Staring at the Sun

Staring at the Sun

Sirius closes his eyes, turns his face up to the sun, and savours the distinct smell of summer.

It's a scent ingrained in the trees, in the grass, in the pink fuchsias Mrs Potter has planted all along the flowerbed. It drifts through the air and into Sirius's senses, a delicious nip at the back of his throat, a tart splash on the tip of his tongue. He feels nostalgic for things that haven't yet happened, and for those that already have. He wonders at the way time is running away from him: this time next year he won't even be a student any more. But really, it's too hot for thinking, so he settles back in his seat and allows summer to breathe over him.

When the sweet aroma changes, just a little, into something muskier and warmer, Sirius smiles. A second chair is scraped against the paving slabs, the noise an unnecessary clue.

"Hey, Moony." Sirius doesn't open his eyes. He doesn't need to. Remus is sitting beside him, a book open on his lap, hair falling in his eyes, sniffling because of his hay fever.

"Hi." Another sniff, a page turned, a sneeze. "Oh, God." The rummaging sound is Remus searching for a tissue, which will be buried in his trouser pocket.

"You shouldn't come out here," Sirius says absently. "It makes you worse."

A silence, which is probably a shrug, and then, "I was worried. Haven't seen you all day."

Sirius stretches, luxuriating in the way his body pulls and tugs until he's even more relaxed. "Went out with James. And now I'm here. I thought you were upstairs reading."

"I was writing, too," Remus adds, a little defensively. "I wrote a letter to my parents."

There's another pause, full of something Sirius can't quite put his finger on. It could be anxiety, or it could be fear. It's not anything good, that much is obvious.

He opens his eyes. Remus is watching him, a faint flush spreading over his face. He's clutching his book tightly, one finger rubbing compulsively along the crease between the pages.

"What?" Sirius asks, and the air around him suddenly seems to turn cold. If he were Padfoot, his hackles would be rising.

"Nothing." Remus shifts his attention back to his book, but only for a moment. He takes a deep breath, not quite meeting Sirius's gaze. "I just... um... Last night. Do you remember?"

Sirius uses his remaining energy to coax his mouth into a smile. "Yes, Moony. I was there, wasn't I?"

"Well." Remus nods. "Yes. So I thought. I don't know. Are you...I mean. You don't regret it, do you?"

Into Sirius's mind slides an image of Remus above him, braced on strong arms, planting a gentle kiss on Sirius's lips, pressing down in places that matter. Sirius recalls the surprisingly soft skin at the nape of Remus's neck, the way Remus's muscles tensed, how wonderfully strange that felt to Sirius lying beneath him, trying to absorb everything. Listening, seeing, touching, tasting, smelling. The overwhelming understanding of it all, that life could actually be so simple.

Regret? Well, that seems ridiculous now, considering how much he enjoyed it, and how hopeful he is that it will happen again. And yet Sirius has to admit he's been avoiding Remus, afraid to give him the opportunity to say it was a mistake. Come to think of it, Remus has probably been avoiding him too, for the same reason.

He sits up straight and shakes his head. "No."

Remus smiles, and Sirius can actually smell the relief pouring out of him. It joins the myriad of scents carried on the air, a concoction unique to this time and place, never to be repeated. Sirius breathes it in: it goes straight to his head, and makes him dizzy.