Twenty-three years old, and Teddy Lupin had still not learned how to do his own laundry. When he was younger, his grandmother had done it for him. Since then, Andromeda Tonks had passed and Teddy moved in with the Potters. Ginny and Harry lumped his clothes in with the rest of their little brood's, and Teddy had never worried about it. Even at Hogwarts, it was done for him, and in his muggle apartment in London, there was no washer or dryer. Teddy felt he had no choice but to continue going to his godfather's house for his laundry needs.

"There are such things as laundromats, you know," Ginny chided whenever Teddy visited, always with a lump of his clothes in his hand as he stepped through the fireplace.

"I know," Teddy would quip, smiling. "But why fix my system if it isn't broken?"

Clearly, Teddy could have learned to do his own laundry by now, but he lacked the proper motivation. For one, it gave him an excellent excuse to visit the Potter household where all three Potter-teens lived. He could stay for dinner, where he could eat a meal that actually filled him up, and even spend the night in a big, warm, comfy bed. Secondly, he liked the way the Potters' clothes smelled. They smelled clean, like linen, and always reminded Teddy of home. More than that, however, they smelled like him. The young Mr. Lupin liked it when his clothes smelled like James Sirius Potter—a fact he was loath to tell anyone, especially the teen in question.

Teddy loved all the Potters, of course. Harry and Ginny were as close as he would ever get to parents, and they had practically raised him since before he could speak, even if the boy hadn't officially moved in until he was fifteen. Like a son, Teddy thought bitterly as he sat in his favorite velvet armchair in the Potter's living room. What a pervert I am. James was, of course, not Teddy's brother. The Metamorphmagus knew this. But it didn't make him feel any better about having a hopeless crush on the Potter he loved most of all.

Shaking his head and muttering to himself, Teddy opened up his book. He was reading about werewolf treatment in North America. Apparently, there was a large community of them in the Blue Ridge Mountains. He was going to read more about their structure of governance when—

"Teddy! You bugger, why didn't you tell me you were coming?"

If it was even possible, Teddy thought he felt his heart physically ache. He smiled softly.

"Hey Jamesie."

James Sirius Potter: the boy—no, man—Teddy corrected, who knew everything and anything about him. James was the only one who had ever seen what he was like with the full moon in the sky. James, who could see through every wall Teddy put up, who read each joke about his condition or jibe about his parents as what it really was: a cry for help. A cry for someone, anyone, to read past his wolfish grin and ask him how he was really doing. A cry for a hand to pick him up off the ground when he was down, a person to confide in. James answered that cry every time, and Teddy absolutely adored him for it. That, and the tight little quidditch arse.

"You seem a bit off," James said, taking a seat on the couch near Teddy's armchair. "How can I help?"

Teddy chuckled darkly. "This time, James, I don't think you can."

"Try me," James pressed on. "When have I failed you in the past?"

Never, Teddy wanted to say as he closed his book. "Alright," he conceded, shifting into the chair a bit more, "Let's see what you can do. There's someone I like—"

"Not Victoire," James gasped, "You broke up last year!"

Teddy rolled his eyes. "No, it's not Victoire. I don't think we were the best match. You see…I like a man." To Teddy's utter shock, James simply chortled.

"Well, duh, Teddy," he laughed. "I've known you've rather fancied the other side of the meadow for some time now. Don't tell me that's the problem."

Teddy inhaled sharply. Of course, James knew. The boy knew every blasted thing about him. Well, almost. "It's not—at least, not entirely," he sighed. "You see, I'm hopelessly devoted to him, but it just can't ever work."

James raised a brow. "Oh?" He asked. "And you know this…how?"

"Well," Teddy snorted, "He has absolutely no idea. That's the start to my problems," he snorted. "Two, there's quite a bit of an age gap. I feel like an absolute perv I do. Three, my line of work pays absolute shit—turns out people aren't all that interested in the lives of werewolves—and four…" Teddy sighed. "Four is that I'm hardly the kind of man this man deserves. I'm never going to be normal; you know this—my temper, my condition, how I tick, none of it is normal."

James had started laughing. Teddy shot him a look. "Now what the hell is so funny?" Asked the Metamorphmagus, his hair turning scarlet. James shook his head, grinning and trying to stop the roar of laughter escaping his lips.

"It's just," he belted out, "You sound just like those diary entries your dad wrote." Teddy stiffened.

"What do you mean," he snapped, "I sound like him."

James rolled his eyes. "Honestly, Teddy. You're essentially saying that you're 'too old, poor, and dangerous'—you mean to tell me you actually believe that? After we spent an afternoon laughing at your dad for even thinking about writing these things?" James scoffed. "Merlin, Teddy, I thought you were smarter than this—"

"—that's not all," Teddy retorted. "There's…there's another reason, James."

This piqued the dark-haired boy's interest. "Oh?" He exclaimed. "Please, do tell."

Teddy look straight into James' eyes, trying to find the courage to tell the young man in front of him what his main, his real, roadblock was. "He's practically my brother. It's wrong—absolutely wrong of me to want him."

James stiffened slightly. Teddy felt his heart sink so deep into his body he wasn't sure if he'd find it again. The dark-haired boy cleared his throat.

"Well, Teddy, and I don't mean this the wrong way…" James got off the couch, moving closer to sit right on the arm of Teddy's chair. "I don't think of you as a brother at all."

"What?" Teddy gasped. "No, James, I…" he sighed, He knew when the jig was up, but had still managed not to read between the lines. "Fine, James, I guess you know. I like you," he said painfully, refusing to make eye contact with his best friend. "How did you know," he mumbled.

"Well, number one, Teddy Lupin," James smiled, "I know you better than you know yourself. And number two," smile growing wider, "You just told me."

Teddy shot James a look. He couldn't believe he had fallen for that. James chuckled.

"Honestly, Teddy, it makes a load of sense. I mean, you could've been doing your laundry yourself all this time and you never did. You kept coming here: probably for the same reason I don't move out."

The Metamorphmagus stared intently at James. "You don't mean…"

"I honestly though you should've gotten it by now. You're my best friend," James grinned, "And yet you've been so blind. I'm absolutely infatuated with you, git. I live at home because I never know when you're going to show up, and I don't want to miss a single Teddy sighting. I know you like you know your books, and of all your reasons for not making a move…" James shook his head. "You may be my father's godson—I won't deny that—but you sure as hell aren't my brother."

James planted a sloppy kiss on Teddy's lips, the elder boy's eyes widening before delving deeper into the kiss. At last, their lips parted, both young men smiling.

"Want to learn to do laundry now?" James joked. Teddy shook his head.

"Fat chance," he grinned, pulling James right down onto the armchair with him.