Handsome.
It's all I can think as I sit and watch you not doing your homework.
I should reprimand you. You really need to write that essay now or you'll be in trouble. Before, I would have reprimanded you. But now I can't bring myself to say anything. What if you don't like me if I do?
"James, stop that," I say instead. "You know you'll be in for it if you fail this as well."
I don't look at you. I'm not criticising you. I could never criticise you.
James sobers up and sits back down at the table. "Ohhh you're probably right," he says with a dramatic sigh. You sit down too, across from me. There is an empty chair next to me, too. Why didn't you take that?
I pass you my finished essay.
"What would I do without you, Moony?" you mumble offhandedly.
It was just a random comment, I know it was. Nothing significant. Probably even ironic. I know that.
So why do I feel so warm inside now?
I try not to look at you. I've already stared at you for too long. I can't just sit and stare at you all day.
But I want to. Handsome. You know you are, that much is obvious. I can see it in your posture and in your face. Besides, you've said so often enough. I always had to keep myself from nodding.
Arrogant, that's what most people call you. They see it as a fault. But why shouldn't you be? I would love myself too if I were you. You deserve all the love you get, even your own.
They say you're a bully, and maybe you are. No, not maybe. You are. I don't approve of what you do to Severus, you and James. But I can't say anything. What if you think I'm a spoilsport?
Sometimes I feel like a bad person. If I was a good friend I would tell you to do your homework. I would tell you to leave Snape alone. And I did, before.
But now I don't want to be your friend.
I'm still staring at you. I just can't help it. You're so handsome.
You've finished copying my homework. I try to touch your hand as you give it back to me. Did you notice? My hand tingles.
You're looking at me. Why are you looking at me? I can't look you in the face. I stare at the table. Please don't let me blush.
You're still looking at me. I'm shivering. Why do I feel so hot?
"Remus," you say slowly. I love it when you say my name. Nobody pronounces it as beautifully as you.
"Remus, I need you to read through my Transfiguration homework. I think I left it in the dorm. Will you come and look at it?"
Why, I wonder. You're better than me in Transfiguration. You don't need me to read through your homework. But you want me to come with you. Of course I will come with you. I'll follow you everywhere.
We climb the stairs to our dormitory. You are strange, silent. I can see the tension in your shoulders. What's wrong?
I don't say anything either. I don't know what. We haven't been alone in ages. Sixteen days, to be exact. And yes, I counted.
We enter the dormitory. I sit down on my bed. You grab a scroll out of your bag and sit down next to me.
I open the scroll. I can't concentrate. You're looking at me again. I want to look at you too, but I can't. It's strange really. I stare at you all the time, but now that I want to, I can't.
I look back down at the parchment. It isn't your Transfiguration homework, it's James's Arithmancy essay from three weeks ago. I put it away and turn to you without thinking.
Big mistake. You're still looking at me. And now I've met your gaze I can't look away. What are we doing?
You smile at me. A small, secretive, mischievous smile. I know it well. Sirius, what are we doing?
You press your lips against mine, just for a second. I don't even have time to blink before you pull away. I look up at you. I can't speak.
You shake your hair out of your eyes with a frustrated gesture. What did I do wrong?
"I'm sorry, Remus," you say. Is it me or is your voice hoarser than usual? "I should have done this properly."
You put a hand against my cheek, and I put mine on yours to hold it there. Don't take your hand away. You tilt your head slightly. You're still looking at me with those large brown eyes of yours. My heart is fluttering like a bird in a cage. I hold my breath.
You lean forward slowly, and then you kiss me. You were right – this is a proper kiss. Your lips feel like fire, at least I think they do. Why else would mine be burning like this?
I can't move, so I just sit frozen. I don't know how my hand got into your hair. I don't care, really. It's soft and smooth under my fingers.
Somehow we must have opened our mouths, because I feel your tongue between my teeth. It tastes of firewhiskey. That explains a lot. Did you only kiss me because you're drunk? You didn't seem drunk to me before.
Eventually, we pull back. We look at each other. I can't keep the grin off my face. I must look like a maniac.
After a moment, you grin too.
"Finally," says James.
