Archive of Our Own ^beta

Remus woke slowly, consciousness returning in gentle waves. The first thing he became aware of was warmth—the solid, comforting presence of another body pressed against his. Sirius was still tucked into his arms, his head resting on Remus's chest, one arm draped across Remus's waist, their legs tangled together under the sheets.

For a long moment, Remus just lay there, not moving, not wanting to disturb the peaceful quiet of the early morning. Pale sunlight filtered through the curtains, painting everything in soft greys and golds, and he could hear the distant sounds of the city waking up outside their window.

He looked down at Sirius, really looked at him, and felt something warm and tender unfurl in his chest. In sleep, Sirius looked younger somehow, the lines of worry and pain that Azkaban had carved into his face smoothed away. His dark hair was mussed, falling across his forehead in careless waves, and there was color in his cheeks—real, healthy color, not the feverish flush of illness or the grey pallor of starvation.

He'd come so far. They both had. From that desperate night when Sirius had collapsed in Remus's hotel room, barely able to stand, to this—waking up in each other's arms, safe and warm and together.

Remus's hand came up almost without conscious thought, gently brushing a strand of hair away from Sirius's face. The touch was feather-light, but it was enough to make Sirius stir.

Sirius's eyes fluttered open, unfocused and hazy with sleep. For a moment he just blinked up at Remus, clearly trying to orient himself, his expression adorably confused—brow furrowed slightly, lips parted, grey eyes soft and unguarded in a way they never were when he was fully awake.

"Moony?" he mumbled, his voice rough and scratchy with sleep.

"Morning," Remus said softly, and he couldn't help the smile that spread across his face. Sirius looked absolutely adorable like this—rumpled and confused and so impossibly cute that Remus's heart did something complicated in his chest.

Before he could second-guess himself, before the rational part of his brain could remind him of all the reasons to go slow, to be careful, Remus leaned down and kissed him.

It was soft at first, gentle—just a press of lips, sweet and tender, a morning greeting that tasted like possibility. Sirius made a small surprised sound against his mouth, but he didn't pull away. Instead, he tilted his head slightly, kissing back with sleepy enthusiasm.

Then something shifted. Sirius's hand came up to cup the back of Remus's neck, fingers threading through his hair, and the kiss deepened. What had started gentle and unhurried became more intense, more urgent, as the sleepy haze gave way to full awareness and want.

Remus rolled them slightly, giving himself better leverage, one hand sliding down to Sirius's hip while the other cradled his jaw. Sirius responded immediately, his body arching into Remus's touch, a soft sound escaping him that went straight to Remus's core.

They kissed like they were making up for lost time, like they'd been starving for this and could finally, finally have it. Sirius's fingers tightened in Remus's hair, holding him close, and Remus could feel Sirius's heartbeat racing beneath his palm where it rested against his chest.

When they finally broke apart, both breathing hard, Sirius's eyes were dark and dilated, his lips kiss-swollen and red. He looked thoroughly debauched and absolutely beautiful.

"Good morning indeed," Sirius managed, his voice still rough but for entirely different reasons now.

Remus laughed breathlessly, pressing his forehead against Sirius's. "Sorry. You just looked so—"

"So what?" Sirius prompted, a smile tugging at his lips.

"Adorable. Confused. Cute." Remus felt heat creep into his cheeks. "I couldn't help myself."

"Well," Sirius said, his smile widening into a grin, "feel free to not help yourself any time you like. I'm certainly not complaining." He pulled Remus back down for another kiss, slower this time but no less passionate. "In fact, I think I could get very used to waking up like this."

"Yeah?" Remus murmured against his lips.

"Yeah," Sirius confirmed, and there was something in his voice—something warm and certain and real—that made Remus's chest tight with emotion.

Then Sirius's stomach let out a loud, protesting growl that broke the peaceful quiet.

Sirius pulled back from their kiss with a sheepish expression. "Sorry. Apparently my body has opinions about priorities."

Remus laughed, pressing one more quick kiss to Sirius's lips before reluctantly disentangling himself from their embrace. "Come on, let's get you fed before your stomach stages a full rebellion."

They got up slowly, both of them still a bit dazed and smiling like idiots. Remus padded over to the small counter where he'd set their meager supplies—a bunch of bananas he'd picked up from a street vendor yesterday and half a loaf of bread that was still good, if a bit stale.

"Gourmet breakfast," Sirius said dryly, eyeing their options, but there was no real complaint in his voice. After Azkaban, after weeks of rebuilding his strength, he'd learned not to take any meal for granted.

"Only the finest for you," Remus replied with mock solemnity, handing Sirius a banana and tearing off a piece of bread for himself.

They ate standing in the small kitchenette area, close enough that their shoulders kept brushing, stealing glances at each other between bites. It was ridiculously domestic, ridiculously normal, and somehow that made it even more precious. Just two men having breakfast together, no different from thousands of other couples across the city.

Except they were different. They were fugitives playing house, stealing moments of normalcy between the constant fear of discovery. But for now, eating slightly stale bread and bananas in a cramped hotel room, they were happy.

"What time do you need to be at Mark's?" Sirius asked, finishing his banana and reaching for another piece of bread.

Remus glanced at his watch and winced. "About twenty minutes ago, actually. I got... distracted."

Sirius's grin was absolutely wicked. "I'm an excellent distraction."

"The best," Remus agreed, then sighed. "But I really do need to go. We need the money, and Mark's been so good to us—I don't want to take advantage."

"I know." Sirius's expression softened. "Go. I'll be fine here. I've got my wand now, remember? I can practice more spells. Maybe see if I can manage something more ambitious than levitating pens."

"Just don't burn down the hotel," Remus said, only half-joking as he headed to the bathroom to quickly wash up and make himself presentable.

"No promises," Sirius called after him cheerfully.

Ten minutes later, Remus emerged dressed and ready for work, his hair still slightly damp from splashing water on his face. He grabbed his jacket—one of the coats from the lost and found—and was reaching for the door when Sirius caught him.

"Wait," Sirius said, crossing the room in quick strides. Before Remus could ask what was wrong, Sirius wrapped his arms around him, pulling him into a warm embrace.

Remus melted into it automatically, his own arms coming up to hold Sirius close for just a moment. Then Sirius pulled back slightly and pressed a quick, sweet kiss to Remus's lips—just a peck, really, but it was so casual, so domestic, so much like something a couple would do that Remus felt his heart stutter.

"Have fun at work," Sirius said with a soft smile, his hands still resting on Remus's shoulders.

Remus stared at him for a moment, completely undone by the simple tenderness of the gesture. "I—yeah. I will. You too. Have fun with your wand practice."

"Oh, I intend to." Sirius's smile turned mischievous, but there was warmth in his grey eyes that had nothing to do with teasing. "Be safe, Moony."

"Always am," Remus said, echoing their familiar refrain. He pressed one more quick kiss to Sirius's lips because he could, because Sirius was here and alive and his, and then he reluctantly pulled away and headed out the door.

As he made his way down the stairs and out onto the street, Remus couldn't stop smiling. His lips still tingled from Sirius's goodbye kiss, and he felt lighter somehow, like he was walking on air.

He was harboring a fugitive. They were running for their lives. Everything about their situation was dangerous and complicated and uncertain.

But Sirius had kissed him goodbye and told him to have fun at work, and somehow that simple, domestic gesture made everything feel possible.

The door clicked shut behind Remus, and Sirius stood there for a moment, fingers touching his lips where Remus had kissed him goodbye. A stupid, giddy smile spread across his face—the kind of smile he hadn't worn in over a decade.

He had a wand. He had Remus. For the first time since Azkaban, he had hope.

But he also had restless energy thrumming through his veins and an entire day stretching ahead of him with nothing to do. The old Sirius would have gone stir-crazy within an hour. The new Sirius—the one who'd survived Azkaban and was slowly, painstakingly rebuilding himself—knew he needed purpose.

He needed to contribute. Remus had spent nearly all his savings on that wand yesterday, and while Sirius would be grateful for that for the rest of his life, he also hated feeling like dead weight. Like Remus had to carry him.

First things first, though. He caught his reflection in the small mirror over the dresser and winced. His hair had grown wild and uneven during his time in Azkaban and the weeks since, hanging past his shoulders in tangled waves with split ends everywhere. His face was covered in patchy stubble that was more scraggly than intentional. He looked like exactly what he was—a man who'd spent twelve years in prison and was still putting himself back together.

"Right," he muttered to himself. "Let's fix that."

He headed to the bathroom, stripping off his shirt and studying himself more critically in the better light. The shower helped, washing away the morning and leaving him feeling more awake, more present. When he emerged, wrapped in a towel, he reached for his new wand.

The ebony wood was warm in his palm, thrumming with potential. He'd practiced small spells last night, but this would be different. More precise. More personal.

He started with the beard, carefully vanishing the scraggly growth until his face was smooth and clean-shaven for the first time in years. The spell came easily, the wand responding to his intent like an extension of his own will. Next came the hair—trickier, requiring more finesse. He couldn't just vanish it; he needed to shape it, trim it, make it look intentional rather than like he'd been living rough.

He worked slowly, carefully, using the mirror and small cutting charms to take off the damaged ends and bring the length to something more manageable. He kept it long—it had been long before Azkaban, part of his identity as a Black who'd rejected his family—but now it was clean, even, falling in dark waves that actually looked styled rather than neglected.

When he was done, he stared at his reflection and barely recognized himself. Not the gaunt, hollow-eyed prisoner he'd been. Not quite the arrogant young man he'd been before the war. Something in between—older, harder, but alive. Unmistakably himself.

"Not bad, Black," he told his reflection, then grinned. "Moony's going to lose his mind."

An hour later, dressed in the better of his two outfits—jeans and a button-down shirt Remus had picked up from a thrift store—Sirius stood on the street corner and realized he had absolutely no idea what he was doing.

He wanted a job. Needed one, really. But he was a wanted fugitive, and he had no identification, no references, and no idea which establishments in New York were magical and which were Muggle.

The city was overwhelming in the daylight. People rushed past him in constant motion, everyone with somewhere to be, and he had to resist the urge to transform into Padfoot just to feel less exposed. But he'd promised Remus he'd be careful, and a large black dog wandering the streets might draw exactly the kind of attention they couldn't afford.

He walked for what felt like hours, his feet starting to ache in his worn shoes. Every coffee shop or restaurant he passed, he'd pause, trying to sense if there was magic there. Sometimes it was obvious—a shimmer in the air, a sign that seemed to shift when you weren't looking directly at it. Other times, he had no idea and didn't want to risk walking into a Muggle establishment and accidentally revealing himself.

He was about to give up and head back to the hotel when he turned a corner and felt it—that unmistakable tingle of protective wards, the subtle hum of magic concentrated in one place.

The storefront was narrow and easy to miss, wedged between a dry cleaner and a bookshop. The sign above the door read "Double Bubble" in cheerful letters that definitely shimmered with magic, and through the window he could see a cozy interior that reminded him achingly of the Three Broomsticks—warm lighting, wooden tables, the comfortable chaos of a well-loved establishment.

Before he could second-guess himself, Sirius pushed open the door.

The interior was even more welcoming than it had looked from outside. It was mid-afternoon, past the lunch rush but before the dinner crowd, and there were a handful of patrons scattered at tables—witches and wizards, he could tell immediately from the casual way one woman was levitating her coffee cup while reading the paper, from the way two men at the bar were speaking with their heads close together over what was clearly a magical contract of some kind.

"Welcome to Double Bubble!" A cheerful voice called out, and Sirius turned to see a waitress approaching—young, maybe mid-twenties, with her hair in a practical ponytail and an easy smile. Her name tag read "Samantha." "Sit anywhere you like, hon. Menu's on the tables."

"Actually," Sirius said, making a split-second decision, "I was wondering if you were hiring?"

Samantha's eyebrows rose, but her smile didn't fade. "Maybe? We're always looking for good people, and Tony's been complaining about being short-staffed since Marcus left last month." She looked him up and down, assessing. "You got experience?"

"Some," Sirius lied smoothly. He'd never worked a day in his life before Azkaban—pure-blood heir, trust fund, the whole package—but how hard could serving food be? "Nothing recent, but I'm a fast learner and I need the work."

Something in his tone must have convinced her, because Samantha's expression softened. "Yeah, I get that. Hold on, let me grab Mr. Henderson. He's the owner."

She disappeared through a door marked "Staff Only," and Sirius waited, his heart pounding. He was really doing this. Going by a fake name, applying for a job, acting like a normal person instead of a wanted criminal.

It felt terrifying and exhilarating in equal measure.

Mr. Henderson turned out to be a stocky man in his fifties with salt-and-pepper hair and the kind of face that suggested he smiled often. He emerged from the back wiping his hands on a towel, looking Sirius over with sharp but not unkind eyes.

"Samantha says you're looking for work," he said without preamble. "What's your name?"

"Romulus," Sirius said, using the fake name he'd decided on during the walk. Close enough to Remus's name to remember easily, Roman enough to fit with his Black family's naming conventions, but not so distinctive as to draw attention. "Romulus... Grant." The surname came to him on the spot—common, forgettable, American.

"Experience?"

"Bar work, mostly. Some kitchen. Like I told Samantha, it's been a while, but I'm good with people and I need the work."

Henderson studied him for a long moment, and Sirius forced himself not to fidget under the scrutiny. Then the older man nodded.

"Alright, Romulus Grant. Tell you what—we're heading into the dinner rush in a few hours. You stick around, help Samantha and me get through the evening, and we'll see how you do. Consider it a trial shift. If you're not a disaster, we can talk about regular hours."

"When do I start?" Sirius asked, relief flooding through him.

"Right now," Henderson said with a grin. "Sam, get him an apron and show him the ropes. And Romulus? Don't make me regret this."

"I won't, sir. Thank you."

The next few hours were a blur of organized chaos. Samantha proved to be an excellent teacher, patient but efficient as she showed him how to take orders, how to carry multiple plates at once without magic (harder than it looked), how to work the espresso machine that apparently had both magical and non-magical settings, and how to navigate the cramped space behind the counter without running into anyone.

The dinner rush hit hard and fast—witches and wizards streaming in after work, filling the small establishment with conversation and laughter and the comfortable hum of magical people relaxing in a safe space. Sirius took orders, delivered food, cleared tables, and discovered that he actually liked it. Liked the rhythm of it, the constant motion, the brief interactions with customers who saw him as just another server, not a prisoner or a Black or a murderer.

Just Romulus, the new guy.

By the time the rush died down, his feet were killing him and his face hurt from smiling so much, but he felt more alive than he had in years. When customers left tips on their tables, Samantha showed him how to collect and split them, and by the end of the shift, he had a surprising amount of cash crumpled in his pocket.

"You did good," Henderson said, clapping him on the shoulder as they cleaned up. "Really good, especially for being rusty. You want to come back tomorrow? Same time?"

"Absolutely," Sirius said, trying not to sound too eager. "Thank you, Mr. Henderson. Really."

"Call me Tony," the older man said. "And go on, get out of here. Sam can finish closing up."

Sirius said his goodbyes and stepped out into the cool evening air, his pockets heavier with tips and his heart lighter than it had been in years. He had a job. A real job, under a fake name, in a magical establishment where he could be useful and earn money and contribute.

Wait until Moony heard about this.

The thought spurred him into motion. He stopped at a small market he'd noticed on his way to Double Bubble—one that catered to the magical community—and used some of his tip money to buy actual groceries. Fresh pasta, sauce, bread that wasn't stale, even a bottle of cheap wine. Not extravagant, but miles better than the bananas and bread that had been their breakfast.

He made it back to the hotel just minutes before Remus, barely having time to set the food on the small counter and catch his breath before he heard the key in the lock.

The door opened and Remus stepped inside, looking tired but content, and then he froze, his eyes going wide as he took in Sirius's appearance.

"Sirius? You—your hair—did you—" Remus seemed unable to finish a coherent sentence, his gaze traveling from Sirius's clean-shaven face to his trimmed hair to the bags of groceries on the counter.

"Surprise?" Sirius said with a grin. "I got a job."

"You what?"

"A job. At a wizard café called Double Bubble. I'm going by Romulus Grant, and I start again tomorrow, and I brought dinner." He gestured to the groceries, practically bouncing with excitement. "Moony, I made tips. Actual money. I can help pay for things now, I can contribute, I'm not just—"

He didn't get to finish because Remus crossed the room in three strides and kissed him—hard and sudden and tasting like relief and pride and something deeper.

When they broke apart, Remus kept his hands on Sirius's face, studying him with an expression that was equal parts amazed and concerned. "You went out. Into the city. Alone."

"I was careful," Sirius promised. "The café is warded, it's all magical folk, and no one looked at me twice. Tony—Mr. Henderson, the owner—he hired me on the spot after a trial shift. Moony, I did it. I actually did it."

"I can see that." Remus's thumb traced along Sirius's newly clean-shaven jawline, his touch gentle. "You look... you look like yourself again."

"I feel like myself again," Sirius admitted quietly. "Or at least, I'm starting to."

Remus pulled him into a hug, tight and fierce, and Sirius wrapped his arms around him just as tightly. When Remus spoke, his voice was muffled against Sirius's shoulder. "I'm proud of you. And terrified because you went out there where anything could have happened, but mostly proud. We could use the money."

"Exactly what I thought," Sirius said, pulling back with a grin. "So how about we celebrate with pasta that isn't from a can and wine that probably isn't good but at least exists?"

Remus laughed, and the sound filled the small hotel room with warmth. "That sounds perfect."

As they moved around the tiny kitchenette, Remus took over the actual cooking—Sirius's culinary skills hadn't magically improved despite getting his wand back—while Sirius leaned against the counter and told him about his day.

"You should have seen Samantha's face when I nearly dropped an entire tray of butterbeers," Sirius said, grinning at the memory. "She managed to catch them wandlessly before they hit the ground, and then just looked at me like 'really?'"

"And they still hired you?" Remus asked, stirring the pasta sauce with an amused smile.

"What can I say? I have charm." Sirius moved behind him, wrapping his arms around Remus's waist and hooking his chin over his shoulder to watch him cook. "Besides, I got better. By the end of the shift, I only almost dropped things twice."

"High praise," Remus said dryly, but he was smiling, leaning back into Sirius's embrace.

They stayed like that for a moment, swaying slightly, and Sirius pressed a kiss to the side of Remus's neck just because he could. "I missed you today."

"I was only gone a few hours."

"Still missed you." Another kiss, this one behind Remus's ear, and he felt rather than saw Remus's shiver. "Is that allowed? Am I being too clingy?"

"You're being perfect," Remus said softly, turning his head to catch Sirius's lips in a quick, sweet kiss. "And I missed you too."

Remus turned in his arms, the wooden spoon still in his hand, and studied Sirius's face with that intense focus that always made Sirius feel seen in a way that was both terrifying and wonderful. "You really do look different. Good different. Healthy."

"That's all you, Moony. You got me here." Sirius kissed him again, deeper this time, until Remus made a soft sound and pulled back with a breathless laugh.

"The sauce is going to burn."

"Let it burn."

"Sirius Black, if you think I'm letting perfectly good food go to waste after the week we've had—" But Remus was smiling, turning back to the stove and finishing the dinner while Sirius stayed close, stealing kisses and touches whenever he could reach.

By the time they sat down to eat at the small table by the window, both of them were flushed and grinning like teenagers. The pasta was simple but delicious, and the wine was exactly as mediocre as Sirius had predicted, but neither of them cared.

"To your first day of work," Remus said, raising his glass.

"To not being dead weight anymore," Sirius countered, clinking his glass against Remus's.

"You were never—"

"I was, and that's okay. But now I'm not, and that feels good." Sirius took a sip of wine and made a face. "This tastes like something died in a barrel and was left to ferment."

"It was three dollars," Remus pointed out checking the tag.

"And worth every penny," Sirius said solemnly, which made Remus laugh—that full, genuine laugh that Sirius was quickly becoming addicted to.

They ate and talked, Remus telling him about his day at the apothecary, about Mrs. Halberstadt's arthritis potion and how Mark had asked after Sirius's "friend situation" with careful tact. Sirius told him more about Double Bubble, about the regular customers Samantha had pointed out, about how Tony had a policy of hiring people who needed second chances without asking too many questions.

"Sounds like he's good people," Remus said.

"Yeah," Sirius agreed. "He is. It's... nice. Having somewhere to go. Something to do that isn't just waiting around and feeling useless."

When they finished eating, Sirius waved away Remus's attempt to help clean up. "Go shower. You've been on your feet all day, and I can handle dishes. I'm not completely hopeless."

"Are you sure?"

"Moony, I served food to probably forty people tonight without poisoning anyone or setting anything on fire. I think I can handle washing three plates and two forks."

Remus stood, pressing a kiss to the top of Sirius's head. "Don't stay up too late."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

But by the time Sirius had finished the dishes and changed into his pajamas—proper ones this time, that Remus had picked up from a thrift store—he was already fighting to keep his eyes open. The exhaustion from his first shift was catching up with him, his feet aching and his whole body heavy with the pleasant tiredness of a day well spent.

He pulled out his wand and cast the enlarging charm on his bed—their bed, really, it had been their bed last night and he had no intention of changing that—and crawled under the covers. He'd just rest his eyes for a moment while waiting for Remus.

Just for a moment...

He must have started to drift off because the next thing he knew, he was blinking awake at the sound of the bathroom door opening. Remus emerged in a cloud of steam, his hair damp and curling slightly, wearing sweatpants and an old t-shirt, and Sirius felt his heart do something complicated in his chest at the simple domesticity of it all.

"Bed, Moony?" Sirius mumbled, his voice slurred with exhaustion. He fumbled with the covers, pulling them back in invitation, his movements clumsy with sleep. "C'mere."

Remus's expression softened into something so tender it made Sirius's chest ache even through the haze of tiredness. "I'm coming, I'm coming."

The bed dipped as Remus slid in beside him, and Sirius immediately rolled into him, tucking himself against Remus's side with a contented sigh. Remus's arm came around him automatically, pulling him close, and Sirius felt the last of the day's tension drain away.

"Tired?" Remus asked softly, his free hand coming up to card through Sirius's hair—longer now, but clean and soft instead of tangled.

"Mmm," Sirius hummed, already more than half asleep. "Good tired though. Earned tired."

"You did good today," Remus murmured, pressing a kiss to Sirius's forehead. "I'm so proud of you."

Sirius wanted to respond, wanted to say something meaningful about how none of this would be possible without Remus, about how loved he felt, about how this—lying in bed together after a long day of honest work—was more than he'd ever dreamed he'd have again.

But exhaustion was pulling him under, warm and heavy and irresistible. He managed to press a sleepy kiss to whatever part of Remus he could reach—his shoulder, maybe, or his chest—and mumbled something that might have been "love you" or might have just been an incoherent sound.

Remus's arms tightened around him, holding him safe and close, and Sirius let himself drift off completely, secure in the knowledge that he'd wake up the same way—warm, safe, and exactly where he belonged.

Remus lay awake a bit longer, watching Sirius sleep against him, still marveling at the changes a single day had brought. The clean-shaven face, the trimmed hair, but most of all the sense of purpose that had returned to Sirius's eyes. He'd taken a huge risk today, going out into the city alone, but he'd also taken back a piece of himself.

And if Remus's heart was still racing slightly at the thought of all the things that could have gone wrong, well, that was just something he'd have to get used to. Because this was Sirius—brave and reckless and determined to rebuild himself, no matter the risk.

Remus pressed another kiss to his forehead and let himself relax into sleep, his werewolf senses attuned to Sirius's steady breathing, his warmth, his presence.

They'd both earned this rest. Tomorrow would bring new challenges, new fears, new moments of stolen happiness. But for tonight, they had this—each other, safety, and the simple miracle of waking up together to face another day.

It was more than enough.