Sunday

It was early Sunday morning.

Remus liked Sundays. Sunday was the day of rest. It was a day of late breakfast and finishing essays in the common room (or, if you were Sirius, starting them) and long naps by the fire. They were calm days, Sundays, serene. After a long week of hectic classes and Sirius-scolding, Remus welcomed Sunday with open arms.

On this particular Sunday, there was a slight, misty drizzle of rain half-falling, half-floating outside Gryffindor Tower. Remus was curled up in the window seat, shivering slightly, rubbing his wrist absently as he gazed out the window.

"Boo," whispered an alarmingly close voice.

Remus yawlped and spun his head around. A nonchalant Sirius sat opposite him on the window seat. Remus curled his legs in closer to his body to give him room.

"Is it noon already?" Remus said. He pulled his sweater over his palms and rested his chin on his crossed arms.

"It's only nine." Sirius's brow furrowed. "What do you--oh, I see, you're mocking me."

"Did Peter teach you to be that clever?" Despite himself, the corners of Remus's mouth twitched as Sirius fumbled about, trying to find a comfortable position. At last he settled his back against the foggy glass and crossed his legs.

"It's all you, Moony," he said, with a smirk, but then he looked away, off towards Peter's closed curtains, from whence a dull drone was emanating.

"You're up early," Remus reiterated. Sirius glanced back at him quickly, then allowed his eyes to settle somewhere in the vicinity of Remus's elbow. Remus scratched it.

"I am a mystery man." Their eyes caught for a moment. Sirius coughed. "Actually Peter woke me up," he amended. "I meant to badger James about his late-night Lily visit, but he hasn't been in yet. Bastard."

"Scandalous." A gust of wind blew the raindrops towards the window. Sirius seemed to notice the blemish on Remus's skin and stared at his wrist for a minute. Remus suddenly wished for something, anything, to hold in his hands. A cup of cocoa, perhaps, or a book. Anything to occupy his fingers.

"Scar?" Sirius asked, in the closest thing to a respectful tone that Remus had ever heard from him. He nodded.

An unexpected warmth enclosed his hand. He looked up. Sirius held his hand gently, examining the soft white line running across Remus's wrist. He traced it lightly with one long, delicate finger. Remus closed his eyes. Sirius's finger trailed down his pinky. It was like being tickled with a very warm feather. Remus felt himself redden.

Sirius squeezed his hand. He opened his eyes and saw a timid boy staring back at him with pleading eyes. But when he blinked, it was gone and Sirius dropped his hand and repositioned himself so that he could look out the window.

Remus's skin prickled like static. A thousand words spun around in his head, like why and warm and me, too, but how was he supposed to pick just one? He put his head down.

He needed a nap.