Author's Notes: Written for my friend Anon. ^_^ Hope you like it!
It feels like he's drowning. It's funny really. He's the ladies' man of Gryffindor, the reckless daredevil with a winning smile and a tendency to anger his pureblood family until they kick him out for yet another Christmas or summer vacation. James's parents know him down to the size of shoes he wears. He hates Snivellus and he's hopeless at homework (although he's quite smart), and he's spent more time in detention than most people have breakfast.
And when he looks into Remus's eyes, he feels like the whole world has lost anchor, and he's drowning.
He's never liked boys before. As friends, obviously. The Marauders wouldn't exist otherwise. He likes James's swoops around the Quidditch Pitch, Remus's scholarly scolding in the library after another grade of Troll, Peter's stammer when he has another brilliant prank idea. They're his friends, and he cares about them.
But Remus is so much more, and he can't understand it any more than he could understand the basic principles behind Animagus transformation for six months.
"Sirius? Are you all right?" Remus's voice interrupts his reverie and he jolts, nearly knocking his Astronomy book on the floor. Good thing I didn't, Pince would have a cow, he thinks and reflexively brushes it closer to the centre.
"Fine," he coughs, his throat dry. "Just thinking."
Remus eyes him, but continues on with his own homework, some epic about Cheering Charms and their use in St. Mungo's. Sirius exhales, a shaky breath that makes him feel lightheaded. He can't tell Remus. He doesn't understand it himself, how would Moony?
Ignore it and it will go away, his mind suggests, and Sirius takes the advice gratefully. Of course. He'll see another pretty girl (like Marlene McKinnon), and that will be that. No more stirrings in his heart or a bit lower down when he looks into Remus's celandon-coloured eyes, or sees the boy run a hand through his scruffy hair. Nothing.
It doesn't go away.
He's kicked out in sixth year. The Potters take him in, like he'd hoped, and for all intents and purposes, James is his brother now, not just a Marauder. He feels like he can finally breathe once he's out of Grimmauld Place, but it hurts, too, like a sore spot in the back of your mouth you can only just reach with your tongue. Regulus won't even look at him anymore and that hurts more.
Remus makes it hurt less, and Sirius can't understand why. He's same old Remus, same as always. Not like James, who's become family in every sense of the word. Or Peter, whose perpetual twitch makes all the girls look at him funny (some rat traits don't wear off). Remus with his glasses, with his shabby robes and the silvery glint of the full moon in his eyes. Remus with his satchel full of light reading that nearly threw Professor McGonagall's back out when she tried to lift it at the end of term.
He's not good with words, but he wants to be. He pals around with Moony more, pretends that it's just because Peter's off trying to woo Dorcas Meadowes and James is locked up in his room, writing sheaves of bad poetry to send to Lily Evans (who always sends it back with a Howler that always manages to sound just a bit affectionate). Remus is the only one around willing to toss around a Quaffle with him, or listen to him scheme for the upcoming year what to do with Snivellus.
Until one afternoon when they're lounging on the same rock outside James's house, looking up at the slowly darkening sky and talking about nothing, and Sirius finds himself just that much too close to Remus, and his lips brush the other boy's lips, just a bit, and his own are cracked, and Remus's are dry, and it's nothing like kissing girls. But somehow that makes it better, and he's shocked when Remus kisses him back. Remus's hands fist in the sleeves of his robes, pulling him closer, and it's electrifying and terrifying all at once.
They break apart, breathing heavily, and in the twilight, Sirius can see Remus's cheeks flush brilliant red, as the other boy prepares some meticulously stuttered out apology.
"Don't," Sirius whispers. He knows he's not good with soppy kisses and romantic interludes, but he's good with this. "It's all right, okay, it's good."
"Better than good," Remus admits in a voice just as shaky as Sirius's own.
"Wanna do it again?" Sirius grins, and the shy nod Moony gives him sends sparks up and down his spine. The moon slips into its accustomed place in the sky as darkness billows, completely unnoticed by the two boys, giving each other sweet, soft, desperate kisses on a still sun-warmed rock.
It never goes away, and Sirius has never been happier in his life.