Title: Me and you.
Pairing: Remus/Sirius.
Disclaimer: I wish.
Summary: They have an arrangement - and then they don't. It has nothing to do with love. But the shaking hands and aching hearts, might.
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It was always the third Friday of the month and the dormitory was empty. Sirius excused himself from the common room with a headache and Remus shuffled off to do homework – nobody said a word as they heard the telltale creaking of the top step or the shaky fingers prying at the door handle desperately. And, outwardly, nobody suspected a thing.

The thick drapes were always fastened shut on two beds when James and Peter stumbled past their yawns and under their quilts. And the window hung open just barely for a thin stream of moonlight to creep along the carpet and under the door.

But it was timed exactly, down to the last second, and Remus's lips always pushed away from Sirius's neck precisely seven seconds before the others burst into the room; by which time both boys were settled snugly in their own beds pretending they weren't trying to watch the other through the thin gap in the curtains, held back by single fingers or eyes or arms or hearts.

Their lips crashed together as soon as the back of their heels hit the thick red carpet and teeth smashed to gums to hands to tongues. And it was awkward. And it was okay. And they both smiled and gasped and sharp angles collided in all the wrong places as they fell back onto rumpled mattresses with aching grips.

Sirius was always the first to crack and he caught Remus's wrist in between his palm and guided it fitfully down over his stomach and further – and further. Skin inched into skin and damp sweat pooled over them both. Limbs stung and eyes burned and throats and chests and thighs. It was fast and desperate and still so awkward but it was theirs.

The next day they always still awoke with the same muttered "Good Morning" but their smiles and gazes and lingering shoulder pats were accompanied by something just below the surface, something – something more. James always walked between them during those moments, and Peter, and they tried not to weave their way around into each others arms. But it was okay. It was fine.

Except every time they sat down to notes in potions class, covered in ink blots and scribbles and almost drawings, it sort of really wasn't. Both of them laughing offhandedly at something they were sure someone else had said to keep their hands and minds and hearts too busy to accidentaly write love.

But when Sirius Slipped, Remus was the one who fell.

And he didn't quite know if he wanted to get back up again.