Work Text:
It is Sirius’ twenty-sixth birthday, and she is about to spend it alone in a pub reviewing some generic band.
She hasn’t heard of Bubblegum Blues before, so she YouTubes a few songs while doing her makeup. Heavy on the eyeliner, light on the moderation. They play shitty three-chord punk and she’s kind of into it, but she’s been to a lot of gigs like this. After a while, a lot of bands start to blend together in your head. That could also be the weed, to be fair.
She tells the person on the door that she’s on the list, and they give her a cheap plastic crown before letting her inside. Sirius frowns and doesn’t put it on. What the fuck is this?
The bar smells like hops and hopes. Sirius restrains herself; no beer before she’s taken some notes for the review. Not that she strictly needs to; she’s been plastered at gigs before and written nostalgic purple prose in the review the day after. Bullshitting has always been one of her strengths. She should’ve gone into politics.
Holding the plastic crown in her hand, she makes her way to the stage. She’s too tall to stand in front proper, but by the wall to the side works.
She makes a few small notes while she waits, just descriptions of the room in case she wants to set the scene. Reviews aren’t really a forum with a lot of room for that kind of thing, but she’s a rebel, and the blog is usually lenient when she goes over the word count. A few times she’s made notes on her phone but she prefers this way. Pen and paper, getting ink stains on her fingers. James calls it her “analogue fetish”. James is a fake friend who isn’t here to keep her company, being stuck with a shift at the pub where they both work, so his opinion is void. Sirius chews on the end of the pen just for the hell of it.
By her side of the stage, a gangly woman picks up a mint green bass guitar. Sirius can’t help watching her fingers find their place around the neck. She grips her pen tighter.
“Please,” the flame haired singer says in the mic, so close it makes an intimate exhale sound echo through the room. People stop chatting and turn their attention to her. “Put your crowns on, gals, pals, and lads. When everyone’s royalty, no one is.”
The people who’ve kept theirs from their heads put them on, laughing. Sirius hesitates. Then she sees the bass player looking right at her like she’s a professor and Sirius has just got herself a detention. Sirius swallows and puts the crown on. She’s rewarded with a smile from the bass player, and before Sirius knows it, the drummer has shouted one-two-three-four and they’re off.
Sirius nods along automatically. The music might be simplistic, but they’ve got great hooks and as Sirius listens to the lyrics she realises they’re about gender and truth and fucking the system. Fairly relatable. She’s sure she looks ridiculous with a plastic crown on top of her snapback, but the bass player gives her small smiles every time she looks Sirius’ way. She might be laughing at Sirius.
After a few original songs, the bass player takes the mic she’s only used for back up shouting so far. “Dear crowd,” she says, in a gravelly voice that makes Sirius want to write a poem instead of a review. “I’m Remus, and I’m here to tell you what the crowns are actually about since my piece of shit bandmate did not.”
“Hey!” The singer flips her a v, but Remus laughs, throwing her head back.
“I don’t know if any of you listen to this sort of thing, but Kesha released a new album recently.” There are a few applause around the room, and Remus nods appreciatively. “Good, good. I love Kesha. Anyway, there’s this song on it, Hymn, and it threw me to the floor when I first heard it.”
“It’s true,” the singer shoots, her freckled cheeks curving up as she smiles mischievously. “I had to lie on the floor with her and wipe her tears, with the song on repeat for a full hour.”
“Thanks, Lily,” says Remus dryly. “Basically, the song is trans as fuck, and so life affirming, and that’s why we’ve given you crowns. And now we’re gonna play it for you.”
Remus actually looks down as she smiles, like a shy teenager in a first kiss scenario, and it gives Sirius deja vu. She’s lived this exact moment before. Only in another life.
When Remus lifts the bass, Sirius sees a tattoo on the back of her upper arm, and drops her little notebook on the sticky floor. She’s only known one other person with a tattoo like that. But it can’t be… Can it?
But she’s seen that smile before. Before anything, there was this… guy. Or so they thought. Sirius’ chest hurts when she remembers; kissing was beautiful, but anything else gave both of them anxiety they couldn’t even articulate.
I know that I’m perfect, even though I’m fucked up.
The song punches Sirius in the gut. Who we are is no mistake. It could have been torn from her diary. Okay, she wouldn’t have gone with royalist or religious imagery, but the sentiment… It’s impossible to tell if the drops on Remus’ face are sweat or tears, but her makeup is smudged and her face screwed up with emotion as she and Lily sing together: this is a hymn for the hymnless.
Afterwards, they play an original song, but Sirius has got enough notes. She weasels through the crowd to the bar and orders both a beer and a shot of whiskey.
“That bad, eh?” The bartender grins and some beer spills out of the glass when they plomp it down on the counter.
“That good,” Sirius replies shortly. She takes the shot first, somewhat hoping to set fire to her brain and the memories there.
Maybe Remus isn’t that person, but she sat in a tattoo parlour with someone who also got a platypus tattoo in that exact place. It was shortly before they broke up. It feels like a lifetime ago, but it was eight years. Three names, two cities and one surgery ago.
Sirius stays by the bar while Bubblegum Blues finish their set. The best part of the gig was the Kesha cover, but she’s not gonna write that in her review. The band are small enough that they’re gonna read it and they’d be upset. It’s bad journalist practice and morals, she knows, but at the end of the day Sirius puts her emotional integrity over her “workplace” integrity. She’s not paid enough to be honest – they’ll have to make do with good writing.
“Hey.” Remus smiles questioningly at Sirius. Her crown is lopsided and her face is shimmering with stage sweat.
“Hi.” Sirius lifts her beer up in acknowledgement. “Good gig.”
“Thanks.” Remus beams for a second, then leans over the bar to get a place in the queue for a drink. She turns towards Sirius with her upper body almost lying across the counter. “This is gonna sound like a line, I swear it’s not, but I feel like I know you from somewhere…?”
Sirius goes hot. “I like your platypus tattoo,” she responds.
Remus flinches. The bartender gets to her, but she’s not paying attention and they move on. “So it is you.” She blinks.
“My name is Sirius now,” she says, then drinks deeply from her beer. If the night goes on like this it’s gonna be a truly bullshitty review she writes tomorrow.
“Good choice.” Remus looks at her, as if trying to decide something. “Would you have a drink with me? I just need to, well, get one.”
“Sure. Get one for me as well?”
They know each other already, but they really don’t. Or: they used to know each other, and now they know themselves. Sirius feels dizzy trying to grasp it. She grasps her pint instead. The notebook in her back pocket nudges into her butt cheek when she sits down in the sofa backstage.
Lily, the singer, has removed her bra and lets her tits fly freely under a loose tank top. The drummer whose name Sirius doesn’t know is unabashedly ogling.
“So you’re just a band of trans lesbians?” She says into the room. Everyone bursts into laughter.
“Why do I feel like that was shade,” Remus says and nudges her with an elbow.
They’re next to each other and again it’s that strange feeling that Sirius has been here before. She definitely hasn’t, though.
“Why would I, a known trans lesbian, throw shade?” Sirius grins.
Lily nods appreciatively. “I like this one. How do you know her, Moony?”
“From way back,” Remus says at the same time as Sirius asks, “Moony?”
“Ask her to show you her arse.” Drummer sticks her tongue out. Remus flips her off.
“It’s a pun,” Remus explains. “Got a crescent moon on my bum ‘cos, y’know, mooning?”
It could be the alcohol, which is definitely making everything a lot easier. Could be the fucking stupid pun. Either way, Sirius dissolves completely with mirth, getting beer all over her t-shirt. Luckily it’s black.
Remus leans back and takes a satisfied sip. “To be fair, I stole that from Adore Delano, but still.”
“So that’s what the name Remus is about?” Sirius asks when she’s regained enough composure.
“Yes!” Remus lights up. “You’re the first one to get that first try.”
“Please, I know you’re a pretentious fucking nerd.”
Lily hoots with delight and Remus rolls her eyes.
They keep running out of beer. The drummer, whose name is Marlene, finally sees sense and gets them two pitchers at a time. At some point, Remus throws her legs over Sirius’ lap. Her body remembers. Soft with alcohol, she stays relaxed, laughing at something that wasn’t even funny. Things get fuzzier and fuzzier and Sirius pours more beer because she doesn’t want the night to end.
Sirius wakes up with a hangover that makes her wish it was her life that ended. Fuck. She staggers to the bathroom, throws up, rinses her mouth out with toothpaste, and sits down by her computer with shaking legs.
Her notebook is covered in stains but most of her writing is still legible.
Bubblegum Blues write songs that make you feel like you already heard them, not because they’re generic, but because they touch on something that was already inside you.
She painstakingly forces water down her throat, hoping to keep it down, and writes a draft before collapsing on the bed again. That’s when she notices a telephone number written on her stomach. She smiles. Are they really doing this again? And right, this time?
When she’s revived enough to edit and post her review, she texts the number.
is this who i think it is
who do u think it is
a platypus adorned fuckhead
unless theres two of us that would be me yes. did u publicly drag us yet
dont be a drag just be a queen
Sirius’ cheeks hurt from smiling. It’s stupid. It’s just… Even in that dark and confused teenage time when they didn’t know up from down, their interactions were reasonably easy, but this is worlds different.
dont be a fuckhead
cant stop baby i was born this way
ur uninvited to our next party
next party? :D
ya its marlenes bday next weekend and she wants u to come. but i dont now!!
that puts me in quite the dilemma then
mhm
That’s not really an invitation to keep going, but Sirius can’t stop herself. She doesn’t even try to.
hungover?
werewolves dont get hangovers keep up
She’s smiling again.
ofc how silly of me
do u wanna come to the party tho?
yeah def, i loved marlene and lily and it was cool to see u again
:) same
so i can come?
yeah u can come. ill text u the address later the pizza is here now
enjoy ^^
*
Sirius hasn’t kept any photos from her teenage years. She was told she’d regret destroying and deleting everything, but she doesn’t. What she’s still got are nebulous feelings; she can’t imagine what Remus used to look like, nor does she want to. The past is there like faded graphite. She’s writing over it with black ink and erasing the shadows beneath.
A few days after the gig, she sits down with her Tarot deck. She draws The Fool. Potential, new beginnings, innocence, creativity, personal growth, adventure.
“The Fool is always whole, healthy and without fear. He is the spirit of who we are, the spirit expressed and experienced as wonder, awe, curiosity and anticipation. We never know what is in the future, but like the Fool, we must blindly go forward. You need to trust that you are a spirit born into flesh to enjoy life and grow in experience. Take a chance and see what happens.”
She gets ready for work with a sense of ease. Brushing her hair and putting it in a quick bun, she takes a deep breath and thinks to herself: If it’s foolish to go for adventure and new beginnings, then I will be the biggest fool alive.
*
Sirius manages to switch shifts with Mary so she can go to the party. It turns out that Marlene, Remus, and Lily all live together with a bunch of other people in a house located at the ends of hell (South Croydon). Sirius lives in a dirty shoebox but at least she doesn’t have two hours on public transport when she travels home drunk off her ass.
The house has been helpfully decorated with black and orange balloons, and Sirius stalks up to the door and knocks.
Everyone they know is hot as fuck. That’s Sirius’ first impression. The second is that either one of them has a secret crafting bug, or a prolific grandmother. Every horizontal surface is decorated with something crocheted or knitted. There’s a skull lace pattern doily on the tv.
“My old friend!” Remus is loud and throws her arm around Sirius, clearly already drunk. Sirius grins and steals the bottle out of Remus’ hand to catch up.
“How long have you known each other?” The person asking is short and blue-haired, with a friendly smile on their round face.
Remus tilts her head, considering. “We knew each other at college,” she says finally. “A hundred years ago, in other words.”
“Yes, we’re old as balls,” Sirius agrees dryly. “What’s your name?”
“Tonks.” Blue hair beams and makes to shake Sirius’ hand, but one of them is holding Remus’ hip and the other a bottle of what Sirius hopes is rum.
“Sirius.” She smiles widely. “You also live here?”
Tonks nods. “Well, I try to.” They laugh pleasantly.
“You came!” Marlene bustles through people and approaches them with open arms. “Moons, it’s rude of you to monopolise Sirius like this.”
“It’s rude of you to imply that I’d support any kind of monopoly,” Remus shoots back. She lets Sirius’ shoulders go, forms her hands around her mouth and shouts, “collective ownership of the means of production! Worker’s control! Free hormones for anyone and everyone!”
Literally everyone in the room cheers and whoops. Marlene laughs. “Happy birthday to me,” she says.
“Happy birthday.” Sirius lets go of Remus and gives Marlene a hug once the party has resumed talking.
“It is happy indeed.” Marlene makes a dramatic gesture towards the room. “What greater gift is there than friendship?”
“Booze,” Remus says decisively and hands her a bottle. Then Woman by Kesha comes on and she whoops excitedly and starts dancing wildly. Sirius steals the bottle from Marlene and drinks enough that it burns, then joins Remus. No more hunched shoulders.
It takes Sirius almost an hour, but she figures out who exactly lives in the house. Apart from the band, there’s Tonks, a chubby girl with a huge amethyst necklace named Dorcas, and Alice with the shaved head.
“They seem awesome, but isn’t it exhausting to always have people around?” Sirius slumps down on the sofa next to Remus. The cushion is still warm since Lily was just sitting there.
Remus shakes her head emphatically while swallowing her mouthful of beer. “Nah.” She has a sweet smile. “I can always hide in my room if I need to, and it’s nice to meet people in the kitchen, have Netflix and pyjamas days together, and all that. Plus, Dorcas bakes a lot.”
“You got me there.” Sirius is quiet for a second. She doesn’t want to mention it, but she remembers a Remus by another name who avoided people as much as she could.
“We can go to my room if you want a break, though,” Remus adds.
Sirius doesn’t need a break, but she accepts the offer without hesitation.
Remus’ room is a Creative Person stereotype. Sirius would make fun of her but her own place looks very similar. Half-finished paintings, unwashed paintbrushes, a big basket of yarn and crochet projects, notes with scribbles on them, several notebooks, lots of regular books, and of course instruments. Apart from the bass, there’s a ukulele on top of the bookshelf, a harmonica on the windowsill, and a toy piano peeks out from under the bed.
“This is where the magic happens.” Remus sweeps her hand across the mess. “Or not. You know.”
“Do I?” Sirius tries to smirk. She has just spotted the elephant’s ear plant in the window; there’s a sign telling her its name is Martha.
Remus starts rummaging in a drawer and finds the spliff she’s looking for. Sirius sticks her tongue out, panting like a dog.
“What happened to our mutual promise to never do drugs?” Remus laughs.
“Economic crisis and adulthood,” Sirius replies swiftly.
She looks away when Remus takes the first drag, hollowing her cheeks and accentuating her cheekbones. The thump of the bass can be heard from downstairs, though softened by the walls.
In some ways, they used to have illusions in the goodness of life. In other ways, they had no idea how good life could be.
Sirius takes a drag and imagines herself as a tree as she inhales, drawing strength and nourishment from the earth. If she starts a high like that, it’s less likely that it’ll fuck her up.
Remus clears her throat. “Did you recognise me immediately?” She looks down, thumbing at a loose thread on her jeans.
“No.” Sirius shakes her head emphatically. “It was the tattoo.”
“One day, that tattoo is gonna be the reason I get busted for murder.” Remus meets Sirius’ eyes and smiles. “But good. I mean, I assume second puberty made me even hotter.”
Sirius laughs. “Oh, that’s why so many trans people are so beautiful, it all makes sense now.” She rolls her eyes. Remus laughs.
“I can’t explain how I recognised you,” Remus continues. “I think it was something about your facial expressions, the way you stand and move, just… Something.”
“I’ll take it.” Sirius shrugs. “I do have a very memorable walk.”
They pass the spliff in silence for a minute. Sirius thinks they both know what’s left unsaid; yes, you pass, don’t worry. She scrapes at her pink nailpolish and watches flakes of it fall to the carpet.
“So, Adore Delano.” Sirius breaks the silence and flashes her most charming grin. “I don’t know much about – I don’t know about pronouns, but tell me about Adore?”
Remus’ face lights up.
They talk for hours. After Remus’ enthusiastic gospel about Adore Delano, the conversation turns to Laura Jane Grace and their shared thirst, then a book on Remus’ floor (What Is Not Yours Is Not Yours by Helen Oyeyemi). The party dies down on the floor below them, and when Sirius finally admits that she has to go home it’s 5 AM and the morning trains have started running. She looks out the window, at old buildings and new, so tired it feels like her bones are soft like jelly.
It’s not a bad feeling.
*
The following Monday, Sirius is painstakingly writing an album review when Remus texts.
recover yet?
from the party? yes. from having to listen to the neverending agony of whiny white men with acoustic guitars? no.
lmaoooo!!! say no more
so do u have an emergency going on that will get me out of having to write this
hah, sadly(?) not. just wondering if u wanna hang out this week?
Maybe Mondays aren’t so bad.
yeah sure :)
They decide on Sirius coming to the house on Wednesday, and when Sirius tells James about the party and everything, he weasels his way into coming along.
Bringing James to the house was a Big Mistake. He immediately steals Remus and engages her in a lively debate about Star Wars, about which Sirius does not care. She’s heard James’ rant about galaxy economics about a hundred times, so she zones out and watches Remus listen. She looks aglow, leaning forward and listening intently. Sirius hasn’t seen that nerdy expression in so many years.
“Hey.” Lily shoves Sirius and nods toward James and Remus. “Wanna leave these nerds to it and play some video games?”
Sirius looks away from Remus and smiles at Lily. “Yeah, sure. What’ve you got?”
They play some game where the objective is to shoot nazis. Lily is excellent at it. Sirius is terrible. She doesn’t protest when James comes and steals the controller from her. The satisfied smirk is quickly wiped from Lily’s face when she realises that this newcomer is actually competition. Sirius, without thinking, leaves the sofa and sits down on the floor in front of Remus’ armchair. Remus immediately responds by enclosing Sirius with her legs.
“You still haven’t watched Star Wars?” Remus sounds amused rather than exasperated. Character development.
“You still haven’t realised that my stubbornness is much stronger than my curiosity? I will die on this hill! Star Wars is overrated and you can all eat my arse!”
“No thanks,” James quips.
“Is that meant to be a punishment?” Remus nudges Sirius with her calf.
They never alluded to sex before.
“It’s an expression, you uncultured swine.” Sirius wraps her hand around Remus’ ankle. There’s no reason to, she just does it.
“Please keep it in your pants.” Lily doesn’t even look over at them, her gaze is fixed on the tv and her tongue is poking out the corner of her mouth.
James gives an obnoxiously loud laugh, so Sirius shoots him a glare. She leans back on Remus’ legs, as close as she can get. Just because.
*
The week after, Remus, Lily and Tonks come by Sirius’ shift at the Stag and Hound. It’s one of the rare occasions when Sirius and James are both working. Lily orders a ‘blow job’ (a disgusting shot with whipped cream on top) and her laugh echoes when James spills the gin and tonic he was making all over himself.
“Your funeral,” Sirius tells Lily and goes about making her shot.
She grimaces after swallowing. “Worth it,” she says, and shoots a wink at James. He looks like he’s about to faint.
Tonks drinks a blue fizzy cocktail and Remus sticks to beer. She’s wearing her hair up and Sirius spots a new tattoo behind her ear. It looks like a leaf of some kind.
It’s useless to have your friends come by a bar where you work, because all that happens is that you watch them drink and have fun while you work constantly. Sirius is told that there are sometimes lulls in bar service but that seems like an urban legend. People are thirsty as fuck.
Remus comes to the bar by herself to get her next pint. While pulling it, Sirius leans forward and asks, “What’s the tattoo behind your ear?”
Smiling, Remus touches it. “It’s a bay leaf,” she says. “Helps psychic abilities, good for exorcism, protects against misfortunes. You know, everything us unemployed hippies need.”
Handing her the beer, Sirius giggles. “This employed hippie could use some of that, honestly.” Remus needs to pay and go, but Sirius wants to talk for hours about magical herbs now.
“Well, I promise I’ll help you out if you ever need an exorcism.” Remus slides money on the counter, and before Sirius can give a charming response, she needs to serve another customer.
Typical.
*
Sirius and James are leaning against the wall, sitting on Sirius’ bed with a pizza box between them. James tilts his head back and aims the cheese at his mouth.
“So the universe is giving the two of you a second chance.” He states it calmly after he’s chewed.
“You’re so fucking sappy.” Sirius huffs, like she hasn’t been thinking that exact same thing.
“I’m also so fucking right.” James is confident. “So what are you gonna do about it?”
Sirius ignores him and eats pizza for a while. James waits her out. She wipes her greasy hands on her tights and gets out her Tarot deck. She draws Two of Cups.
“The Two of Cups represents love that is nurturing, creative, clearly focused, inspirational and equally fulfilling. In a reading, this is often a beautiful start to a new romance in which you will experience understanding, harmony and deep love between two souls. The seed has blossomed into a tree of appreciation. Kindness and thoughtfulness will bind your two hearts together with the feeling of being simultaneously very special to one another.”
James rolls his eyes, but his grin gets progressively wider as Sirius explains what the card means. Her hands are tingling.
“I hate to admit it, but the universe clearly agrees with you.” She places the card back in the box and nods decisively.
*
Sirius gets guest list plus one to see Counterfeit. Remus happily agrees to come with her. They both shiver in the queue outside the club, Sirius in a pleather jacket too tight for warm jumpers, and Remus in a denim jacket too thin for November cold. She meets Remus’ eyes and they both chuckle.
She doesn’t even bother with her ‘no alcohol at review gigs’ rule. Sirius gets them pints, and they stand toward the back, eagerly sipping.
Remus leans closer to hear what she’s saying, and Sirius gets a whiff of her scent.
After the gig, they go to Sirius’ place, stopping on the way to get a bottle of vodka and some Coke. Remus takes over the speakers, plugs her phone in and puts on Adore Delano’s punk album. They sit on the bed, laughing and talking. Sirius throws her notebook on the floor. That’s a problem for future Sirius.
When it’s approaching Remus’ last train, Sirius takes a deep swig straight from the bottle and goes for it.
“Was this a date?” The alcohol puts a fire in her stomach.
Remus smiles and bites her lip. “Did you want it to be?”
“I asked first!” Sirius jokes, but quickly continues, “I mean, yes. But you can still catch a train home, so no worries.”
“Maybe I don’t want to.” Remus is looking right at her, unwavering. “Maybe I want to stay here.”
She leans closer and it feels like slow motion, a crescendo building and building to an orchestral explosion. Sirius meets her somewhere above a discarded drinking glass; stomping down on the bass drum.
Flesh memory is a real thing. There is no initial awkwardness, no having to find a common rhythm – they already have it. Remus puts her hand on Sirius’ neck, and she sinks into it, carried away by the swell of music.
The glass thuds loudly when it hits the floor. Sirius lies down, Remus follows her, but stops and hesitates for a second, searching Sirius’ face. She nods, and any doubt is gone. Time stretches wide yet becomes incredibly short, like a rubber band both extended and contracted at the same time. All that exists are their mouths, hands, hair, skin.
Sirius doesn’t know what time it is when she whispers, “Do you want to sleep here? You can borrow my toothbrush.”
Remus smiles softly. “Gross.”
“That’s not what it seemed like a second ago.” Sirius grins.
Remus uses the toothbrush first, and then they go to bed in underwear and t-shirts. Sirius turns on her side and Remus embraces her from behind, her boobs pressed against Sirius’ back. That contact makes it hard for Sirius to fall asleep; she’s buzzing. But eventually she does, because when the sun’s cold light wakes her up, she’s nestled around Remus’ side, head on her chest.
It’s almost winter, but her tree of appreciation is indeed blossoming.
*
A hard grip on Sirius’ arm makes the promise of a bruise. She pants over Remus’ collarbone and presses closer. Remus lifts her face to kiss her, languid but insistent, soft but firm. Everything is warm; inside, outside, the entire universe.
Her skin tastes like salt and ink. Sirius’ exploring hands stick to it, they’re both sweaty and damp, but the friction only adds urgency.
When she comes, Sirius inadvertently pushes Remus away from her as her back arches and she moans, tries to pull Remus closer again. Remus responds by kissing her without letting Sirius catch her breath. She knows what she wants and incredibly, what she wants is Sirius. Remus’ climax comes with a string of noises that make Sirius want to do it all over again. She’s the most beautiful human in existence and Sirius gets to be naked with her. Sirius laps at her skin again, mostly because she can. Remus laughs breathlessly.
*
It’s Sirius’ twenty-seventh birthday, and she’s about to spend it at someone else’s wedding.
“I fully cannot believe that you’re getting married before us.” Sirius glares at James, who just laughs and pulls Lily closer.
“You snooze, you lose.” He sticks his tongue out.
“Babe, you’ve told me a dozen times that you don’t even want to get married,” Remus kindly reminds her.
“Still,” Sirius mutters.
The wedding cake has a salty layer of smushed crisps, as per Lily’s request, on top of a sweet layer of lemon curd, as per James’. It should be disgusting but Sirius takes a second piece, considering if she should smash it in Remus’ face. It would probably look delicious.
“You do like being in the same living space as me, though,” Remus says, pulling Sirius out of her fantasy.
“For reasons unknown to man, yes I do.”
“Don’t be a fuckhead, I’m trying to be sincere and romantic,” Remus says calmly. “But if you don’t want to move in with me, then fine.”
Sirius gapes for a second before she realises that there’s still cake in her mouth. She must look disgusting. She shuts her cakehole, swallows, and snorts.
“Of course I want to. Fuckhead.”