Four: Fairytales
Somehow they make their way to Sirius’s flat. It looks, Remus thinks, almost exactly as it looked over a year ago, the last time he was here. It is as familiar to him as his own home, the pile of flattened cardboard boxes in the corner, the stained coffee table and extremely ancient, ugly, and sagging couch. “I’ll make tea,” Sirius mutters, and disappears into the kitchen.
Remus drifts around the room, stops at the short little table with the record player on it to thumb through the records, some of which technically belong to him and all of which he has heard a thousand times. He pauses at the stacks of books along one wall, smiles in remembering how he and Lily always used to try and nag Sirius into buying a couple of bookcases.
He turns when he hears Sirius clear his throat, and sees him in the kitchen doorway holding a mug loosely in one hand. “I, um, it’s two sugars, yeah?” Remus nods. “Yeah. Making sure.” He dodges out of sight beyond the doorway. Remus sits on the sofa.
There’s a stack of magazines on the coffee table. Remus flips through them idly. All are at least a year out of date, and some of them are completely mystifying. He picks one up and walks to the kitchen door.
“Sirius,” he says, dangling the magazine in front of him between two fingers, “why have you got the Vogue special issue on Princess Diana’s wedding?” Sirius stops, a tea bag dangling out of each hand, and stares at him. “I mean, I know you’re gay, but I didn’t think you wanted to read about tiaras and white tulle.”
Sirius turns back to the sink, blushing. “I didn’t buy it for the tulle,” he says through his teeth.
“What did you buy it for?” He is, suddenly, no longer teasing.
The kettle begins to whistle. Sirius grabs it roughly and pours boiling water into two blue and white mugs. He slams the kettle back down, and says, “I bought it for the fairytale. I wanted to read about a fairytale romance that ended happily ever after. And no, I did not read it while eating ice cream out of the tub, and no, it did not make me cry.”
“Oh,” Remus says, and quietly sets the magazine down on the counter at his elbow. He steps up behind Sirius and peers at the tea. “We never had much of a fairytale, did we?”
Sirius barks out a laugh. “We never even came close to fairytale.” He sounds bitter.
“I didn’t know you wanted romance.”
“Romance? I didn’t want champagne and oysters and candlelight. I just wanted you to act like we…”
“Like we could some day walk down an aisle with an organ playing and white tulle and flowers everywhere? Because we’re never going to be people who can do that.”
“Will you shut up about the fucking white tulle?”
Remus starts to laugh, madly and uncontrollably, and reaches behind himself to grab a chair and sink into it. Sirius throws his hands in the air, grabs his cup of tea, and swallows it in great gulps. He shoves the other cup at Remus, who, still giggling helplessly, takes it and attempts to drink.
Finally, he is calm, and composed, and no longer picturing Sirius wearing a tiara and a white veil. “You know I do things slowly, Sirius. Maybe I’d have got to where I was comfortable with… if you hadn’t….”
Sirius feels his blood run cold, and the muggy air presses down on him. “I-I’m sorry. I’m…”
“I know. You apologized for thinking I was the traitor at Christmas. I accepted your apology. I forgive you. I know. I’m just explaining.” He sets his tea cup on the kitchen table and tries to keep his insides from falling out of his eyes at the look on Sirius’s face.
“Just so you know,” Sirius says very quietly. “I have never wanted champagne, oysters, candlelight, aisles, organs, or any bloody white tulle from you. I don’t even know if…”
“Oh. Oh, all right.”
Sirius has the feeling that he’s broken something, but he isn’t entirely sure he wants to fix it.
“How’s Harry?” Remus asks of a sudden, a little too cheerily.
Sirius turns back to the sink. “Heard from Dumbledore. Says he likes the picture books I sent.” He sounds proud, and this makes Remus want to fix all his problems, fix everything so that he can be the parent Harry needs. He knows, though, that Sirius isn’t quite ready to be more than Uncle Sirius, even if he wants to be.
“That’s good. I wanted to send him a birthday present, but I don’t know where to send it.”
“Oh,” Sirius exclaims, surprised. “Dumbledore didn’t tell you where they live? You could’ve asked me. I’d have told you, or sent it with my things.”
“Sirius, I haven’t seen you in two months.”
“Oh.” It’s so easy to forget, in tiny, snatched at moments, that they are not what they used to be, and it always shocks him when he is reminded.
Remus downs the last of his tea, and sets the mug aside. “I should go home.” He doesn’t give an excuse, and Sirius doesn’t ask for one. He stands, and wonders how to say goodbye, what degree of familiarity to employ, when he has known Sirius to every degree of knowing.
“I’ll send you the address for Harry,” Sirius offers. “I like that I’m not the only one left to send him things.”
Remus nods, recognizing this as an offer of trust-Sirius trusts him with knowledge of Harry’s whereabouts. “Thank you.” He’s treading shaky ground here, but he judges this enough of a goodbye. He turns and leaves, and though he does it carefully, Sirius sees him take the Vogue magazine with him. Secretly, Remus sort of liked all the white tulle at James and Lily’s wedding. And everyone likes a fairytale.