Coming Home

The Problem

To see him curled into that battered armchair by the fire feels just like coming home. I'm trying to peek at the tightly clenched book in his hand, but I'm not close enough to identify it; I move closer, now looking down on the sleeping face of one of my best friends. The book is Wuthering Heights, now as pleasantly tarnished as the rest of him, despite being in perfect condition when I presented it last Christmas. There's a slight groan and then he shifts, those amber eyes half-opening, heavily lidded from lack of sleep; the full moon is not long passed. He smiles at me, teeth flashing in the reflection of the firelight - for a moment the wolf beneath his skin is illuminated, and without meaning to I take a step backwards. The revulsion courses through me as he visibly flinches, startled by my reaction.

"Moony -" I try to explain, but the words are stuck in my throat. Funny how he's the only one that can do this to me.

He shrugs and sits up, creating just enough space for me to slot down beside him; it's lucky we're both relatively slim. I think for a moment about what I'm about to do and suddenly the warmth from the crackling fire is too much, I can feel the heat spreading across my face in a red blush of anxiety.

"Remus, I'm sorry," I hear myself saying, as if from very far away.

He frowns, bewildered. "For what?" he asks.

I hesitate before my response: "For this." That's when I kissed him.

I didn't expect him to push me away; I didn't expect that rush of anger. Was it possible that I had somehow misread all the signs? The fact that, after I ran away, he was the first to comfort me... The way he'd always jump at the offer of a trip to Hogsmeade, even if he had work to do... The way we were always so much more comfortable around each other than the others... The way he holds my hand when I'm afraid. I've always been the one to wait for him to recover after a transformation, and in the times that the wolf breaks free the most attention he pays is to me. I thought there was something deeper between us than friendship.

He glares at me. "What the hell was that?"

I opt for honesty: "Oh, come on, Moony, you know I have feelings for you. I haven't made any secret of that. And I thought you felt the same! I just -"

He cuts me off, angry now, "That's not the fucking point! You don't understand."

"Then bloody well explain it to me, because as far as I can see you're just been a stubborn arsehole. There's nothing to stop us. Unless," I add with a grin, "unless I've got the wrong end of the stick, so to speak."

Moony can't suppress a grin at that. It emboldens me somewhat.

"You have got the wrong end of the stick, Padfoot," he says.

"Then what's the problem?"

That's when he hits me with it. The most idiotic reasoning I've ever heard.

"Sirius, you know I'm a werewolf. I'm never going to have the same rights as you - the Ministry Regulations have seen to that!" He lets slip a wry smile. "I'll never be able to have a proper job, and so I'll never earn as much as you, not even close. If things ever because serious - pardon the pun - between us, the burden of that would fall on you, and I couldn't live with knowing I had in some way added to your pain. You're a young, attractive, rich, pureblood wizard; you could have your pick of anyone. I won't stand in the way of your happiness. You deserve so much more, so much better, than I can ever give you."

"There's just one problem with that theory, Remus."

"What's that, Sirius?"

"The part about how I could have anyone I want; I want you. I want to be with you."

Remus looks at me for a long moment, judging my words; it seems I pass the test though, because the next moment he is in my arms and we are kissing. Holding him like this feels right; it feels like coming home.