"Severus," he said, rubbing his freezing hands together, "there's something I've always wanted to ask you."

There was a slight rustling next to him, then black eyes stared at him in annoyance. "For Merlin's sake, Lupin, this is a stakeout, not a tea party," Severus hissed.

Remus pulled the rough woollen blanket tighter around himself, shivering in the cold of the early morning hours. "Come on. We both know nothing's going to happen anytime soon. They are not exactly early birds."

Rounding up the remaining Death Eaters after Voldemort's demise had sounded like an exciting and demanding task at first. In reality, they were mostly waiting. Waiting for people to leave their house, waiting for people to do something incriminating … sometimes, they were waiting for so long that they forgot what they were even waiting for. At least Remus did. Severus was as focused and persistent as always.

"Maybe that's what they want us to believe," the former Potions professor declared, eyes fixed on the mansion they were observing.

One couldn't really claim that the end of the war and the consequent recognition of his sacrifices had downright mellowed Severus. However, there was a remarkable lack of cruel edge to his mockery nowadays.

Remus would have almost gone so far as to call them friends, actually. He had never dared to mention this assessment to Severus though. He was rather fond of all his limbs, thank you very much.

"Be that as it may - I don't see the harm in having a conversation. We can still watch the house while talking, unless you've lost your infamous ability to multitask? I do remember several hushed discussions among your students about how you were able to write on the board, keep an eye on twenty simmering cauldrons, detect the hidden dung bomb in Seamus' bag and yell at Harry at the same time," Remus chuckled and prodded Severus with his blanket-wrapped elbow.

Severus huffed. "Fine then. If you'll keep your paws to yourself," he grumbled, but there was no bite in his voice.

"But it's cold," Remus complained, wriggling even closer.

"You're such a child," Severus muttered, then extended his warming charm to include the werewolf. To Remus's surprise and delight, he didn't move away though.

"Thank you," Remus said, smiling. He breathed in deeply and was instantly reminded of his original question. "So. The thing I wanted to ask."

Severus sent a long-suffering sigh into the damp air. "Get on with it already."

Remus breathed in again, collecting himself in order to find the right words. "There's no way to put it and not sound weird, but… for about twenty-five years now I've been asking myself one thing: Why on earth do you always smell like cinnamon?"

The silence following his question was deafening. For several seconds, neither of them spoke, and neither did they move.

"What?" Severus finally managed to say. It was rather dark, but Remus could distinctly see the shock written all over his face.

"Oh, don't play dumb. You must know you smell like cinnamon. It's impossible to not know."

Severus spluttered. "Are you telling me that people can actually smell that? I've taught classes stinking like a baked apple? I've endured endless audiences with the Dark Lord reeking of cinnamon buns?" His expression was one of abject horror, and Remus had to stifle a snort.

"Calm down," he said. "It's very faint. I can probably only smell it due to my condition. Heightened senses and all that."

Severus relaxed visibly. "For fuck's sake, Remus. You'll be the end of me," he whispered and rubbed his face with long, lean fingers. Remus had to suppress the urge to grab hold of them and interlace them with his own.

"Funny. I've often thought the same thing about you," he said wistfully. Severus stared at him in confusion, so he continued. "For example, when I woke up that one dreadful morning in 1976 and could smell a trace of cinnamon in the Shack… and spent hours thinking I had killed the person I liked more than he would ever know."

By now, Severus seemed to have altogether forgotten their original task of watching the mansion and was studying him with a piercing, unreadable look. Remus swallowed hard and forced himself to continue – in for a penny, in for a pound.

"Then there was that one December in 1996, when Voldemort sent you on a week-long mission over the holidays and nobody knew if we'd ever see you again. You have no idea how hard it is when every biscuit, every pudding and every cup of mulled wine reminds you of what you might have lost." Tears threatened to spill from his eyes as he remembered those hollow, hopeless days.

"Remus… I had no idea…" Severus said after a moment, voice hoarse.

Remus hushed him with his raised forefinger. He wasn't done yet. "And now this. You're here, you're alive, and I like to think we've become friends, at least sort of. And that's great… and I should be happy."

"But you're not?" Severus asked quietly.

"The thing is, I still don't know if you only smell like cinnamon," Remus said, a tiny crooked smile forming on his lips as he wiped away the wetness from his eyes.

Severus barked out a small, almost helpless laugh. His warm hand found Remus's still moist cheek, fingers trembling slightly. "You're absolutely ridiculous," he whispered, and then he gently pulled him in until their lips met.

Remus let out a small sigh and melted into the touch. He tilted his head a little and cautiously opened his mouth, inviting Severus in. Severus didn't hesitate and licked into his mouth, and oh. There it was. He did taste like cinnamon, sweet and spicy and woody, and it was like being wrapped into a soft, warm blanket. It was like coming home after a very, very long time.

After what felt like hours, they finally broke apart, breathing heavily. The blush on Severus' cheeks was undeniable in the first sunlight of the new morning, and Remus didn't think he had ever seen anything so beautiful.

"You know, your flirting skills are atrocious," Severus said, adjusting the blanket that had slipped off his shoulders.

Remus snorted and grinned. "They worked, didn't they?"

"Mm, considering you could have had this twenty-five years ago, I think saying "they work" is stretching it a little," Severus answered, the usual sarcasm back in his voice.

"What?" Remus looked at him, eyes wide.

Severus briefly closed his eyes as if to steel himself for his answer. He sighed, then said, "In our third year, you brought a box of Bertie Bott's beans to Potions class. You left one on my desk when I wasn't looking. It was cinnamon-flavoured." Severus dug into his coat pocket and pulled out a small pouch. "Since then, I've always been carrying some. They're… my comfort food, because they remind me of you." He opened the pouch and spilled a few reddish beans onto his palm.

Remus couldn't believe his eyes. He remembered that particular Potions class and Severus' longing glances at the jelly beans when he thought that no one was watching. Only he realised now that Severus had probably not been looking at the beans, but at the carrier. He reached out and nudged one of the beans on Severus' palm with his outstretched forefinger, then went on to trace the outline of the slender hand. "You're not having me on?"

Severus rolled his eyes and put the candy back in its bag. "Why in Merlin's name would I invent such a pathetic story?"

"I don't know. To get me to kiss you again?" Remus smirked.

Severus huffed. "As valid a reason as that may be – it's still the truth."

"I'm glad," Remus said softly. "And, just for the record," he added, curling his fingers into Severus' lapels and pulling him closer, "I would have kissed you again no matter what."

And he did.