Chapter Text
Around four, just as the shadows are getting long outside, Remus hears a crash from upstairs.
He and his parents all jump to their feet, and Remus's book thumps to the ground. It’s a handsome, leather bound tome on dark creatures of Eastern Europe, his Christmas present from his parents along with a bar of chocolate and a thick pair of socks.
His father has his wand out; both Remus's parents were shaken by the events at the Quidditch game, more than Remus even.
“It’s just me!” yells Sirius’s voice from Remus’s room up the stairs. “Sorry! Ow, bloody – sorry! It’s Sirius!”
Remus’s parents both look at him, and Remus blushes.
“I’ll just, ah, go check on that,” he says, and he picks up his book and flees up the stairs.
“What are you doing here?” he demands when he gets to his room. Sirius is tangled in his curtains, his broomstick sticking half out the window. Surprisingly, James is nowhere in sight. Sirius came alone.
Sirius beams at him.
"Happy Christmas to you as well, Moony, light of my heart, song of my soul."
Remus huffs, trying not to laugh, and goes to Sirius to help him untangle from the curtains. Sirius grabs his wrist and grins at him brightly, sending a little thrill down Remus's spine. It's been awhile since they've been alone together.
"You know, most people just send an owl or floo when they want to wish someone Happy Christmas."
"That's true," agrees Sirus genially, hand still circling Remus's wrist. "But who says I'm here to just wish you Happy Christmas?"
"Oh?" says Remus. He pulls his arm away from Sirius gently and tucks his hands into his pockets, to better pre-empt future advances.
Sirius grins more broadly and flourishes two coupons from Remus's coupon book at him. Remus takes them tentatively and reads them. The first, unmistakably in his own writing, reads, “Permission to bother Remus at his place of residence when-so-ever the holder of this coupon sees fit, regardless of the time of day or night.” The second was blank but now reads, in Sirius’s spiky hand, “a proper snog”.
Remus’s lips twitch. His mouth feels very dry.
“That second coupon seems a bit coercive, doesn’t it?”
"Shouldn't have given me blank coupons then, should you have?" says Sirius, attempting archness, but the look on his face is anxious.
Remus studies his carpet. It's a good carpet. Green, durable.
"I don't understand what all this is about," he says, sounding much more vulnerable than he would like.
“Remus,” says Sirius. He places his hand on Remus’s shoulder, and his thumb brushes Remus’s neck. Remus looks up at him. “Moony. This isn’t, this isn’t some bloody prank. Prongs didn’t put me up to this. I’m dead –” He wrinkles his nose. “Serious. I like you. And I think, I think you might like me too.”
He looks at Remus intently, and Remus looks back. It’s like all the different Siriuses – the merry prankster, the haughty scion, the petulant rebel, his terrible need and his terrible anger, his phosphorescent brilliance and endless devotion suddenly, finally click all into place. And Remus feels like the person looking at him is Sirius, all of Sirius, and the man that Sirius is becoming. It’s a life-splitting moment, he realizes, a point of inflection. Whatever happens here will determine the course of everything else.
“Well, I guess you're all right,” he says, stunned.
Sirius lets out a bark of laughter, and his hand curls around the back of Remus’s neck.
“You’re such a bloody dunce,” he says. Fondness lights up his face, turns his cutting features warm and soft.
“Terrible thing you’re carrying a torch for me then.”
“Mmhmm,” agrees Sirius. He’s very close, practically nose to nose. Remus can count the individual eyelashes that make up the soft, dark fringe around Sirius’s eyes. His heart hammers. “Very terrible.”
He kisses Remus.
Remus kisses back.
It's a slow, tentative kiss. Remus hasn't had much practice at kissing, and he doesn't think Sirius has either. But it's brilliant. Sirius makes a soft noise and presses in closer to Remus, one hand still on the back of Remus's neck and the other curling around his hip. Remus runs his hands up Sirius's sides gently and Sirius shivers a bit. That's brilliant, too.
“Why’d you decide to do this now?” asks Remus, when they finally pull away. He's more than a bit dazed.
“Because I couldn’t wait until New Year’s Eve. And it’s not very romantic to kiss someone for the first time on December the bloody 28th.”
Remus laughs loudly. "This isn't the first time you've snogged me though," he points out.
Sirius makes a face, jutting out his chin haughtily.
"That other time didn't count. That was just... exploratory. This was proper."
“Don’t be specious,” protests Remus.
“Oh, it’s not fair to use the dictionary on me, Moony. It only gets me hot and bothered.”
“Get bent,” laughs Remus.
Sirius grins crookedly and grabs the front of Remus’s shirt. He tugs him forward into another kiss, and Remus lets him. It’s deeper this time, and harder. Something new and wonderful bursts in Remus’s chest. Right then, at that moment, everything seems so simple, so much simpler than he ever thought things could be. The petty quarrels, the strained silences, the way he and Sirius have danced around each other for months, all fall away.
It seems possible that everything else could be simple, too, that the darkness of their times and the anger and fear might fall away, too.
“Remus, honey!” calls his mother, and he and Sirius start apart. “Invite Sirius down for hot chocolate! I’ve put the kettle on!”
They both laugh nervously and look at each other.
“Would you like to come down for hot chocolate?” asks Remus politely.
Sirius beams and leans forward. “I’d love to.”
Remus grins and laces his fingers with Sirius’s. He kisses Sirius this time.
It’s another two minutes of kissing before Remus’s mother yells again. They break apart and tumble down the stairs, high-spirited and laughing.
Outside, it’s snowing and the sun has dipped below the horizon, but Remus’s house is lit warm and yellow, bright against the dark.