Chapter Text
Remus’ first kiss was with Mya Singh at thirteen years old. It was wet and messy and tasted like her lip gloss—green apple, Remus remembered, because he would think about it and blush whenever his Mum slipped one into his lunch bag for months. He remembered the way Mya giggled nervously when their teeth clacked together or when he missed her mouth entirely. He remembered how he couldn’t really see her face in that dark, empty theatre, lit only by the dim screen of the summer horror flick neither of them planned on watching, but he could feel the strands of soft, silky hair graze his neck every time she leaned in and her eyelashes flutter across his cheek and his heart pound against his ribcage so loud he was sure she would hear it and pull away to ask if he was okay.
It wasn’t a good kiss exactly, but it was a good first one, and Remus would be appropriately heartbroken for three whole days when she and her family moved away a month later, before hyperfixating on someone else like you were supposed to when you were his age.
More than that though, he remembered joining his friends outside the cinema, where they leaned dutifully against the wall, looking only a little bummed to be missing the movie they paid for. But that was the burden of friendship: blowing eight quid on a film you knew you wouldn’t get to see, so your mate could snog uninterrupted without garnering parental suspicion. Remus had done it plenty of times himself.
“Well?” James asked, already grinning like mad. “How was it?”
Peter looked Remus over skeptically. “You did do it, right? You didn’t chicken out like last time?”
“’Course he did,” said Sirius. “Look at his face.” He pinched Remus’ cheek. “Our little Moony’s finally all grown up. You know, I was starting to worry one of us would have to do the job ourselves.”
Peter made a face. James choked on laughter.
Remus shook Sirius off, cheeks flushed. “Sorry I don’t snog anything with a heartbeat.”
“Like that’s even a requirement,” Peter said with an eye roll.
“Aw, Pete,” Sirius teased. “Don’t be jealous of those other birds. You know you’re my favorite.”
Behind him, Mya’s friends Lily and Marlene were giving her the same treatment, their heads lowered in quiet conversation, eyes flitting over to the boys every once in a while before laughing and looking away.
James sighed. His face drifted off into that stupid, dopey-eyed, dreamy expression, the one Remus would years later simply dub his Lily Look.
“One day,” James said. “It’ll be you lot out here and me in there with Evans.”
It sounded more like a promise than a daydream.
Sirius snorted. “Not bloody likely, Prongs. You’d have to get her to sit in the same room as you first, and we know that’s never happening.”
* * *
Remus stared down at the invitation in his hands, reading the words over and over.
Miss Lily J. Evans & Mr. James F. Potter cordially invite you… to share in the happiness of their blessed union.
His heart stuttered for the umpteenth time on Please RSVP by…
James and Lily were getting married. That, in itself, was not a surprise. Throughout their courtship, James was very vocal with his intentions, and Lily had always been a little too impassioned for someone who so often claimed she was not the slightest bit interested in them.
What did surprise Remus was the invitation to celebrate said marriage in his mailbox, with his name and address written on the envelope, when he knew for fact he had not given it to either of them. He flipped it over, studying the slight angle to the Ts and the sloppy curve of the Ss. It’d been six long years, but even today, Remus could recognize James’ handwriting anywhere.
“Whatcha got there?” Tonks asked, sidling up beside him and peaking over his shoulder.
Remus jumped. He hadn’t heard them come in—not the horrifically loud jangle of keys struggling against their near-broken lock; or the heavy thud of Tonks’ worn combat boots on the cheap linoleum; or the door slamming open and closed with more force than necessary, as Tonks usually did after a long day working a double-shift at the nearby café. Such was the daily grind of a poor grad student.
“Nothing,” Remus said, stuffing the letter into his pocket.
“Nothing?” Tonks parroted, with a look of only mild curiosity. Remus knew better.
“Uh huh,” he said and took a careful step back. Tonks’ eyes narrowed.
Tonks lunged for him, flinging their arms and legs out and gripping onto him tight. Remus grunted. For someone so petite, Tonks was disturbingly heavy. Perhaps it was the steel-toed boots or sheer willpower alone.
He tried to shove Tonks off, but they just held on, legs squeezing the blood out of his thighs, dangling from him like a toddler. His vision was a blur of magenta hair, and he nearly sent them tumbling into the kitchen counter as a hand worked its way into his trouser pocket.
“Oy!” Remus said, smacking the wandering hand. “Watch it.”
Tonks huffed and continued to dig around. “Oh come off it. Like there’s anything there I haven’t touched before—Aha!” Tonks pulled out the invitation, waving it wildly around in victory. Remus tried to snatch it back, but Tonks just stiff-armed him and clutched the letter protectively to their chest.
Remus sighed. If there was anything he’d learned from his five-year friendship with Tonks, it was when to give up. “I am two seconds from dropping you headfirst onto the granite countertop. I hope you know that.”
“C’mon,” Tonks said. “I know you’re stronger than that.”
“I didn’t say it’d be an accident.”
Tonks let out a startled laugh. “You’re demented.”
“Maybe,” Remus agreed, but it did the trick. Tonks released him and hopped down, already pouring over the thick, ivory cardstock.
“A wedding invitation?” Tonks’ nose crinkled. “Gross. Do we know anyone adult enough to get married? What are we, forty?”
Remus shook his head. “Look at the names.”
“Oh,” said Tonks.
“Yeah,” said Remus.
“So…” Tonks set the invitation down, watching him warily. Remus resisted the urge to shrink under the scrutiny. “You gonna go?”
“You think I should?”
Tonks bit their lip. “I think you were friends for a very long time—”
“So that’s a yes then.”
“And that you might regret it if you don’t. Maybe not right now but later.”
Remus swallowed around the sudden lump in his throat. That made sense. Of course it did, especially considering the trouble James no doubt went through to even send the invite. He must’ve tracked down Lyall Lupin’s new home phone number and endured a two hour-long conversation about werewolf mythology or whatever research binge his father was on this week for his latest novel. He must’ve asked after Hope, because James was polite like that, and Lyall would’ve told him the truth, because Remus’ father was nothing if not honest.
“But,” Tonks continued. “I think if James is really your friend, he’ll understand if you don’t.”
Remus scoffed. “No, he won’t. James couldn’t hold a grudge to save his life.”
Especially one against his friends, Remus didn’t say. He stared down at his hands, stomach in knots, and tried to keep that familiar train of thought from spilling out from where he’d meticulously tucked it away. The one that said: that’s because James was a good friend and a good friend would just move on already and it’s been six years, how pathetic can you be?
Fingers threaded through his. There was cracked purple nail polish on the thumbnail. Remus smiled, despite himself.
“Remus,” Tonks said, voice gentle. “It’s okay if you’re still upset. It’d be okay if you still were ten years from now. Nobody gets to decide how you feel except you.”
“That’s the problem,” he told them. “I don’t want to feel this way in ten years. I want to move on, and I want to see my friends get married and not be weird about it, and honestly, I’m afraid if I don’t go now, I never will.” Remus rubbed his forehead with his free hand and laughed shakily. “God, that sounds so dramatic.”
“Well, you do live with me,” Tonks replied. “It was bound to rub off eventually.”
Remus didn’t bother hiding his grin. Tonks would be able to tell anyways, which would be frightening, if it were any other person, but not Tonks. Remus didn’t need to hide himself from Tonks.
“Among other things,” Tonks added and dropped his hand, scooting back to lift themself up onto the counter with an exaggerated leer.
“This is the second time you’ve brought up our short-lived sexual history in the span of ten minutes,” Remus said. “What gives?”
“Would we say short-lived or fleeting, like time? Ephemeral? Gone but certainly not forgotten?”
Remus knew an attempt at distraction when he saw one, but he played along anyway. He tapped his chin thoughtfully. “How about… impressively volatile and a danger to society as we know it?”
Tonks pouted. “I’m starting to get the impression you don’t really like me.”
“Just the impression?” mused Remus. “I’ll have to try harder then.”
The thing is—Remus was not joking. Their fleeting affair had been one of unprecedented chaos. Screaming matches that devolved into furiously fucking their way through every room in the flat. Desperate phone calls at three in the morning, begging the other to come home after one of them spent four days on an angry bender, couch-surfing and ignoring their texts. Sobbing in a bathtub, drunk out their minds after they’d broken up for what they figured was the last time, and then immediately getting back together following a particularly raucous round of makeup-sex. It’d gone on for four and a half months, and their landlord had threatened to evict them twice, but their friendship had come out stronger, somehow, and they’d been even more inseparable ever since.
“I’m worried,” Remus said, “that if I see him, it’ll be like it was before. That I’ll be eighteen again and heartbroken with no idea what to do with myself, and everyone will know, just by looking at me, that I—”
“Stop,” Tonks ordered, slapping a hand over his mouth. “That’s not gonna happen. Wanna know why?” They ticked the reasons off on their fingers. “One, you’re not eighteen anymore. You’re twenty-four. You share a moderately-sized flat with a wonderful roommate and work a stable job nobly educating this country’s next generation of barristers and Instagram influencers—which is incredibly sexy, by the way, if you’re into the geeky, librarian sort. Two, and most importantly, I’m coming with you.”
Remus pulled their hand off his mouth. “You are?”
Tonks leaned in closer, so Remus had no choice but stare directly into their stern gaze. “You bet your fit little arse I am. There’s no way he’ll bother you when I’m around. I don’t care if you have to tell him we’re fucking or dating or engaged for the fifth time. Whatever works. And it will work. I’m very intimidating, you know.”
Remus did know. Intimately. “You’d do that for me?” he asked. To his embarrassment, his eyes felt a little wet.
Tonks flicked his forehead. “Don’t ask stupid questions. I’d do more, if you’d let me. No one would ever find the body.”
Remus laughed. “Okay, but if you’re coming, you have to promise to tone down the homicidal urges. James and Sirius have been best friends since nursery school, and there’s no way he’s not James’ best man. Which means you have to play nice.”
“What I don’t understand is how that wanker could be anyone’s best anything,” Tonks said, missing the point entirely.
“He’s not a wanker. He’s just—”
Tonks fixed him with an unimpressed look. “Are we talking about the same bloke? The one who cheated on you then outed you to all your friends? Hate to break it to you, mate, but that’s textbook-wanker.”
Remus winced, even at the mention. “That’s not… exactly what happened.”
“Fine,” Tonks said in a way that implied it wasn’t. “I’ll be on my best behavior, Mr. Lupin, promise. Tell you what—I won’t even spit in his face when he shakes my hand.”
“Didn’t realize that was on the table but thanks,” Remus said and tried not to panic at the mental image. He was beginning to feel like this was all one big, horrible mistake.
“Perfect,” said Tonks. “You gonna make it official now or what?”
A pointed look at the invitation. Oh. Right. Tonks pulled a pen from their pocket, decorated with the café’s tiny green logo, and handed it to Remus. Remus clicked it and stared down at the two small boxes at the bottom of the cardstock.
Yes, I will be attending.
Yes, I will be bringing a plus one.
At his silence, Tonks reminded him, “You don’t have to do any of this, if you don’t want to, remember? If your friends ask, you can tell them I accidentally tossed it in the bin or our mail slot was too full. Or to bugger off, even. It’s your decision, Remus.”
“I want to go,” Remus said. It felt more like he was convincing himself than Tonks. “I’m going.”
He checked the two boxes and stuffed the invitation in its return envelope, sealing it before he lost his courage.
“There.” Tonks plucked it from his hand with a soft smile. “That wasn’t too bad, was it?”
“No,” Remus agreed, feeling lighter already. “That wasn’t bad at all.”
* * *
Remus’ second kiss—or, at least, Remus liked to consider it his second, since it was the only other one that mattered—was much different than his first.
For one, he was seventeen and much better at it, comfortably familiar with the hushed rhythm of lips catching. He knew when to press his softly against another’s and when to push in closer, to open his mouth and let his tongue gently trace the seam of his partner’s lips. He knew to use his hands, to cup a face in his palm or slide his fingers through hair or run his hands down the warm planes of an arched back and settle low but respectfully on its waist, unless encouraged otherwise.
But he had never kissed a boy before, and he had never, not in a million years, expected to kiss Sirius Black.
Sirius didn’t taste like green apple. He tasted like the cherry vodka he’d nicked from his parents’ cupboard and snuck over in his school bag. His lips were dry and slightly chapped, and he’d missed a tiny patch of stubble on his jaw while shaving that morning.
But his hair was long and soft—that part at least was the same—and he’d gasped when Remus tangled his fingers through it and let Remus kiss the shape of his name off Sirius’ mouth. His skin burned against Remus’. Even through both layers of their shirts, Remus could feel Sirius’ intoxicating heat beneath his palms.
They were just on the right side of pleasantly tipsy, and later Remus would wonder if Sirius had planned this. If he had known he wouldn’t be brave enough to do this sober, or if it’d been a spur of the moment thing. If Sirius had just looked over at Remus and suddenly wanted.
For Remus, it had been a bit of both. He wasn’t blind. He knew how Sirius looked, and he knew how he felt when he looked at him, though that part had taken awhile. But knowing and doing something about it were two very different creatures. Especially since he’d had no idea, wouldn’t have imagined even in his most vivid fantasies, that Sirius might feel the same. But then Sirius had kissed him.
They’d been sitting on Remus’ bed, passing the vodka bottle back and forth. His parents weren’t home, out on their monthly date night. His friends had originally planned a movie marathon, but James and Peter couldn’t make it. Peter’s family had come down with the flu, and James bailed at the last minute after summoning whatever occult forces it’d taken to convince Lily Evans to help him with their English assignment. So it was just Remus and Sirius alone in his bedroom, drinking and listening to the vaguely sexual playlist Sirius had jokingly selected on Spotify.
Remus didn’t remember what they’d talked about, thoughts blurring at the edges and head fuzzy. All he knows is that one second he’d been talking, Sirius watching him with that lazy grin, and the next Sirius was leaning forward and kissing him.
Remus barely had time to register the kiss—the feel of it, how it had even happened—before Sirius pulled back, eyes blown wide.
“Oh,” Sirius breathed.
Remus’ lips tingled. He brought a hand up to touch them, and Sirius’ gaze flickered down, just for a moment, to watch.
As the silence stretched on, Sirius seemed to regain some coherence, the drunken haze clearing. He straightened, shoulders tensed.
“Oh,” he said again. “Oh shit.”
Remus stared as Sirius stood and stumbled back into his desk, knocking over a penholder and a stack of paperbacks. He ran a trembling hand through his dark hair.
“Shit. Sorry. I don’t know why I—Fuck. You can’t tell anyone, Remus. Please don’t—Shit. Shit.”
“I won’t,” Remus promised, desperate to please. “I won’t tell anyone, Pads. It’s okay.”
He was already running through a mental list of excuses on Sirius’ behalf. Anything to get him to stop looking at Remus like that—like he was something to fear. They were drunk. It was just a kiss. Sirius had kissed plenty of girls before and claimed it meant nothing. Why should one measly kiss with Remus be any different?
Sirius regarded him with cautious relief. “You won’t?”
“Never,” Remus said. “Not if you don’t want me to.”
He meant it with everything he had. He would not betray Sirius’ trust.
Sirius let out a shaky breath. “Okay.” He seemed to mull something over. “Is it because you’re also…?”
Remus’ brow furrowed. “Also…?”
Sirius blushed and looked away. Oh.
“Uh.” Remus scratched the back of his neck. “Maybe? I dunno. I like girls.”
Now Remus felt himself blushing, too. I like girls? Apparently the alcohol had killed his last brain cell.
“Right,” Sirius said with a grimace. “Right, sorry.”
“But I could like boys too!” Remus said in a rush. “I mean, I do. I think. That’s a thing. That people feel.”
Sirius nodded. “It is.”
They stared at each other for a moment.
“Do you wanna—”
“Should we—”
They paused again. Remus’ palms were sweating. He wiped them on his jeans, feeling strangely breathless, like all the air had been sucked out the room.
“What were you gonna say?” Remus asked.
Sirius shook his head. “You first.”
Remus frowned down at the carpet. He worried his thumb over a tiny tear in the knee of his trousers. “I was thinking… maybe you should try what you did again? Maybe I won’t react the way you thought I would.”
He didn’t dare meet Sirius’ gaze as he suggested it. But he heard Sirius inhale sharply, and hoped that was a good sign.
Sirius’ footsteps were quiet as he crossed the room, so quiet Remus might not have noticed them, were it not for the pair of socked feet that came to a halt inches from Remus’ own.
“I should have asked,” Sirius said, “the first time.” Then, “Can I?”
Remus looked up so quickly his head spun. Sirius stood over him, watching him intently.
“Can I kiss you, Remus?”
“Yes,” Remus said, without blinking. “Yes. Sirius.”
Sirius’ eyes didn’t leave his as he knelt on the mattress, bracketing Remus’ hips between his knees. He was taller than Remus like this, so he raised a hand to Remus’ jaw and tipped his head back, while Remus held his breath and kept his arms patiently at his sides, afraid even the smallest of movements would startle Sirius into changing his mind.
But then Sirius dragged the pad of his thumb down Remus’ bottom lip and licked his own, and Remus was lost to the roiling gray of Sirius’ eyes and his soft, pink mouth. He lurched upwards, winding a hand around the back of Sirius’s neck and tugging him down into his lap, until they were pressed against each other everywhere, and Sirius was moaning into his mouth. If this was the only time they were doing this, Remus was sure as hell going to make the most of it, even if tomorrow they pretended it never happened and that it had meant nothing.
He’d be wrong, of course. It wasn’t the only time, and it didn’t take a genius to see it meant something, whether or not Sirius was willing to admit it. And maybe that’s why Sirius had reacted the way he did, all those years ago—because kissing Remus was never like kissing those other girls.
But none of that mattered, not in the end. And when he looked back on the memory, Remus would realize his mistake. What he’d been too distracted to notice before.
While Remus had promised to carry Sirius’ secret to the grave, Sirius had offered nothing in return.