Only the Brave

Chapter 15: A Jealous Tantrum

Interlude: Sirius POV

Sirius is a little tipsy, but he's warm and happy. He's leaning on Remus, who has his arm over his shoulders, as they walk back towards the castle. It's been a good day. One of those in which Sirius remembers that there are good people in his life. People who can laugh, and take a joke, and even disagree with each other without pulling out wands and threatening dismemberment.

Sirius has cigarettes in his pocket, and his best friend right next to him, and everyone else he likes is walking in front of them. James is at the very front of the group, walking like he's in a rush to get back which Sirius doesn't understand. Why is James in such a hurry when everything that matters is right here?

He fishes the pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and takes one out, then offers it to Remus. He takes one, too. Sirius lights his first, then Remus' and gets to watch the flame dance in his eyes.

Remus is beautiful.

Sirius is fucking confused about it.

He remembers the incident with Snivellius only through a sort of haze. There was a ton of pain, but physical pain has no power over Sirius so he was mostly fine. Until he wasn't. He felt weak, lightheaded. Dark spots appeared in his vision. Sirius wound up on the floor, clinging to Remus for some reason. And then, he started to get cold. So cold.

It felt to Sirius as though death had arrived in the corridor, searching for him. The cold burrowed in his marrow, spreading through his body so quickly Sirius understood he was a goner. He was going to die.

He was going to die in Remus' arms, because Remus was still trying to save him. He was so upset, frantically casting healing spell after healing spell and Sirius wanted to tell him that it was okay. That he knew Remus was doing everything he could, and Sirius didn't blame him.

Remus had looked at him, amber eyes wide and so fucking terrified. And Sirius had become overwhelmed by a sense of loss so strong he'd momentarily forgotten to be afraid of dying. 

And in that moment, that breath when Sirius was hyper aware of Remus and his fear and his pain, all Sirius could think was He doesn't know. I haven't told him.

There was regret. So much regret it coated every drop of blood leaking from Sirius' mangled body. Sirius had realised that he wasn't going to see another day, and the thing that weighed on him was that he'd never told Remus how beautiful he was.

Sirius glances sideways, to his friend. Walking towards the castle with an arm thrown over Sirius' shoulders, a jumper that's too big for him, and a glint in his eye because eventually Remus did have mulled beer, too.

Beautiful.

He's so unaware of it. Just. Remus is. He's cool, and smart, and a little mean sometimes but that's okay because he's so much more intelligent than anyone else he's allowed to get irritated. He's handsome, and sexy, and cheeky, and he acts like he's not even conscious of it. It makes Sirius a little frustrated, if he's honest.

Sirius doesn't know what any of this means. Or he does, but he can't. He can't. It's not him, is it? Sirius doesn't feel that way about Remus because Remus is his friend.

And yet, Sirius has never had the urge to press his lips against James'. He's never wondered what would happen if he bit under James' jaw. He's never caught himself staring at James' body, or losing his breath over the shape of James' hands.

All of those things have happened to him about Remus. But they're just intrusive thoughts, right? It's normal to have strange urges. To wonder about things that one knows one doesn't actually want. Because he doesn't.