Chapter Text
“I’m not coming back, Sirius. If I leave now, I won’t come back,” he said, voice carrying all the tears his eyes wouldn’t let fall.
Sirius tapped his foot against the hardwood floor, arms folded across his chest. “Then? Leave.”
And he did. Remus picked up his bags, and left, shutting the door after him with a hard bang.
And Sirius didn’t allow himself to cry, or mourn. Because of course Remus would come back.
He would.
Wouldn’t he?
***
Silence. Fuck, so much silence.
The plane took off. About thirty bloody minutes ago. And none of them has said a single word since. Not even a syllable. Not even a noise.
Sirius glances up at the screen on the back of the seat in front of him. A seven and a half hour flight. Kill him. Please, just kill him. Where’s the emergency exit? Could he be sued if he just opened it and jumped out? I mean, he’d be dead, so he couldn’t exactly be sued. Oh, he could jump out and then they would want to sue him but he’d be dead so they’d have to go after his family. Oooh, that would be cool. The instructions to open it must be somewhere in the little pamphlet in the fold—
“So.” Oh, no. “Coincidence.”
He’s trying to make small talk. Remus John Lupin. Small talk.
He always hated sharing the lift with neighbours, taking a taxi with a talkative driver or when Sirius couldn’t find his wallet to pay the pizza delivery guy and Remus had to distract him while Sirius hunted about the flat. Sirius secretly always loved it. Remus could come up with the most insanely random topics to talk about, and Sirius could just listen to him rambling for hours about how he believes one day we’ll be able to find microcospic extraterrestrial life in our solar system, and how aliens are probably not as weird looking as Hollywood made us believe them to be.
And now, Sirius suddenly realises, he’s a neighbour. A taxi driver. A pizza delivery guy.
A stranger in the seat next to him in a flight.
He looks up at him, and can see how uncomfortable Remus is, just as him. How his eyebrows are slightly drawn in, forming a crease in-between them; how his lips are quirked up at the side, but not in the charming, mischievous way as ever — there’s a difference, Sirius had learned when they were about fourteen; how his honey eyes—Jesus Christ, his eyes. How could he have forgotten them?—are a tad out of focus, and darting about, that Remus doesn’t quite know where to look.
He could say so much. He could say, “Coincidence? Mere coincidence, now is it. Coincidence that you’re here, in London. What the fuck are you doing in London? Why are you in London? And why are you going to New York? And why are you here? Here, next to me. Why? Moony, why? And why didn’t you come back?”
“Yeah,” is what he prefers, though.
Remus nods, staring forward, and starts picking at his cuticles. He really is uncomfortable. That makes two of us.
When would ever sixteen year-old, completely, madly in love Sirius Black imagine he could ever be uncomfortable in the presence of Remus Lupin? Just the thought of it would’ve been comical.
Where did we go, Remus? What happened to us?
But he would never ask, because he knew the answer to those questions.
“I... you,” Remus breaks the silence. His voice is low, soft and anxious, “you look good. Healthy, and... and all that.”
Sirius would’ve laughed. Would’ve nudged him and say, “‘Healthy’? Cut the shit, Moons.” And then Remus would’ve rolled his eyes, and would’ve laughed too, and then Sirius would’ve leaned in because, god, that laugh, and they would’ve kissed, and kissed, and kiss—
For fuck’s sake, Sirius. It’s been thirty minutes and you’re already a nostalgic, miserable sap.
“Thanks. You look good, too. Healthy.”
Remus’ lips twist at that, Sirius sees. It makes something so old, so rare nowadays, burn inside him, like butterfly wings flapping inside his stomach, ready to take flight. He feels like a teenage boy — pre-teen, even. God, they were so young.
“Your hair’s longer,” Remus observes, eyeing the long black locks that reach Sirius’ collarbone.
“Oh, sort of. It’s been this length before, just trying to grow it back.”
“Yeah, I remember. When we were, what, eighteen?”
“Yeah. And then I cut it to my ears.”
Remus chuckles, softly. “You did. I remember your panicking. You started using horse shampoo after that.”
“And it worked,” Sirius raises an eyebrow.
“It didn’t.”
“Yes, it did.”
“You know it didn’t, Padfoot.” He had a small smile on his lips, but then his eyes bulge out, and his lips part a little, and he swallows, because fuck, he just said Padfoot.
Remus Lupin just called me Padfoot.
And if Remus looks panicked, then Sirius doesn’t even want to know how he himself looks.
Play it cool, Sirius. Play it casual.
He breathes out, and smirks a little — that smirk he knows Remus will want to wipe off, “It did. I still use it, by the way.”
Remus blinks, and blinks again, clearly trying to take hold of the rapid switch, and how in the fuck did Sirius not react to the nickname — if only he knew how Sirius is wondering if he can open the window, if not the emergency exit. But then the corners of his lips turn up at the slightest, and he seems more relaxed. “You can’t possibly.”
“Ok, I don’t, but only because it’s too expensive. But it did make my hair grow faster. You know it did.”
“I think you just wanted to believe it was working because you had to go to a pet shop to get it every time, and not to Boots.”
“Come on, going to the pet shop was always an experience.”
“Like finding out I’m allergic to cats.”
“And all the dogs you never let me take home.”
“You always wanted to take those huge dogs home, Sirius,” Remus says. “We didn’t have space for them.”
“They could’ve just slept on the couch.”
Remus arches an eyebrow. “You would’ve wanted them to sleep on the bed with us.”
With us. On the bed. On the bed with us. Even mere minutes of chatting with Remus is like walking on needles.
He just wanted to talk, he just wanted to hear his voice. The voice that used to scold him whenever he left a wet towel on the bed; that would explain to him a plot of a book he wasn’t even mildly interested in, but that he asked about anyway but he loved Remus’ enthusiasm; the voice that would whisper his name, over and over; that would tell him sweet nothings while running his hand fingers through his hair as he drifted off to sleep, and— get it together, Sirius. What the fuck.
Small talk. He could do that. Yeah. Of course he could. I mean, god knows when he’ll see Remus again—or if he’ll ever see him again. Ok, that hurt a bit. But we gotta stay realistic here. Maybe he could ask what’s he been up to, or how Hope and Lyall are, why he’s going to New York—
“So why are you going to New York?” Remus asks, and Sirius wonders if one can ever lose the ability of reading another’s mind. Remus, at least, doesn’t seem to have.
“Oh, just visiting Alphard, really.”
“Oh, so he’s finally moved to New York.”
Sirius nods, letting a small smile bloom on his lips. “Yup. Moved three years ago. Finally settled somewhere, the coffin-dodger.”
Remus laughs a delicious, heart-squeezing laugh, that Sirius can just feel his eyes sparkling up. “‘Coffin-dodger,’ Sirius, the man is in his fifties.”
Sirius shrugs, his grin having grown wider now, “Oh, you haven’t seen him. The old man is crumbling to pieces. Will be biting the dust soon enough.”
And Remus is laughing, and laughing, and someone from the middle row shushes him, and he burns red, and Sirius can’t help but just stare at him with the biggest smile he has smiled in a really, really long time, because Jesus Christ, how does he do that? How does he just sit next to him on a flight and looks at Sirius and laughs at the most unfunny joke and has Sirius like this?
God, he needs to text James. Or, no, not even James, but Marlene. If he texted James right now he could already predict the, omg omg omg omg no wayyyyyyy!!!! HI MOONY!!! texts. Marlene is like the therapist. Well, sort of. There’s probably a law that would prohibit her to ever getting a psychology degree.
But what would she say right now? Maybe something along the lines of, “Sirius, you won’t see him again. At least for a long while. Just enjoy it,” and, “For the love of god, you idiot, get your shit together.”
Something like that.
Remus calms down at last, and is practically panting, exhaling heavily as he says, “Well, I suppose he’s good, then?”
It takes Sirius a second too long to realise they were still talking about Uncle Alphard. He swallows, and blinks, “He’s good, yeah. He’s good. You know, happy to be living the American dream.”
Remus snorts, “Yeah, I can only imagine. But I’m glad to hear he’s in New York. I remember he would always say how much he wanted to move there.”
“He’s having the time of his life. Goes clubbing and all.”
Remus smiles (unnecessary detail, but he smiles so very beautifully), “Oh, does he?”
“Yeah. He’s even living in Greenwich Village, too.”
“Oh, so he’s gone full gay, then.”
“Did you expect anything less from Alphard Black? Of course he’s living in the Village.”
Remus nods, “Of course he is.”
They stay in silence for a moment. Two moments, that turn into three. And,
“I miss him,” Remus says, voice careful and still, “he always had the best advices.”
Missing, longing, yearning... you, you, you, for five years, you.
“He misses you too,” Sirius says. “He adored you. I think he preferred you over me.”
Remus smiles, “Not that it’s hard.”
This time, Sirius does nudge him — lightly, though. Remus giggles, and takes his hand to his mouth, covering his yawn.
“Oh, sorry. I’ll let you sleep,” Sirius says.
Remus shakes his head, “No, it’s fine, it’s... my mum made me pack some melatonin so I could sleep on the plane and I took four when I got her—”
“You took four?!”
“Yeah.”
“You do know that’s dangerous, don’t you?”
“It’s not dangerous, it’s just not exactly good for you. And you know how these things never really work for me.” He does know. “Do you want some? I have a whole bottle of it.”
But before Sirius could say, “It’s fine, I’ll just watch a film,” Remus is already bending down to get the flask in his backpack.
“Here,” he hands him two pills. “Just take two, it won’t kill you.”
“You are a terrible influence.”
Remus raises an eyebrow, a wicked glint in his eyes that Sirius has to control his jaw not to fall open because this singular look has to be illegal in at least twenty-three countries. “Nothing you didn’t know yet, now is it?”
Sirius flashes him a smile, that was intended to be charming but that obviously came out all crooked and coy and anxious.
He takes the two pills to his mouth, and just straight-up swallows them. Ok, that must’ve looked cool. He didn’t even need water. And he took the two at once! Oh yes, so cool.
Beside him, Remus is yawning and unfolding the blanket they were given when they got to their seats, and fixing the little pillow behind his head.
Not gonna care, not gonna care, not gonna care at all. It’s easy. Just put in your earphones and watch a film. There’s a whole catalog, Sirius. Just pick one and let the guy sleep.
And Remus turns to the other side, facing the aisle, and Sirius picks Troy, ready to feel enraged by the absolute absurdity Hollywood did when they made Patroclus and Achilles cousins. They were clearly lovers, for god’s sake. Achilles went on a huge killing hunt because Patroclus simply died. Because his lover died. They were in love, Hollywood. Ashes buried together and all. You have to be stupid to possibly think those two were str—
***
“I’m gonna tell him!”
“James, stop!”
“Moony!”
“James, I’m calling Evans, I swear!”
“Moony, come here!”
“What, James?” Remus’ voice called from downstairs in the communal room.
James glanced at Sirius, his eyes sparkling with mischief, and opened a grin that stretched from ear to ear.
No, no, no—
He punched Sirius’ stomach, lightly, just to hold him off, and ran down the stairs. Sirius raced after him.
“Moony!” James was standing in front of Remus, who was nestled with a book on the corner of the sofa, looking so adorable Sirius just wanted to sit next to him and get him a blanket and some hot choc— “Sirius told me you look really prett— OW!”
And James is tackled to the ground, with Sirius clapping a hand to his friend’s mouth and vowing to use that same hand to slap his face because, oh he’s so dead.
“I’m going to kill you,” he hissed in James’ ear, who’s laughing uncontrollably underneath Sirius’ hand.
Honestly, grow up, Sirius thought. We’re twelve. Be mature.
He dared look up, and saw Remus staring down at the two of them with an amused look on his face. Sirius gave him a smile, and Remus rolled his eyes, returning to his book.
Sirius didn’t miss the scarlet flush on his cheeks, though.
***
“Ladies and gentlemen, we will be landing in New York City, JFK International Airport in under fifteen minutes. Local time is three thirty-four in the afternoon. We wish you a good trip and thank you for choosing us.”
Sirius is the first one to wake up, and god, he wishes he wasn’t. Because of course. Of fucking course.
This is a crime scene for a closeted gay teenager in their homophobic household, because it can’t get much more homosexual than this.
Remus’ head is under his chin, with Sirius’ cheek resting atop it. And it’s not just that, no. Remus’ arm is draped over Sirius’ lap, and Sirius’ own arm is around Remus’ waist. Yes. Yes, please kill him. And, Jesus, Remus’ breathing is in his collarbone, and he’s just so, so real that Sirius could stay like this forever.
He lets himself play pretend for a moment, thinking, imagining it’s just another morning, where he’d whisper, “Moons. Good morning, love.” And would plant a kiss at the corner of his mouth.
This lasts for about three seconds before Remus wakes up.
“Oh, I-” He starts untangling himself, “I’m sorry, I must’ve... moved in my sleep.”
Sirius laughs an awkward chuckle, “Y-yeah, me too.”
Remus’ lips part as if he’s about to say something, but he closes them and looks away.
Soon after, the plane lands, and it all happens in flashes as they all unfasten their seatbelts, gather their stuff and leave the aircraft.
And Remus stands up first, hanging his backpack in one shoulder and reaching up at the overhead compartment to get his carry-on. He looks down at Sirius, who’s still sitting down, trying to gather his thoughts to leave the fucking plane.
“So,” Remus says. “I’ll see you soon.”
Sirius vaguely nods, and in a second Remus is gone. And he won’t be seeing him soon.
He pulls out his phone, not even caring he doesn’t have an American chip for his phone yet and that he’ll be paying a fortune for internet right now. He doesn’t care.
Sirius: hi
Sirius: just landed
Sirius: and you wont believe.
Marlene: sirius........