”

“Just go get dressed then,” Teddy said, waving him away as he opened the refrigerator. “There’s
still some pastries left over from yesterday, I’ll eat that while I wait. And then we can go together.”

“Teddy,” Sirius seethed through clenched teeth, voice low. “Right now, I need you to –”

“Sirius,” Remus called sweetly, his voice coming from the hallway. Hoping desperately that
Remus had heard Teddy’s voice, Sirius pulled a wince, gone still in the suspense. “Forget
breakfast, my mouth is watering for your co–” And Remus appeared in the doorway, completely
stark naked. “Coffee,” he corrected quickly as Sirius immediately tossed him a dish towel to cover
his indiscretion the moment before Teddy pulled his head out of the fridge. “Hi, Teddy,” he said
with teeth clenched and ears pink.

With barely a glance in Remus’ direction, Teddy rolled his eyes. “You two are so gross.”

“Teddy, I love you, but the key was for emergencies,” Remus reminded him, still very naked.

“I’m hungry, that’s an emergency,” he argued through a mouthful of cold pastry, totally
unbothered by Remus’ state of undress. Just as Sirius was about to very politely tell Teddy to fuck
the fuck off, Teddy opened the back door, muttering under his breath, “Too busy shagging to let a
guy even heat up his pastry, honestly, I think I liked it better when he was a priest,” with a
mischievous smirk as he left.

After a few moments of awkward silence and a couple of very exasperated sighs, Sirius turned to
find Remus still holding the dish towel over his groin. “Ruined the moment?” Sirius asked
worriedly.

As an answer, Remus let the towel fall, and the drop of Sirius’ gaze was immediate, his eyebrows
rising high on his face in the same instant. “I’ll make it quick,” Remus promised, biting down on
his lip.

“Teddy can wait,” Sirius shrugged, stepping close and sliding Remus’ length into his loosely
formed first. Remus exhaled a breath of satisfaction, and Sirius craned up to catch it in his mouth
as he bathed Remus in a slow, languid kiss. “I’d rather let you take your time.” Remus twitched in
his hand.

“Are you sure?” he asked, purpose in his throat as he continued with a deliberate thought, “I could
fuck you right here on the floor, if you’d like.” With soft pressure and a softer whimper, Sirius
walked Remus backward without letting their lips part, pinning him to the wall for a moment.

“It would be just like the first time, in the hallway of my flat in London,” Sirius hummed into
Remus’ mouth from where it hung open and eager. “Back when you were still Father Lupin.”

“Do you miss it?” Remus asked with a knowing smirk as he tugged Sirius into the bedroom. “Do
you miss blatantly ogling me in my clerical collar?” His nose wrinkled as he antagonized Sirius.

“A little,” Sirius admitted as Remus pulled the threadbare T-shirt over Sirius’ head, a tumble of
loose, dark curls rising and falling around Sirius’ naked shoulders as Remus openly appreciated the
sight.

“I still have it, you know,” Remus said as he settled onto the edge of their bed, tucking his fingers
into the waist of Sirius’ pyjama bottoms and using the elastic to pull Sirius into the space between
his naked legs. Looking up at Sirius with intent, he added, “I still have that funeral chasuble you
like, too.”

“Fuck, really?” Sirius asked with a wildly suggestive smirk, single eyebrow high.

“And I’m still legally ordained,” Remus continued preying on Sirius’ weakness, working the rest
of Sirius’ clothes from his slender hips. “Technically, you wouldn’t be incorrect to call me Father.”

“Fuck me,” Sirius groaned, though it may have had more to do with the fact that, as soon as Sirius
was hanging bare before his lips, Remus took him wholly into his mouth, then all the more deeply
into his throat, as Sirius continued to speak. “You just want me to say that thing that makes you
come so hard.”

Slipping Sirius from between his teeth, Remus spoke, using the break in his words to lap hungrily
at the tip of Sirius’ cock. “And what thing is that?” he asked specifically, spurring Sirius to say it
again as he moved further onto the mattress, tugging at Sirius’ hips so that he would follow his
mouth. With wordless direction, Remus situated himself underneath Sirius’ spread legs and opened
his mouth, waiting.

“Bless me, Father,” Sirius teased with a smirk, watching the incited way Remus swallowed, the
moth on his throat fluttering in anticipation. All at once, Remus licked his lips, leaning up to
swallow Sirius’ cock, impatient with Sirius’ deliberately slow movements. As he let his head fall
back onto the mattress, Sirius had no choice but to lean over him, bracing against the mattress with
both hands. And as Remus reached up to hold Sirius by the backs of both thighs, Sirius let slip a
wavering, “Fuck me, Father.”

Remus responded with a deep and vibrating moan, eyes rolling closed as Sirius thrust into his
throat again, a little deeper, with Remus’ grip on his thighs tightening and pulling him in further.
For a moment, Sirius got lost in the debauched expression on Remus’ face, his mouth sucking
greedily under sunken cheeks, his amber eyes only opening to get a glimpse of the absolute ruin on
Sirius’ face.

With a soft pinch to Sirius’ thigh to get his attention, Remus gestured with a nod over to the
bedside table, speechless yet with his mouth still filled with Sirius’ throbbing skin. In
understanding, Sirius paused in his thrusting to rummage through the drawer, and as he leaned
over, he pulled slightly out of Remus’ mouth. Softly, Remus mouthed at the head of Sirius’ cock as
he let his fingers ghost down the backs of Sirius’ legs and back up again until Sirius finally leaned
back over him, bottle of lube in hand.

Without a word of instruction, Remus held out his hand, watching Sirius with an inflammatory
gaze as he continued to openly kiss the plush pink head of Sirius’ cock, and Sirius applied a
sufficient amount of lube into Remus’ waiting palm. There was a hum of satisfaction in Remus’
voice as he slipped his hand down between Sirius’ legs, his shoulder rubbing against the inside of
Sirius’ thigh as he began to pleasure himself underneath Sirius. At first, Sirius was so focused on
the heavy breaths that moved through Remus’ nostrils and the desperate hum in his full mouth and
the subtle movement of Remus’ arm that he nearly pulled out of Remus’ still-open lips. But Remus
craned up to keep him there, arguing with a delicate, aching moan, until Sirius moved back onto
his hands, pressing into Remus’ throat again.

Sirius moved back into the rhythm, thrusting into Remus’ eager mouth in time with the motion of
Remus’ fist that he could feel between his legs. At the same moment that he began approaching a
familiar edge, he felt Remus’ hand slide up the back of his leg, his fingers wet and slick. When
Sirius’ attention focused on Remus’ expression in response, there was nothing there but avarice
and need.
That expression remained in place as Remus’ softened touch slipped into the crevice of Sirius’
skin, the calluses on his fingertip rough against Sirius’ hidden, delicate skin. At first, Remus’
finger drew a tight but gentle circle, still wet and warm, eliciting a perpetual shudder in Sirius’
aching skin.

“God, please, just fuck me, Moony,” he begged, his voice indelicate and high, and Remus obeyed
at once, sliding without friction into the depths of Sirius’ skin with a satisfied hum in his occupied
mouth, the movement of Remus’ other hand around his own cock increasing in equal measure. The
harder Sirius fucked Remus’ mouth, the more mercilessly Remus fingered him, adding another
finger until he could surely feel Sirius throbbing between his teeth, aching with the need to spill out
between them.

Remus’ breathing was sublimely heavy, panting out warm through his nostrils against Sirius’ belly
with every inward trust, though his breaths were shunted every time Sirius drove in so deeply that
the precipice of his airway was half-filled with Sirius’ cock. The breaths in Sirius’ chest grew more
shallow, too, with every thrust of Remus’ fingers and every expertly timed swallow in Remus’
tightened throat.

“Remus, I’m – oh, fuck,” Sirius called breathlessly, on the verge, his exclamation hollowed out
into a soft, prolonged cry of, “Oh, God, Remus,” as his shoulders shuddered, his thighs quivered,
and he spilled out into Remus’ mouth, the muscle around Remus’ fingers fluttering with every
continued stroke.

After a thick, wet swallow, Remus pulled off of Sirius’ cock to breathe out, “Can I still fuck you?”

“Yes,” Sirius exhaled sharply, still wildly aroused, but absolutely spent. “But I’m …”

“I’ve got you,” Remus softly assured him as Sirius collapsed onto the mattress next to Remus, and
Remus shifted out from under Sirius’ limbs. Without being asked, Sirius lifted his hips from the
bed, and Remus held him on either side, his fingers still wet against Sirius’ skin. For a moment, he
paused, placing several tender kisses to the base of Sirius’ spine, and Sirius could feel him stroking
his own cock, keeping himself hard. “Do you want me to –” Before he could finish asking, Sirius
gave him an avid response.

“Yes, please,” Sirius answered eagerly, and without another moment of hesitation but with a
trembling breath of anticipation, Remus buried his face in the cleft of Sirius’ skin, his tongue
finding that same delicate skin that his fingers had found, circling it with his tongue the same way.
“Remus,” Sirius called out, the fires that his orgasm had put out almost immediately reignited. “Oh
my God.”

Remus paused his lazy oral exploration of Sirius’ wet skin only to say, “Jesus,” in that trademark
Irish lilt that got a little heavier, a little less subtle when Remus was really stimulated. With a
warm, heavy breath, Remus tilted his head back in again, kissing every part of Sirius’ skin
underneath his lips until those kisses grew open and messy and full of tongue. No longer was his
tongue drawing delicate circles, no longer was he lapping indolently at the plush of Sirius’ skin.
He gripped Sirius’ left hip hard, his right hand shifting against the back of Sirius’ thigh with every
stroke Remus delivered to his own cock, and he slipped his tongue into Sirius as deeply as he
could, spending as much time as he was able just tasting him, flicking that tongue back and forth
inside Sirius until Sirius was boneless, until he was begging.

“Remus,” he whined, his voice a whisper from his breathlessness. “Fuck me senseless.” But before
Remus stopped the movement of his tongue, Sirius felt him find the bottle of lube from within the
sheets, moving it closer to Sirius’ hand, and Sirius was grateful for it, his cock already hard and
aching again from the movement of Remus’ skillful tongue. With a generous palmful, Sirius fisted
his own cock, letting out a little sigh of satisfaction that quickly turned into a moan from the curl of
Remus’ tongue.

Just when Sirius thought he would come from the wicked drive of Remus’ tongue, from the
merciless way Remus fucked him with it, Remus pulled away with a sharp, panting breath,
straightening his back to align his hips with Sirius. And when he pushed in, there was nearly no
resistance at all with how open and wet Remus’ tongue had gotten him. With a groan, Remus
pulled out and thrust in again.

“Fuck me,” he groaned, both hands tight to Sirius’ hips, and Sirius stroked himself in time with
Remus’ thrusts. “Talk to me, Padfoot,” he begged, rolling his hips. “I want to come to the sound of
your voice.” There was a careful smile in the corner of Sirius’ lips as he readied to fulfill Remus’
favourite whim.

But the only thing on his tongue was truth, and he said it without thinking. “God, I love you so
much,” he said honestly, delirious in the closeness of the last orgasm and the approach of the next
one.

A quiet breath moved from Remus’ lips, his hips slowing for a moment as he said, “That’s the first
time you’ve said that to me,” in a tone that carried weight. While he continued the movement of his
hips, he slowed to a tender pace, pushing Sirius’ hair to one side so he could lean forward to place
a sentimental kiss to the back of Sirius’ neck, and Sirius indulged him, arching backward to
facilitate it.

“Technically, I said it at the church first,” Sirius reminded him, turning his head so that Remus
could continue lavishing him in affectionate kisses, most of them falling behind Sirius’ ear, leaving
him shivering under the warmth of Remus’ anxious breath. “I meant it then, and I mean it now.”

“Sirius,” Remus sighed deeply, moving one hand from Sirius’ hip so that could hold him adoringly
by the glass edge of his jaw, peppering tiny kisses down Sirius’ neck and across his shoulder blade.

“Don’t tell me I made the mood too heavy for you to keep fucking me,” Sirius laughed, taking
Remus’ hand on his face to move it to his mouth, pulling Remus’ middle finger into his lips.

“No, I …” Remus paused, pressing in deeply as Sirius swirled his tongue around Remus’ finger,
and Sirius could feel him twitch at the added stimulation. But his hips remained still. “Sirius, I’m
–”

“Don’t say anything, Remus, just …” he said as he pulled Remus’ fingers from his mouth, taking in
an unsteady breath and straightening his back carefully with Remus still buried within him. He
didn’t want Remus to feel forced to say it in return, he didn’t want to ruin the momentum any
further. “Just fuck me,” he commanded, moving Remus’ hand down to his own cock and coaxing
his fingers to stroke.

At first, Remus was quiet, moving as Sirius had instructed, and the air was weighted with things
that went unsaid. But, as always, Remus did the one thing that Sirius didn’t expect him to do.

“Say it again,” Remus softly requested, pressing his chest to Sirius’ back, their hips flush again.

“Fuck me,” Sirius repeated, lowering his voice further as he leaned his head back to rest it on
Remus’ shoulder. Despite how Remus’ body responded to that phrase, Remus let out a restless
breath.

“No, I want you to say the other thing,” he answered quietly, and Sirius couldn’t help but
remember the way Remus had said that very phrase the first time they were together like this.

“I love you.” Sirius said those words again, and this time, his voice was a little more fragile, a little
more cautious, a little more subdued. If Sirius thought Remus’ body had responded the first time,
he had been mistaken. Under this weighted phrase, Remus let out a heaving breath against the
overly sensitive skin at the curve of Sirius’ neck just before devouring it entirely, sucking and
biting until it bruised.

“Again,” Remus demanded, the harshness of his voice in strict opposition to the adoration for
which he was appealing. But as he carefully pulled out only to plunge into Sirius again and again
and again, the movement of his fist on Sirius’ cock stroking in time to his brutal thrusts, Sirius
went mindless, ready to bend to Remus’ every whim, especially when Remus whined, “Again,
Sirius. Please. God.”

“I love you, Remus,” he called out, all at once on empty lungs as Remus let out a low, grateful
moan into the bruised skin underneath his sharpened teeth. All these confessions were swelling in
Sirius’ chest, and before he could stop himself, the emotion began gushing. “And I’ve never been
in love before and I’ve never been so fucking terrified like this before and I don’t want to just do
things to you that are godless and vile and profane, I want to do things to you that are disgustingly
romantic and annoyingly affectionate because I love you, Moony. More than I have ever loved
anything in all my life.”

“Jesus, fuck.” With one last exhale, Remus shuddered against Sirius, his twitching hips pressed in
tight and his fingers trembling around Sirius’ length. “Christ,” he sighed heavily, sated and still,
pressing a soft, apologetic kiss against the skin he’d just violently assaulted with his mouth. After a
few seconds of coming down from his climax, he unwillingly pulled out of Sirius with a groan,
sounding discontented to have to separate from his bond to Sirius. “Come here, sit back,” Remus
instructed, settling against the headboard and pulling Sirius in between his spread legs, slicking up
his fingers with more lube before returning his fist to Sirius’ cock, much to Sirius’ very vocal
appreciation. With his free hand, he pushed Sirius’ long hair to one side, clearing the space to kiss
Sirius over the place where he’d marked him.

Finally looking toward the bedroom door, Sirius said, “You know, we probably should’ve closed
that door, now that Teddy lives next door to us,” he said with a playful wince as Remus let out a
breathy laugh against his skin, wrist still shifting in a dedicated rhythm. “And also since someone
gave him a key to our house,” he added, turning so that he could see the smile on Remus’ face,
muted and sweet.

“He knew we were shagging, he wouldn’t have come back,” Remus argued. “Besides, it couldn’t
be as bad as that time at James and Lily’s when they were home and we didn’t realise it.”

“Oh, James still won’t let me live that one down,” Sirius groaned, for more reason than one as the
grip of Remus’ fingers tightened around him. “Speaking of James, I gave him a key, too.”

Remus let out a short laugh. “Well now they have two, because I just gave one to Lily yesterday.”

“As soon as they move next week, that’ll be three neighbours who will have no concept of what a
locked door means,” Sirius said with a laugh that dissolved into a panting breath. “God, Remus.”

“If they walk in on us often enough, they’ll learn to start knocking,” Remus assured him, kissing
down the prominent bone of Sirius’ shoulder blade again. “I’m surprised they agreed to move
here.”

“You should be more surprised that I agreed to move here, considering it’s less than a block away
from my mother’s house,” Sirius argued, but it was short-lived as Remus’ kiss moved up his neck,
the still-unsettled breath from Remus’ orgasm panting out heavily into his ear, sending a jolt down
his spine.

“I wasn’t surprised at all,” Remus stated plainly. “You knew I couldn’t leave this place with all the
work that I’ve put into it. Not to mention, I couldn’t leave Teddy or Harry. And neither could you.”

“Besides, all the seeds that you planted here are finally bearing fruit,” Sirius spoke proudly,
reminding Remus of all he’d accomplished. “Your charitable youth center opens today.”

“Our youth center,” Remus reminded him. “Yours and mine and James’ and Lily’s.”

“When Mary told me that day at the church that she had another employment opportunity, I never
thought you’d both been planning the idea all that time,” Sirius said with a comfortable smile.

“Well, it was only an idea until you came along and gave me the … incentive,” Remus said with a
curious laugh, just as Sirius felt his breaths coming up short, his hips bucking a bit into Remus’
fist.

“Eight years of school and six years of practice, wasted because of your insatiable lust for me,
Father,” Sirius teased, his taunt fizzled into a desperate breath as Remus placed an open kiss to his
neck.

“Turns out, it’s still insatiable,” Remus sighed, kissing up the back of Sirius’ neck and into his
hopelessly mussed hair. “Because I’ve spent the last hour making love to you and I think I’d like to
make love to you for the rest of my life, Sirius, because I love you, too. More than anything,” he
whispered, burying his confession in a mass of words, using the increased stroke of his fist as a
distraction, but it didn’t get past Sirius. In fact, alongside Remus’ warm breath and his tight fist and
his soft kiss, it was part of the catalyst that led to Sirius’ second coming, so much heavier, so much
more profound than the first.

“Oh, fuck, Moony,” Sirius breathed out, every muscle shuddering, every inch of his skin fluttering,
every vein pulsing, and every flood of every orgasm for the rest of his life beginning and ending
with Remus Lupin. As he spilled out over Remus’ softly curled first, Remus let out a satisfied
moan, pulling his hand away from Sirius’ aching skin, evidently to admire the slip of Sirius’
orgasm between his fingers.

“It’s still hard for me to believe that, you know,” Remus said softly. “That you love me.”

With a derisive snort that evolved into a laugh, Sirius replied, “I’ve got a foolproof way to make
you believe it.” The growing smile on his face became hard to stifle. “Ask me how much.”

“How much do you love me?” Remus asked in a tone that sounded cautious. As Sirius turned in his
place between Remus’ legs, morning light from the bedroom window sparked over his silver eyes.

“More than I love James,” he said solemnly, raising his eyebrows to show his sincerity.

“Oh my God,” Remus breathed out in genuine surprise, a timid laugh moving up through his
throat, the celestial wings of the moth on his skin fluttering underneath it. “More than James?”

At first, Sirius shrugged, smiling, but it was interrupted by Remus charging forward to claim
Sirius’ mouth in a restless kiss, using his forearm to hold Sirius in place since his fingers were still
coated in the aftermath of Sirius’ climax. With a mumbled laugh, Sirius hummed his approval into
Remus’ lips.
For several long minutes, they stayed locked in this kiss as it devolved from something heated and
frantic to something comfortable and mild. After a while, when Remus moved his hand to Sirius’
ribs, still sticky and wet, Sirius thought he’d forgotten about opening day at the youth center and
about all the things they still had left to do beforehand and all the people waiting on them to arrive.
Until he spoke.

“Say it again,” Remus asked of him, a request into the depths of Sirius’ mouth, a split second
before he suddenly pulled away, holding out both hands to draw Sirius along behind him, and
Sirius didn’t hesitate to take his grip, despite the messy slide of their palms as they moved together.

“I love you,” Sirius repeated as Remus led him into the washroom, turning on the shower.

“No, the whole thing,” Remus corrected, pulling Sirius close, watching and waiting.

Sirius rolled his eyes. “I love you more than James.” As Remus stepped into the cloud of steam, he
glanced back at Sirius with a rise in that brow that had the scar running through it, smiling
wickedly.

“I’m telling James you said that.”

The moment they walked up to the youth center, a dozen people all swarmed in all at once to fight
for Remus’ attention. The hot cocoa vendor cancelled last minute, Mary reported in a tone that
conveyed worry, but not panic. Teddy was trying to fix the sound system, which had evidently
been working up until that moment, according to Dora. James and Lily hesitated to mention that
there were still workers finishing up installing the tile in the main room. Tugging on his sleeve was
Harry, who had been not-so-patiently waiting all that time for them both to arrive. After a breath,
Remus just smiled.

Every crisis was handled with grace and with ease. Having thought ahead, Remus had already
booked two separate hot cocoa vendors, and a single call to the second was all it took to arrange for
them to account for a larger crowd. It was getting cooler outside, after all, and surely their youth
center was not the only place arranging for an early autumn festival like this. The sound system
problem was practically easy for Remus himself to fix, having an abundance of experience with
audio equipment from all his shows with Holyhead. As for the tile – well, Mary would just lead
the tours of the new youth center around construction. And Harry was easily made content with a
ride on Remus’ lofty shoulders.

There was a lot of work to be done. Throughout the morning, Sirius lost track of Remus as they
worked on separate things. After all, the whole event had been Remus’ vision, he’d planned every
detail of the day, from the concessions to the games to the music to the tours. Of course, that meant
that every problem also funneled back to Remus, as well. But he managed each one with a smile.

The last Sirius had seen of Remus, he was handing out booth assignments – every festival booth
had to be manned by someone, but there was no shortage of volunteers. Mary would take care of
the building tours (she would be working as the director of the center, after all), James and Lily
would be doing face-painting for the kids, Marlene and Dorcas would hand out gift bags, Teddy
was running the sound booth and making announcements, and Sirius – well, Sirius had volunteered
for something specific.
 The festival wasn’t meant to start until late afternoon, when the sun sank low into the purple sky
and a chill moved through the air, when hot cocoa tasted the sweetest and twinkling lights looked
the most inviting. Everyone was bustling around to make last minute adjustments before the main
gate around the grounds opened. With only a few minutes to spare, Sirius began looking for
Remus, passing Pete at his booth (where he would be drawing caricatures), and he gave him a little
wave.

As Teddy started the music and visitors began to arrive (thanks to the immense amount of
advertising Remus had done for the event), Sirius smiled at hearing a familiar song playing
overhead. Above the soft glow of yellow lights that would grow brighter into the evening, above
the gold and burgundy balloons that were tied to every booth where people lined up to enjoy toffee
apples and popcorn and spiced tea, above games of chance where kids could toss ping pong balls to
win a goldfish with bright scales of pink and orange and red, above the banner that read ‘Regulus
Arcturus Youth Center Grand Opening!’, drifted a song that sent a surge of affection into Sirius’
chest. It was their song.

Before he could look around to find Remus in the crowd, Remus was already sliding his hands
around Sirius’ waist from behind, singing sweetly into his ear next to delicately placed kisses.
“Lately I’m alright, and lately I’m not scared,” he sang, his voice low and breathy, his lips warm
against Sirius’ neck.

Sirius finished the line for him, singing with a maudlin smile, “I’ve figured out that what you do to
me feels like I’m floating on air,” as he let his fingers drift up to where Remus had pressed his face
to Sirius’ own. As his touch moved to Remus’ throat, it was impeded by something unyielding.
With a furrow in his brow, Sirius turned in his place in Remus’ arms to be greeted by a smile and a
surprisingly nervous swallow, and Sirius watched the movement of his throat. Under his fitted
clerical collar.

At the worried widening of Sirius’ eyes, Remus quickly explained. “Don’t look at me like that, I’m
not going back to the church,” he said, and Sirius breathed out a sigh of relief. “I just thought I’d
look a little more … virtuous, if I wore the collar. You know, to cover up my massive amount of
tattoos.”

“Hey, I like those tattoos,” Sirius grumbled, tugging at the collar to peek underneath it.

“Father Lupin!” they heard from across the lawn. In practiced form, as if it were four months
earlier and they were still forbidden from touching, Sirius and Remus separated quickly, glancing
over at each other with knowing smiles as they were approached by a strangely large group of
people.

“Arthur,” Remus said in surprise as he shook the older man’s hand. “Good to see you, good to see
all of you,” he said to the group of eight standing in front of him, and Sirius quickly realised, by
their matching freckles and varying shades of red hair that they were all one family. “Sirius, these
are the Weasleys, members of my … well, my former church,” he said with a crooked grin.

“Any relation to Bill?” Sirius asked. “He owns a pub down from my flat." He glanced at Remus
with pride. "Well, used to be my flat.”

“He’s our oldest!” the man called Arthur said with a ferocious smile, immediately shooting out his
arm to shake Sirius’ hand, and Sirius felt like his whole body shook with it. “Small world!”

“I’m Sirius. It’s nice to meet you,” Sirius said, wearing that infectious smile.

“Listen, Father,” Arthur said, taking on a slightly more solemn tone.

“It’s just Remus now, Arthur,” Remus reminded him with a quiet smile.

“Right, right – Remus,” he nodded, his smile a brief intermission from his stern expression. “I
didn’t get to tell you back then, but what the church did to you was terrible, just terrible.”

“I appreciate that, Arthur,” Remus responded with a near-sigh, finding Sirius’ fingers next to him.

“Since you left, that church has been nothing but fire and brimstone,” the woman next to Arthur
said with a disappointed shake of her head. “Sorry, hello, love,” she said, turning to Sirius. “I’m
Molly.”

“Lovely to meet you, Molly, I’m Sirius,” he said again, gently shaking her hand.

“I remember you,” she said, eyes shining. Sirius pulled his lips into his teeth.

“Right. The photo,” he said with a grimace. In truth, he loved that photo (kept it framed on the
bedside table on his side of the bed), but he didn’t love the memory of the panic it had incited in
him that day. He didn’t love to remember the look on Remus’ face as he stood in the door of his
empty flat in the basement of the church for the last time, not knowing where his life was going to
lead. He didn’t love being reminded of the way Remus had cried on the way to James and Lily’s,
over the life he’d lost.

“No, dear, not the photo,” Molly said with a dismissive wave before leaning in, cupping her mouth
with one hand to whisper, away from the ears of her children, “Though I thought the photo was
rather sweet, even if it was a little risqué.” With a hearty laugh, Arthur finished her thought.

“She’s talking about Fathe– sorry, Remus’ last day in the church,” he said with a fond smile in
Sirius’ direction, going so far as to clap one hand to Sirius’ shoulder, and the other to Remus’
shoulder.

“It was such a romantic gesture,” Molly said, clasping her hands in front of her. “The way you
stood in the aisle to wait for him,” she said to Sirius, before turning to Remus to add, “The way you
reached for his hand before walking out together. I had tears just pouring down my cheeks!”

The smile on Sirius’ face was immense. “It was rather romantic, wasn’t it?” he said with a
deliberate wink in Remus’ direction, quite pleased with the way Remus’ ears turned pink in
response.

“And, you know, we’re certainly not the only ones who have left the church since you were forced
out,” Arthur said with a click of his teeth. “Plenty of people weren’t happy with the way they
treated you, and many more are not happy with the way the church is being run now that you’re
gone.”

“So, you can just imagine how tickled we all were to hear that it was you starting up this youth
center!” Molly said, reaching out to give each of them a squeeze on their shoulders.

“We told everyone we knew who left the church when you did,” Arthur added.

“Oh, I’ve told everyone we know, in general!” Molly gushed. “It’s really a wonderful thing you’re
both doing.” Before Remus or Sirius could get another word in edgewise, Arthur spoke up again.

“Going back to the faith, Remus?” he asked, gesturing to Remus’ clerical collar. But Remus just
shook his head as he lowered his gaze, bashfully running his fingers through the back of his hair.

“No, not … not properly,” Remus admitted, and Sirius smiled quietly at the way the tattoos on
Remus’ wrist were visible when the long sleeve of his shirt stretched a bit too far. “I just think the
collar lends me a little more esteem that the tattoos do.” With another loud laugh, Arthur shook his
head.

“I think you’ll find you won’t even need it,” he said with a wide grin.

“It was good to see you, Arthur,” Remus said, reaching in to shake Arthur’s hand again, in that
same, two-handed way that Pete shook his hand the first time Sirius met him. “Prayer groups start
on Wednesday evenings, if you and the kids want to come by. Maybe you and Molly can help me
lead.”

“Love to,” Molly beamed, a curious twinkle in her eye as he added, “And I think you’ll find we’re
not the only ones willing to volunteer.” As they walked away (and Remus waved at the kids of
varying ages who followed after them), Sirius realised that there was practically a queue behind
them. And they were all there to talk to Remus. Molly had been right – they were all former
members of Remus’ church, and there wasn’t a soul among them who didn’t want to help Remus
with running the youth center in one way or another, whether it was donating money, donating
time, donating food, or talents (Marlene, Dorcas, Alice and Frank had all volunteered to give free
music lessons for their respective instrument once a week, Pete had offered free art classes).

It was probably an hour later when Sirius managed to pull Remus from the crowd, citing his other
duties for the evening. And this queue was even longer than the first. With a devious grin, Sirius
dragged Remus toward the booth, much to Remus’ loud displeasure. His complaining alone drew
quite the crowd.

As Remus settled into the seat, his toes dipping into the warm water of the heated tank underneath
him, Sirius called out, in an obnoxious voice, “Dunk the priest! Baptize the holy man!”

“You know, when I agreed to do this,” Remus sighed, “I didn’t know it would be this cold out.”

“Which is why I forked over the extra cash to get the heated dunk tank, Moony,” Sirius said with a
wide, cheesy grin. “I’m not a sadist, you know.” At first, Remus opened his mouth to add a snarky
comment, likely full of innuendo, but he quickly clamped his mouth shut again, glaring at Sirius.

“You owe me one of those apple pastries from Frank and Alice’s booth when this is over,” Remus
bargained, just as the first contender stepped up, a gleam in his eye as Sirius handed him a
weighted ball.

“This is for what I almost had to see this morning,” Teddy said with a sneer as he launched the ball
at the target. It was a bullseye. With an adorable yelp, Remus went straight down into the water.

As Remus energetically resurfaced, flinging the wet curls from his face with a sharp toss of his
head, he spit a mouthful of water into Teddy’s direction, laughing as he yelled, “Maybe that will
teach you to knock next time, Teddy!”

“Sorry, Teddy, my boy, I agree with Remus on this one,” Sirius shrugged, leaning out of his booth
as Remus did the same from his tank, and they met in the middle with a very wet kiss, made worse
by Remus’ intentional splashing. “Though I will admit, it was exceptionally entertaining to watch.”

One by one, all their friends came by to take a turn sending Remus into the warm water bath, but
they all made it up to him by bringing him a warm drink or a pastry or a caricature of him
submerged in the tank (Pete said he would be offended if they didn’t hang it in their living room) in
between dunks.
Watching his friends meld seamlessly with Remus’ friends left Sirius with a grin so wide that it
burned a blissful soreness into his cheeks. James and Pete and Kingsley were conspiring about
how to get Sirius into the dunk tank next (they thought they were being sneaky, but they weren’t),
Frank and Marlene were discussing pros and cons of different brands of guitar, Alice and Dora and
Lily were sharing a big plate of different samplings of the festival foods, Dorcas and Mary were
helping Harry decide which prize he wanted to win for Teddy (who was across the way deciding
the same thing about Harry’s prize).

After a few more dips into the water, when the evening grew late and the visitors all wandered
home, Sirius helped Remus out of the tank and their party moved into the new building, where
their friends snacked on leftover apple turnovers and pumpkin pastries while Remus (and also
Sirius, who had gotten soaked in the process of helping Remus out of the tank) changed in Remus’
office.

When they emerged in dry clothes (after getting a bit sidetracked in the process of getting naked
right next to one another), they found two cups of warm chai and a plate of cruffins waiting on
them.

“What took you so long?” Marlene asked with a pointedly raised brow. And if Harry hadn’t been
watching Sirius just then, Sirius could’ve given Marlene the finger as a reply. Instead, he just
grinned.

“Trying out the new desk,” he said sweetly while everyone (except Harry) groaned.

“Anyway, now that you’re back,” James said, taking Lily’s hand tightly. “We have something that
we wanted to announce.” As Sirius’ eyes darted over to Lily, her smile seemed uncontainable.

“Well, it’s not really so much an announcement as it is a proposal,” Lily half-corrected, the smile
on her face only growing. With a covert nod, Teddy coaxed Harry to stand up with him.

“Wait, I want to hear the announcement!” Harry argued, at first, until Teddy let him by the hand
over to where James and Lily knelt in front of him. He blinked behind his round frames.

“Bambi,” James said as he and Lily took each of his hands. “Lily and I were wondering – well, we
were hoping, actually, that you might want to come and live with us. From now on.”

At first, Harry was quiet, his hazel eyes darting back and forth between them. “What about
Teddy?” he asked carefully, looking up to where Teddy was still standing next to him.

“We bought the house down the street. You can still see Teddy whenever you like,” Lily promised,
squeezing Harry’s fingers softly within her own. At the same time, Sirius felt Remus’ hand find his
fingers, too, hearing the soft, contented sigh in Remus’ voice. Sirius found himself mirroring it.

“And I would live with you?” Harry repeated, as if in disbelief. “Like … like a family?”

There were immediate tears in Lily’s green eyes. “Yes, Harry, we want to be your family. We
already finished all the paperwork, we just … we wanted to make sure this is what you wanted.”
For a long time, Harry stood absolutely still, glancing between James and Lily, until eventually, his
gaze found Sirius’ eyes from over James’ shoulder and Remus’ over Lily’s shoulder. He blinked
again, and Sirius finally noticed the way his bottom lip trembled. Tears swelled in his eyes,
magnified by his lenses.

“You want to be my mum and dad?” he asked as the tears rolled down his reddened cheeks. “Are
you sure?” he cried, swiping ferociously at the tears on his face that slipped past his frames.
“Harry,” Sirius breathed out all at once, finding tears in his own eyes. Remus tightened the grip he
had on Sirius’ hand, bringing Sirius’ fingers up to his lips to press a kiss to the heart on Sirius’
knuckle.

“We’ve never been more sure about anything,” Lily assured him, taking his face into her hands.

“But what if …” he sniffled sharply, “ … what if I make you mad? What if you think I’m weird?”

A careful laugh moved from James’ lips, unsettling a couple tears of his own as he moved his hand
into Harry’s hair, still as choppy as when he’d cut it himself. “Harry,” he said, affection bleeding
through his voice. “You could never do anything that would ever make us love you less. The first
time we met you, we decided that we wanted to be your mum and dad. Nothing will ever change
that.” As the tears on Harry’s cheeks began falling more rapidly, he took his glasses off, blinking
and sniffling. “And you’re worried about being weird?” James said with an audible scoff. “Just
look as us!” he said, throwing out his hand at the group of misfits that were gathered together.
“Everyone here is weird! We like being weird! Which means, if you’re weird, too – well, then you
fit in just perfectly, if you ask me.”

“So,” Lily said on a nervous breath, “What do you say, Harry? Do you think it would be alright if
we could be your mum and dad?” As Harry put his glasses back on, his eyes wide and full of tears
that hadn’t yet spilled over, he blinked, the tears ran down his face, and then welled right back up
again.

“Yeah,” he said with a soft sob, bottom lip still trembling as he nodded. “That’s what I want.”

“Yeah?” Lily confirmed with a wet smile, tears streaming unnumbered down her pink, freckled
cheeks. And Harry just nodded again, looking at Lily like he was waiting for something. When she
asked him, “Can I hug you? Is that alright?” he leapt forward and wrapped his arms around her
neck.

“Mums don’t have to ask kids for hugs,” he said sagely, still crying, sniffling into her red hair and
holding on tightly. Quickly, James wrapped them both up within his embrace and squeezed until
Harry let out a playful shriek, eliciting a full, beautiful laugh from Lily’s lips as their friends
cheered.

There wasn’t a dry eye in the room, but especially not from Sirius and Remus, and especially not
after James and Lily asked them both to be Harry’s godfathers. As Harry received hugs and kisses
and congratulations from all their friends, Remus pulled Sirius in close, placing a teary kiss onto
Sirius’ lips, whispering his love into Sirius’ skin for a moment. When they pulled away, they
didn’t pull very far, and together, they picked up Harry, squishing him between them as they each
kissed one side of his face.

As Harry flittered excitedly around the room, with James and Lily in tow, Remus placed his lips to
Sirius’ cheek, whispering, “Speaking of new-found family, I have a surprise for you.” There was
an immediate smirk on Sirius’ face, deprecating joke on his tongue before he could even turn.

“I hope you’re adopting me out to a new mother,” he huffed under his breath, brow raised high.

Remus partly interrupted in his enthusiasm. “His surname was Hayworth,” he said, and there was
an immediate, inexplicable tightness in Sirius’ chest at that name as he fully looked over to see
Remus beaming in Sirius’ direction. “Your Uncle Alphard’s partner, William. His surname was
Hayworth.”

“Remus,” Sirius said with a slow, outward breath, an unexpected renewal of tears in his eyes.
“He’s flying out next month,” Remus said, looking cautiously in Sirius’ direction, most likely
because Sirius’ trembling fingers had found their way to the shoulder of Remus’ shirt, gripping
tightly.

“How did you –” he began to ask, but Remus finished the thought that Sirius’ couldn’t.

“It took me a long time,” Remus admitted, still watching Sirius carefully, as if he couldn’t quite
decipher the complex flurry of emotions moving over Sirius’ face. “He’s excited to see you again.”

“He’s going to ask me about Reg,” Sirius said with a heavy swallow, looking up with worry in his
expression, but Remus lightly shook his head, pulling Sirius close to his chest, and Sirius relaxed
into him.

“I filled him in on a couple things.” Remus let out a quiet sigh. “He just wants to see you.”

With a tentative smile on his face, Sirius looked up from where Remus still held him close to his
chest. “I love you, do you know that? I don’t think you can comprehend exactly how much I love
you.”

There was a curiously arrogant smile on Remus’ face as he confidently said, “More than James,
from what I've heard.”

“Feels like we haven’t been here in ages,” James said, taking a deep breath in, and Sirius knew he
was breathing in the scent of spilled whiskey and stale cigarette smoke. It was a strangely nostalgic
smell, and Sirius couldn’t help but smile at the memories it invoked. One memory, quite in
particular.

“That’s because you’re a fucking parent now, with responsibilities and shit,” Sirius grumbled,
though he actually couldn’t have been happier for James and Lily and Harry. Not to mention, he
was rather enjoying all the nights Harry and Teddy came over to watch cartoons and play board
games and build fortresses out of the cushions of their sofa and play hide-and-seek in the garden
after dark.

“He really wanted to come watch Lily play,” James said, looking distraught. “I hated having to
leave him with Dora and Teddy. I mean, I know they’ll have fun at the cinema, but he looked so
sad.”

“Maybe we can convince Remus to let us use the youth center,” Sirius said, flashing his eyebrows
up high a few times. “You know, a controlled environment, just Fidelius and Holyhead.”

“Speaking of Holyhead, is Remus ever going to get to play again?” James asked with a heavy sigh
as he looked toward the stage, watching as the previous band packed up all their equipment. And
while Sirius knew that feeling intimately, he also knew he didn’t want to guilt Remus into playing
again.

“He’s just busy, Prongs,” Sirius said with a shrug and a sigh, seeing Rubeus pass by from beyond
the crowd and giving him a quick wave. “There’s so much to do at the youth center. He’s got
plenty of volunteers to help, but he’s the one who has to coordinate all those people. Mary’s got her
hands full trying to keep up the books with all the donations coming in, and Dora’s practically
running ragged trying to juggle all the extra counseling sessions she’s been booking on top of what
she already had.”

With a smirk, James reminded him, “It’s still better than when he was at the church.”

“Oh, there’s no contest,” Sirius sighed heavily, before adding a smirk of his own. “Remus still gets
to come home to me every night, after all.” Sometimes, he forgot what it was like to sneak around
(except that one time Remus donned the collar and they snuck into his old church in the middle of
the night to fool around in the confessional), forgot what it was like to have to keep himself from
kissing Remus whenever the fuck he felt like it. He had never been so happy to forget something in
all his life. Except when he forgot he had a living mother. Though, it was occasionally nice to be
reminded of how miserable she was nowadays, all alone in a wide, empty, derelict house.

“Hiya, gents,” Sirius suddenly heard to his left, and he turned slightly to see Pete squeezing into
the crowd from somewhere behind him, slipping through openings between people like a mouse
through cracks.

“Hiya, Wormy,” Sirius beamed, pulling Pete close to his face so he could plant a kiss to the
delicate flower vine that was tattooed along Pete’s bleach-white hairline. As always, Pete reveled
in it.

“How was work?” James asked, and Pete took a breath. Which meant there was a story coming,
told in the form of multiple run-on sentences and lungs that didn’t have enough air to complete
them.

“Oh, okay, so my last session was this giant of a bloke, right, like the most massive dude you’ve
ever seen and he gets into my chair and I’m thinking he’s going to want to do some stupid hyper-
masculine design that either has an eagle or a lion on it – no offense, Sirius, yours is lovely – but he
says it’s a tattoo of his dog, so like a Rottweiler or something, right, but no, it’s a fucking
chihuahua with a little pink bow on her collar, and anyway, I think you should turn around now,
Sirius,” Pete said all in one breath, splashing on a ridiculous grin, and before Sirius’ brain could
process all the information in Pete’s sentence, Pete took him by the shoulders and physically turned
him around toward the stage.

Suddenly, right in front of him was a familiar pair of glamorously oversized white sunglasses over
a characteristic black surgical mask. The immediate breath that Sirius took in was audible, surging
in violently through lips pursed in surprise. From behind the mask, there was a soft, stifled laugh.

“Moony,” Sirius breathed out, gazing at him dumbly, his mouth hanging open in shock. Before
Sirius could do or say anything more, a callused touch slipped underneath his chin, coaxing his
mouth closed. The moment his lips were together, the man in the mask leaned forward and pressed
a soft (but blatantly open) kiss to Sirius’ lips. Right through the mask. Sirius’ mouth went back to
hanging open, but only for a moment. “You son of a bitch,” Sirius hissed, finally snapping himself
out of the trance under which he had been so unwillingly (but blissfully) placed. That careful laugh
puffed out from underneath the mask again. “You could’ve told me.” Sirius reached forward and
tugged on the hem of his trousers.

“Where’s the fun in that?” a familiar, but muffled voice responded, and Sirius couldn’t help but
laugh, remembering the last time those words had been said in this exact context.

As the band continued setting up, Sirius allowed himself to revel in the sight that he hadn’t seen in
months. The plaid overshirt, sleeves rolled up to the elbow to display his forearm tattoos – the line
of a hymn, a ram’s skull, an elephant-headed god, prayer hands on fire. Now, there were a few new
ones alongside – the phases of the moon across the backs of his knuckles, the word PADFOOT in
stick-and-poke style (that Sirius had inked on his wrist himself), and a lip print just behind his left
ear (that was the spot that made him go a little weak in the knees). As always, he wore an
ironically sacrilegious T-shirt, and this one read ‘Punk rock saved my mortal soul’ which Sirius got
additional pleasure from, considering he was the one who had picked it out. Over one shoulder
hung a floral strap, holding up the matte-black Rickenbacker six-string bass guitar that Sirius had
recently seen hanging over a lot more naked skin.

Without shame, Sirius put his fingers between his teeth and whistled, reminded of not only the first
time he’d done that, at the conclusion of their first show, but it also reminded him of the time he’d
heard that voice whistling from inside a church, before they’d ever even met. Remembering that
left him breathless, wondering how he’d ever gotten so lucky to meet this man twice, as two
different people.

And then, just as the instruments were all set up, and Dorcas was settling onto her drum seat and
Marlene was stepping to the mic, the man in the mask did the thing that Sirius least expected. He
knelt, close to his pedal board, and pulled a pair of round, gold frames from a hidden case,
removing Moony’s trademark sunglasses to swap them for Remus’ trademark eyeglasses. The
moment the darker lenses were out of the way, his amber eyes were on Sirius, or maybe they’d
been on Sirius the whole time. As he stood, and Marlene said, ‘Hi, how the fuck are ya, we’re
Holyhead,’ he ripped the mask from his face.

It was so surreal to look onto this stage, to see Holyhead there, and to see Remus Lupin standing
with them, his bass against his hips, his microphone against his lips. Despite that Sirius knew it
was him, despite how long he’d known it was him. To see it with his own eyes left him reeling and
overwhelmed.

At the same moment that Marlene hit a prolonged chord, Remus started into a singular bassline,
watching Sirius with an outlandish smile on his face. This was the smile that had been there the
whole time, hidden behind that paper mask. Maybe it was lucky that he’d worn that mask all this
time, because if Sirius had seen this smile the first night, that first show, he would’ve tried to take
Remus home that very night. Of course, if he had succeeded back then, Remus wouldn’t have
stayed, couldn’t have, and Sirius likely wouldn’t have gone to Mass the next morning, and he never
would’ve met Father Lupin. And maybe he would’ve never gotten to know the real Remus – the
Remus who took in stray teenagers and baked them cinnamon rolls every morning and built his life
on a faith that he made entirely his own, a faith so deep and so full, it made other forms of
organized religion look glaringly empty in comparison.

When Remus stepped forward, Sirius finally got to see the actual press of his lips to the mic, and he
let out an incited breath at the pliable plush of Remus’ lips against unyielding metal. That enduring
sigh in Sirius’ chest only grew as Remus started to sing. “I wanna paint it on every wall,” he sang,
that smile ever in place as he unashamedly serenaded Sirius in the crowd. “And shout it out up and
down the halls.” In the background, Marlene and Dorcas vocalized ‘whoa, oh, oh, oh, oh!’ and
they looked as enamored as Sirius was to see Remus playing with such blatant and bared
enthusiasm.

“I wanna post it in shining lights,” Remus sang through a playful snarl, his clenched teeth exposed
from the emphatic wrinkling of his nose. “’Cause I just can’t keep it bottled up inside!” His voice
rose high in both the cadence of the song and in his excitement, and Sirius was enraptured to see
the return of that hallmark roll of his hips and the sway of his shoulders as he danced in place, lips
tight to the microphone.

“I wanna call up every single person I know, write a song and play it on the radio, stick a message
in a bottle and then I’ll let it go,” he sang all in one breath, with that distinctive gasp in his breath-
starved throat as he replenished the oxygen in his lungs between lines, and it left Sirius just as
flushed as it had the first time he’d heard it. Together, he and Marlene and Dorcas all carried a
‘whoa, oh, oh, whoa, oh, oh,’ in the transition, and as Remus looked over at the girls, they all
looked absolutely giddy.

“I don’t care what people might think, I’ve got your name in permanent ink,” he continued,
delivering an overt wink in Sirius’ direction, lifting his hand for only a second to show the upside
down PADFOOT that Sirius had tattooed onto his wrist. “Cause, baby, this ship ain’t never gonna
sink.” All at once, the three of them stopped the melody, all of them holding their hands in the air
for a moment while they carried on in voice alone with another ‘whoa, oh, oh, whoa, oh,’ before
jumping back in. And Sirius couldn’t help but smile, remembering the way they’d done exactly this
during that first show, this same synchronized halt to the melody, their hands in the air, singing a
song called Dear Your Holiness.

As they moved into the chorus, Remus’ smile grew to depths that Sirius had only seen on very few,
very lucky occasions – when Sirius had guessed his name might be Roman, the first time Sirius
called him Moony (by accident), when Harry asked if he could get glasses like Father Lupin’s, and
now, right now, while Remus was on stage, singing him a pop punk love song. With that smile still
in place, Remus continued to proudly sing to him, “So, kiss me like nobody’s watching. Yeah,
people are talking,” he pronounced sharply, reminding Sirius of the way Remus was forced out of
the church because of people talking, but when he moved into the next line, Sirius grinned wildly.
“It doesn’t matter what they say. Just kiss me, in the middle of the street to let the whole world see
that there’s nobody else for me.”

In the back, as Marlene and Dorcas sang ‘na, na, na,’ Remus leaned in to let his callused fingertips
brush up from the base of Sirius’ throat, all the way along the underside of his chin, and Sirius rose
his face to let Remus have his way. It resulted in Remus looking monstrously pleased, biting down
onto his tongue with his sharpened canine, with a stimulated rise in his attractively scored brow.

When he moved back to the mic, his voice was a little more breathless, and in turn, it led to Sirius
struggling to find his own breath. “People around us are cynical. Go ahead and say that we’re
typical,” he crooned, leaning heavily into the mic as Marlene and Dorcas harmonized behind him
with ‘whoa, oh, oh, oh, oh!’ With his uniquely amber gaze directed at Sirius, the stage lights
changing the color of his eyes ten different shades in an instant, he continued with, “True love is
dead? Well, that’s a lie. ‘Cause we’ll be together ‘til the end of time,” and his voice went high and
urgent as he watched Sirius watch him.

But if Sirius thought there was implication in this song before, he knew nothing until he heard
Remus sing the words, “Now I’m burning up, I’m speaking in tongues,” as Remus winked again,
wrinkled his nose again, all reference to Remus’ sordid past as a spiritual leader. “Listen to my
heart, it’s beating like a drum, I’m screaming your name at the top of my lungs.” Once more, as
Marlene and Dorcas provided the backing vocals, and Remus’ mouth wasn’t occupied, he quickly
pulled his bottom lip into his teeth so that he could gaze down at Sirius with want and intent, and
Sirius returned that look tenfold.

“I don’t care what people might think, I’ve got your name in permanent ink, ‘cause, baby, this ship
ain’t never gonna sink!” At the end of his lyric, he let out a sharp, little ‘woo!’ just like he had at
the last show, a verbal expression of his unbridled energy and exhilaration over playing bass as
himself.

“So, kiss me,” he hummed contentedly, closing his eyes as he reveled in the expression of those
words, “Like nobody’s watching. Yeah, people are talking. Doesn’t matter what they say. Just kiss
me,” he said with urgency, and Sirius was ready to obey his commandment. “In the middle of the
street, to let the whole world see that there’s nobody else for me.” He held out that note a little
longer than the last chorus, as Dorcas and Marlene sang another chorus of ‘na, na, na,’ and, in the
space before he had to be back at the mic, Remus danced around the stage, nudging up against
Marlene’s shoulder as she laughed into her microphone, and then standing with one foot propped
up on the top of Dorcas’ kick drum. With every movement he made, Sirius remembered why he’d
immediately fallen in love with him after seeing him on stage – it was because everything he did,
he did it with such fondness and devotion and fervour.

As the melody began to slow, Sirius’ smile grew to proportions that his face couldn’t contain,
because he knew, he knew, he knew that Remus was going to use the bridge for his own devices,
just as he’d done in every single show before this one. And just as Sirius predicted, Remus slung
his bass behind his back and knelt in front of Sirius in one, fluid motion as Marlene played a slow,
sentimental solo on her guitar, she and Dorcas taking over the repetition of the lyrics as Remus
found himself rather busy.

This time, however, it wasn’t Remus who made the first move. Instead, Sirius reached up, in awe
at the fact that he could see this face on this stage, that he could reach out and touch those lips
without the barrier of a mask in the way. And he did just that, Remus parting his lips to facilitate
the movement of Sirius’ affectionate touch. Somewhere in the background, Sirius could hear
Marlene and Dorcas singing in harmony, ‘I don’t care what people might think, I’ve got your name
in permanent ink,’ and before Sirius could wrap his fingers around Remus’ chin to pull him down,
the song came to an abrupt halt.

In that empty space, Remus immediately surged forward and claimed Sirius’ lips in a profoundly
impassioned kiss, his fingers curled around the base of Sirius’ skull to pull him that much closer.
Suddenly, it was almost like none of the last four months had even happened, because having
Remus’ lips to his just then gave him the same jolt down his spine as the first one through the
mask, as the near-miss in his mother’s house, as the one in Remus’ flat before the prayer vigil. It
left his limbs tingling, his body weightless, his mind empty except for a devoted focus on the taste
of Remus Lupin’s lips.

Just as Sirius began to lose himself to the warmth of Remus’ mouth and the lull of his tongue, a
sharp clearing of Marlene’s throat shook them from their bliss, though not quite enough for Remus
to pull away from Sirius. Instead, he glanced over, one eye open, their lips still firmly locked
together.

Marlene clicked her tongue. “Right, yeah, that was the part where you were supposed to come
back in,” she said, looking hilariously exasperated as he finally pulled off of Sirius’ mouth with a
wince, leaning back in for another quick peck before moving back to his feet and using a single
swing of his hips to shift the bass back into his waiting hands. “Let’s just try that again, shall we?”
she asked, laughing.

With a nod, Remus shouted out a “One, two, three, four!” some distance away from his mic, and
they moved immediately back into the chorus. “Kiss me like nobody’s watching,” he sang,
glancing down at Sirius, audibly laughing into his mic at the flushed expression on Sirius’ face, as
Remus’ own ears went pink. “Yeah, people are talking. It doesn’t matter what they say. Just kiss
me in the middle of the street, to let the whole world see that there’s nobody else for me!” His
voice was high and bright, his eyes closed as he moved effortlessly out of one note and slid into the
next. “There’s nobody else for me,” he crooned, pushing his lips deeply against the mic so that
Sirius could hear the sincerity in his voice, in his confession.

The girls continued closing the song without him as Remus ripped the strap over his head and set
his bass down onto the closest stand before hopping down into the crowd next to Sirius. With fire
in his impatient movements, he pulled Sirius to his chest and kissed him. Like nobody was
 watching.

Sirius only pulled away to say, breathlessly, “I guess I was right about that thing I said to James
after the very first Holyhead show I ever saw. It looks like it may end up being true.” With a soft
furrow in his brow, speckled with greys, just like the hair on his head and the stubble on his face,
Remus smiled.

“And what thing was that?” Remus asked, amber eyes glowing behind gold frames.

With a smirk, Sirius replied. “I’m gonna marry that babe on the bass someday.” And Remus just
laughed. Loudly. From behind his back, Sirius held out his open palm. Finally, James paid up that
ten quid from the bet they made. As it turned out, that bass player from Holyhead was a total
smokeshow.

End Notes

come yell at me about this fic on tumblr at @mollymarymarie ❤️

Works inspired by this one

Please drop by the archive and comment to let the author know if you enjoyed their work!