The rain splatters against the windows as the wind whips the little drops around in the grey, frozen air. Peter and Frank have gone down to the common room, and James has been absent for hours. Saturday afternoons at the turn of winter are always Remus' favourite. He's leaning against his headboard with his pyjama shirt buttons done up wrong, trying to hold open his book with only his left hand. Sirius is pressed against him, his back to Remus' chest, and Remus has his right arm wound around the other boy, his hand resting on Sirius' collar bone. Remus awkwardly manages to turn a page, pressing a small kiss into Sirius' dark hair.
Sirius, meanwhile, has his eyes closed, an unlit Muggle cigarette between his lips. He's lazy, not bored. He tries to match the rate of his breathing to match Remus, but Remus notices and speeds up on purpose. Sirius lets a little chuckle, mostly air, barely sound, escape his lips. "Moony?" Sirius says, and his voice is sleepy, soft. Remus' nickname is nothing but a little rumble of Sirius' velvet voice, but it fills Remus up and warms him all over.
"Mm?" he responds, letting his book tilt down a little, almost to the point of dropping it from his hands.
There is a moment of silence from both of the boys. Remus can hear a clock ticking somewhere, along with the pitter-patter of the late fall rain on glass. Sirius gives a little yawn, then a relaxed sigh. He takes the cigarette out of his mouth and leans his cheek on Remus' forearm. "I love you."
Remus lets out a breathy little laugh and rubs his thumb against the base of the other boy's neck. "I love you too," he murmurs.
Sirius falls asleep a couple of times, waking up only when Remus shifts or when the thunder claps particularly loudly. The cigarette drops from his fingers at one point and rolls under the bed. Remus stares at the same page for probably an hour, blinking in and out of a hazy half-sleep. When the light begins to fade from the window, Remus sets down his book (after carefully marking his place) and gently tightens his grip on the sleeping boy next to him. He sighs deeply. Saturday afternoons at the turn of winter have always been Remus' favourite.