Mia!!

“Sorry,” Remus said finally. “I didn’t mean to say that.”

“I,” Sirius said, then glanced over to look at Remus. A strand of dark hair fell over his face and he reached up to push it behind his ear. “Um.”

“Sorry,” Remus whispered again.

“No, it’s okay,” Sirius said. “It’s. Um. Did you mean it?”

“What?”

“Did—is it true?”

Now they were staring at each other.

“It, um,” Remus said, a red blush creeping up the back of his neck. “I think it is, yeah.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

After another long second, Sirius smiled. “Cool,” he said.

“Oh, is it?” Remus half-smiled back at him, and pushed his elbow into Sirius’ arm.

Sirius pushed back. “Quite. You’re blushing,” he told Remus.

“So are you, you prat.”

Sirius grinned again, and pressed a kiss to Remus’ cheek. “I was going to wait to say it, for a more special time and place than the middle of the Charms corridor at three in the morning, but—“

“You can still wait,” Remus interrupted.

“And kill the mood? I’ve been waiting months, anyway. To say it, I mean.”

“So have I.” 

“Years, really.”

Remus found Sirius’ hand and hooked their little fingers together. “So have I.”

The mug was steaming, after fifteen minutes trying to set up a partially-broken telescope on the Astronomy Tower at nearly midnight in mid-November, and Sirius nearly dropped it. Remus bent a little at the waist to put his eye up to the gold eyepiece and sighed.

“The lens is cracked.”

Sirius dragged the edge of his cloak over the bottom of his nose, which was wet. “No, it can’t be. I checked.”

“You checked wrong, look--” Remus reached to the back and untwisted the lens with his sweater-covered hand and held it up to Sirius’ face. “Ugh. Sirius!”

“Sorry!” It was too cold to blush, but barely. Barely when Remus Lupin was looming over you, broken telescope-lens, three sweaters, red-tipped nose, starlit strands of hair and all, with that infuriating you’re-the-worst smile that made Sirius’ heart melt.

“I should’ve partnered with James,” Remus said, and Sirius regretted not saying anything else because Remus was already turning away, to the storage cupboard, taking his smile with him. “Peter would’ve been better than you, to be honest.”

“You take that back, Moony! They’re shit and you know it!” A smile tugged at Sirius’ mouth.

“I didn’t say anything about your Astronomy talent, did I? I said something about your inability to not break things.”

“Can you just--?” Can you just come back here so I can kiss you? Can you just smile at me again? Can you just keep talking?

“Can I just what.” Remus screwed another lens on and took Sirius by the clasp of his cloak, yanking him to the eyepiece. Oh, Merlin. Oh, God--is that what the Muggles say? “Look, and tell me where to draw, yeah? It’s past midnight.”

“Yes, fine.” Grab me like that again, do it, Remus, please... Sirius pushed his eye against the lens, lined it up with the middle star, the brightest, and counted the hairs of gold making a grid over the sky. “Polaris is... at twenty-three, I think?”

“Seventy-three.”

“Seventy-three... so Cassiopeia would be west of that, yeah?”

“You’re supposed to know that, Sirius, not me. Hasn’t it been drilled into you since you were five?”

“Is that why I’m your partner, because I know this shit already?” Sirius smiled and looked over his shoulder. Remus had rested his chin in his palm and was looking at Sirius intently, brown eyes dark with no sunlight to turn them into flaming molten gold. He seemed startled Sirius had turned towards him, but the dreamy look on his face didn’t budge. Dreamy.

“Sirius,” Remus said, voice like honey and chocolate, barely deepened yet at sixteen. “Why else?”

Sirius knew Remus liked him. He knew it, was almost entirely-all-the-way positive. He saw the secret glances, the hidden smiles, the hands Remus was reluctant to pull away. But he, for once in his life, was at an absolute loss for what to do about it.

And he liked Remus back, obviously. How could he not?

“I dunno, because you value my friendship and enjoy spending time with me?” The ink Remus was using was gold and silver, and the parchment was dark, deep blue, and he was penning Cassiopeia in messy letters.

(Sirius had the better handwriting, and he had the experience, but he hated making star charts, because they reminded him too much of family names and tutors and tight, quick slaps on the wrist when his letters slanted or he spelled a word wrong. It was tight and stuffy and constricting and he spent much of his Astronomy classes trying to think about the cold blue air and keeping his hand from shaking instead of paying attention.

Remus had noticed, in class two years ago, and silently drew Sirius’ parchment away from him, finishing the both of theirs while Sirius watched, poorly attempting to mimick Sirius’ neat calligraphy.)

“Right. Doubtful.”

“That’s why I work with you.” Sirius nodded at the chart. “That is completely shit, you know. I could’ve done a better job as a five-year-old. I don’t have to put up with you if I don’t want to.”

Remus laughed, and it was so pretty Sirius nearly had to turn away. “But you want to.”

“Fuck off. Yes.”

Remus’ face softened. “I want to, too, Sirius.”

Fuck. “Oh, I know, believe me.”

“Really?”

Sirius had, not for the first time, the distinct feeling they had suddenly shifted to talk about something else, something slightly out of Sirius’ depth. Like when you were swimming and knew something was lurking under you, even though you couldn’t quite feel it. “Yes, Lupin,” he said firmly anyway. “Can we finish this?”