Chelsea, May 3, 2020

Damn, just drove straight again
At a T-junction
Cursing again
Reversing again

Bam, just drove straight again
At a T-junction
Aiming again
And I'm flaming again

Red, yellow, green, give up
Need a licence to stop
Let's pull over and swap
Red, yellow, green, give up

"Where have you been, mate?" James asked as Sirius stepped into their rehearsal space in Chelsea later that afternoon.

"Sorry lads. I was feeling a bit off-colour, but I'm here now." Sirius shrugged and put his guitar case down.

Fabian crossed his arms. "You missed five interviews."

Before Sirius could retort, James stepped up and laid an arm around his shoulders. "Well, like he said, he's here now, innit? So why don't you get things set up, and Sirius and I will go to the kitchen and get coffee for everyone?" he said, already leading him out the door and down the hall.

Calling it a kitchen was an overstatement; at best it would qualify as a kitchenette, but it had a large fridge and an espresso machine, and that was all that mattered. Sirius perched himself on one of the bar stools next to the counter as James got busy with the coffee mugs. He knew better than to try and help James, who was very particular about his brew, having worked as a barista for three years before this whole circus took off. Sirius loved teasing him about it but wasn't in the mood today.

"So, what's going on?" James said, obviously aiming for neutral, but Sirius knew him well enough to detect the worry and irritation underneath the question. When he didn't answer, James went on, "Peter tells me you almost attacked a hotel worker this morning."

Sirius didn't look at his best friend. James would read him like an open book if he did. "Leave it to Wormtail to go ratting to the grown-ups." He huffed.

"I ain't playing games, Sirius," James said, leaning against the counter and crossing his arms.

"Well, I didn't attack anyone! Wormtail is always exaggerating, you know that, Prongs," Sirius said, making a show of sorting the teabags in the wooden box in front of him.

James drew in a breath as if to calm himself. "Well, he's worried, and quite frankly, so am I. You were acting weird at the pub yesterday, and this morning you walked out of an interview with no comment and then drag your sorry arse in here seven hours later not expecting us to ask questions? This ain't Guns N' Roses, bruv!"

"Fuck—don't get your knickers in a twist, Jamie. I was just a little tired from yesterday, alright?"

James considered him for a moment, clearly unimpressed, then apparently decided to change tactics. "How did it go with Remus last night?"

"Who?" Sirius said, perhaps a bit too quickly, and cursed the heat creeping up his neck at the mention of the name.

"Don't insult my intelligence."

"Look. I don't appreciate you meddling in my business. You were out of order yesterday!"

James didn't take the bait and just smirked. "Well, it worked, innit?" He ducked as Sirius threw a handful of teabags at him.

James picked up a tea towel and snapped it expertly at Sirius, who didn't manage to leave his stool fast enough and got clipped on the shoulder. They chased each other around the cramped kitchen a couple of times, neither catching the other, but soon James returned to preparing the coffee, and Sirius started picking up the scattered tea bags.

"You should tell the others, you know," James said.

Sirius sighed. "I can't, Prongs…."

"You deserve to be happy, Padfoot. You deserve to be with someone. How are you gonna do that if no one is allowed to see you as you are?"

"You see me." He shrugged.

"Yes, well, I don't count, since no matter how much you beg, I'm never gonna let you suck my dick."

The tea bags, having only just returned to their box, once more found themselves spread over the tiny kitchenette.

The rehearsal was a fiasco to say the least. Sirius kept losing track of where they were in the song, playing the wrong notes, or flicking the pick-up switch by accident. It was honestly getting embarrassing and after his bungling had caused two broken strings within an hour of each other, he was on his back-up-back-up guitar. At least he knew what he would be spending his evening doing (cursing his decision to fit Fawkes with a Floyd Rose).

He would never admit it, but talking to James had helped; knowing his brother would always have his back, no matter how big of a prat he was being. It also helped that no news, exposing him to the world, had yet broken. If Remus or Marlene were going to tell the press, surely the story would have been all over the internet by now—which it wasn't. He knew, because he had been checking his phone every five minutes, much to Fabian's annoyance. But what James had said about him not being able to be happy as long as he was hiding, had struck a chord (sort of ironic, considering he himself had barely been able to strike a single one today).

He sighed as he put his sorry five-strings in their cases. If only it were as simple as James liked to think. James had declared rehearsal over and sent them home with instructions to get some proper rest so they could pick it back up in the morning. The twins had already left, and James was taking their mugs back to the kitchen and swinging by the loo before he and Sirius would drive out to Surrey together where they owned neighbouring houses. Thankfully, they had no press obligations tomorrow, so they could devote the entire morning to rehearsing the candidates for their next album before they would get on their bus to Birmingham for their next gig.

Still in the pre-natal stages, nothing tangible had emerged yet, but it was always a long process, fine-tuning and weeding out the songs before an album could be announced. It was usually Sirius's favourite part of being a Marauder. Just the four of them, secluded for hours, days, or even weeks; in the zone and in sync with each other. Perhaps the only thing that could top it was playing the songs for the first time to a packed venue. The nervous energy and the months of hard work culminating in an explosive melting pot—the band, the audience, and the music fusing into one single breathing, pulsing entity. Magic. That was the only word that came close to describing it.

But today his heart hadn't been in it. Ever since breakfast, he had been oscillating between panic, anger, and some other feeling he couldn't identify, and it needed to stop. And in between all of that, images of the gentle, green-eyed man he met yesterday would take over. The quiet, unassuming demeanour that had attracted him the moment he had stepped in the Hog's Head and seen him sitting with his friends, joking and smiling in the dim light. The jolt of heat, the first time he heard him speak, the first time he breathed in his scent sitting on that wall, or when their fingers accidentally brushed, trying to pass the same pint to James. How those slender fingers, without the callouses of his own, had mesmerised him and made him wonder what they were capable of. Silky, sweet lips and slight stubble in exquisite contrast. Skin against skin, the exchange of moans and profanities as the heat built between them.

Yes, he wanted it to stop, but he also wanted more. He fished out a neatly folded piece of paper from his jeans pocket and sat down on a flight case.

Remus's number.

Sitting there, debating whether to call the number or burn the note, brought an odd sense of déjà vu. Another time, sitting on a similar flight case backstage before a show. Not a piece of paper in his hand but a tiny bag of white pills. Of course, the situations were completely different, but today too, he had to choose between what was right and what was easy. Back then, it had been crystal clear what the right choice was, and even though it had been painstakingly hard to make, he had eventually managed it with the help of James. And he had continued to make that same choice every day since.

But was calling Remus the right choice or the easy one? James would surely argue the former and say that burning his number and never looking back was the easy, but cowardly, way out. But once Sirius had got over his initial reservations, it had only been too easy to lose himself in Remus. Being with him had felt… effortless. But what could he offer him? A life in the closet, constantly hiding from paparazzi and ever-present camera phones? A life where they only got to see each other for a third of the year because The Marauders were always touring or travelling? Remus seemed like the type valuing a quiet, stable life, and Sirius was an irretrievable road dog. In that case, the right thing would surely be to never call Remus, forget they ever met, and resign himself to dying alone. Well, now you're just being dramatic, Sirius, and you're getting ahead of yourself. Who even says Remus is interested in seeing you again?

He folded the note back up just as James returned and asked if he was ready to go.


A/N:

I just LOVE writing James & Sirius 3

If you're interested in more than friendship between these two, go check out my brand new one-shot, 'This Cold Summer', or my tattoo shop AU, 'Unscheduled Appointment' (the latter is only on AO3 due to rating. You can find me under the same username).

(For all strict Wolfstar shippers - don't worry, this story will not turn into a Starbucks fic, I promise.)

Lyric credits:

Nephew - T-kryds (Danish parts translated by author, creative licence taken for rhyming)

And credit to Albus Dumbledore (GoF) for the right/easy quote.