moondrunk-pages

[moondrunk-pages]

Espresso Yourself

best title i've ever written

The bell over the door chimed as James Potter stepped inside the little coffee shop, the smell of roasted beans and cinnamon immediately wrapping around him like a familiar hug. The place was small, cluttered with mismatched chairs and walls covered in vintage posters and fairy lights, and tucked in the corner was Sirius Black, his usual spot.

Sirius was behind the counter today, wiping down the espresso machine with slow, exaggerated motions. His dark hair was messier than usual, and his eyes had that half-lidded, “I’m-too-cool-to-care” look James was already tired of pretending not to adore.

“Late again,” Sirius drawled without looking up.

James grinned, pulling off his scarf. “Yeah, well, some of us have responsibilities.”

“Responsibilities?” Sirius snorted. “You mean, Netflix and ignoring your phone?”

James chuckled, sliding onto a stool at the counter. “Maybe. What’s on the menu today, barista Black? Or are you still perfecting your signature disaster latte?”

Sirius glanced up, a spark in his eye. “I call it the ‘Burnt Offering.’”

James raised an eyebrow. “Sounds… enticing.”

Sirius smirked. “You want one?”

James shook his head. “I like my coffee like I like my mornings—strong and not trying to kill me.”

Sirius laughed, then picked up a cup and began making a new drink with exaggerated care. The steam hissed as he frothed the milk, and James watched the way Sirius’s hands moved—confident, a little reckless.

“You know,” Sirius said, leaning closer, “if you keep showing up here every day, I might start charging you rent.”

James grinned. “Deal. But only if I get to keep watching you pretend you hate me while secretly being glad I’m here.”

Sirius rolled his eyes but didn’t deny it. Instead, he slid the cup across the counter.

James took a careful sip, eyebrows shooting up. “Wow. This is actually good.”

Sirius shrugged, smirking. “Even I have my moments.”

James leaned in a little closer. “So, what’s the secret? Or is it just sheer talent?”

“Pure luck,” Sirius said with a wink. Then his face softened, eyes catching James’s for a second too long.

“You ever think about… what happens after all this?” Sirius asked suddenly, voice quieter.

James blinked, surprised by the shift. “After the coffee? After college? After whatever comes next?”

“Yeah. After all of it. When it’s not just this little bubble of chaos and caffeine.”

James took a breath. “Sometimes. I hope it’s something better. You?”

Sirius shrugged again, but this time it was less casual, more like he was hiding something.

“I don’t know if I’m built for anything quieter,” Sirius admitted. “But maybe… maybe that’s not such a bad thing.”

James smiled softly, eyes still on Sirius. “Whatever it is, you won’t have to face it alone.”

Sirius’s smirk returned, but the warmth in his eyes was real. “Maybe you’re the only one I trust to say that.”

And for a moment, the noise of the city and the hum of the coffee shop fell away, leaving just the two of them. Sirius rolls his eyes, and James looks away to scoff.

[moondrunk-pages]

Rough Hands, Soft Words

part two!

The library is quiet. Not dead-silent, just hushed in that reverent way Hogwarts always seems to settle into after sunset—like the stone walls themselves are listening.

Regulus is alone at the far end, fingers idly turning pages in a dusty tome on hex reversal. He’s half-reading, half-thinking about him, which is becoming something of a habit.

The memory of Remus—wide-eyed, blushing, absolutely undone by a line about his hands—still loops like a favorite record in Regulus’s mind. He’d touched him for maybe ten seconds. Spoke maybe twenty words. And the boy had practically melted.

It was perfect.

Which is why the voice across the table now catches him completely off guard.

“You never finished your theory.”

Regulus blinks, startled. “What theory?”

Remus Lupin is sitting across from him, calm as you please, like he hadn’t just materialized out of nowhere and shattered the quiet. His sweater is slightly oversized, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, and his gaze—steady, unreadable—is fixed on Regulus like a challenge.

“About how my hands must feel,” Remus says. “I’ve been thinking about it.”

Regulus raises an eyebrow. “Have you now?”

Remus nods. “And I think it’s only fair we conduct a proper comparison. For scientific accuracy, of course.”

Before Regulus can quip back, Remus reaches forward, deliberate and unhurried, and takes Regulus’s hand in his.

It’s such a soft thing—fingertips brushing palm, thumb grazing knuckles—that it takes Regulus a second to even register the contact.

“You talk like you’ve got the upper hand, Black,” Remus murmurs, voice low. “But you never even stopped to ask what mine might remember.”

His fingers begin to trace. Slowly. Intimately. Mapping Regulus’s hand like it’s some secret worth learning by heart.

“You’ve got careful hands,” he continues, almost thoughtful. “Precise. But they flinch a little. You hold tension in your thumb.”

Regulus forgets how to breathe.

“And here—” Remus’s fingertip presses lightly into the center of Regulus’s palm “—you’re hiding something. Always are.”

The room feels suddenly too warm.

“You don’t really want control,” Remus says softly. “You just want to see who’s bold enough to take it from you.”

Regulus’s pulse is deafening. His mouth is dry. His pride is screaming for a comeback, a retort, anything—but his body betrays him, sitting still and silent and far too aware of how close Remus has leaned.

Then, just as quietly, Remus releases his hand.

Stands up.

“Next time you want to play games,” he says, gaze flicking down, “make sure you’re not the one being read like a book.”

And then he’s gone—sweater sleeve brushing past Regulus’s shoulder as he moves, leaving behind the ghost of a touch and a mind thoroughly unraveled.

Regulus stares at his hand for a long time.

It still tingles.

[moondrunk-pages]

Rough Hands, Soft Words

The common room is quiet, cast in that late-afternoon sort of light that makes everything feel slower, softer. Most students have cleared out for dinner or patrols, but Remus hasn’t moved from his armchair by the fire. A book rests open in his lap, half-read. Or less than half, really—his eyes keep drifting to the boy sitting opposite him.

Regulus Black.

Which, in itself, is a problem.

He’s lounging like he owns the place, long fingers idly spinning a quill between them, legs crossed, hair artfully disheveled in a way that’s probably planned. He catches Remus watching, and instead of doing the decent thing and looking away, he smiles—slow, sly.

“You’re staring, Lupin.”

Remus blinks, trying and failing to mask the warmth rising in his cheeks. “Wasn’t.”

“You were.”

Regulus stands, stretching like a cat, then makes his way over with the kind of quiet confidence that Remus envies. He doesn’t ask before sinking into the armchair next to him—closer than necessary. Their knees brush. Remus pretends not to notice.

“Let me see your hands,” Regulus says, out of nowhere.

“What?”

“Your hands,” he repeats, already reaching. “Indulge me.”

And for some reason—maybe it’s the lazy curl of Regulus’s voice, or the spark of mischief in his stormcloud eyes—Remus does. He holds them out, palms up, awkward and unsure. They look embarrassingly work-worn against the firelight, all scars and dry knuckles and ink smudges.

Regulus makes a sound, soft and intrigued, and then places his hands against Remus’s.

Their fingers align, mostly. Regulus’s are elegant, thinner, cool to the touch. Remus’s are larger, broader, the pads rough with years of quill-gripping and... other things.

Regulus studies them like they’re something ancient and holy.

“Merlin, Lupin,” he says, almost a whisper. “Your fingers are so long and rough.” He drags his gaze up, locking eyes. “They must feel… interesting.”

Remus’s mouth goes dry.

He’s suddenly very aware of the temperature of the room. Or maybe just of Regulus’s hands still pressed to his. Or the smirk curling his lips like he knows exactly what he’s doing.

Because he does know what he’s doing.

Remus is praying to gods that are long forgotten—any deity that might save him from the way his entire body has gone tense, the way blood is rushing to places it shouldn't in a public space, the way his brain has completely short-circuited.

He wants to speak. Really, he does. He wants to make some clever retort, or at least say something—but his tongue betrays him. His heart’s beating loud enough to drown out thought, and he knows that if he opens his mouth, he’ll stutter through every syllable like a schoolboy with his first crush.

Regulus leans closer. Barely an inch now between them.

“You're blushing,” he says softly, like it’s a secret.

Remus pulls his hands back, not roughly—but he needs distance. Air. Sanity.

“I’m not,” he mutters, despite the obvious.

Regulus doesn’t chase his retreat. He just smiles, self-satisfied, and stands.

“Let me know when you’re ready to hear what I think your hands feel like,” he says, and strolls off like he hasn’t just set Remus Lupin on fire.

The book in Remus’s lap has long since fallen to the floor.

based on a post i saw here on tumblr! by @indigostation

[moondrunk-pages]

Between stars and silence

James didn’t remember falling asleep, but he woke when Sirius shifted beside him, drawing his cloak tighter around his shoulders. The stars were lower now, and the horizon had begun its slow, bruised climb into dawn. The sky looked like it was holding its breath.

“You awake?” Sirius murmured, not looking at him.

James nodded. “Couldn’t really sleep.”

Sirius sat up, elbows resting on his knees, fingers threaded together. “Sometimes I think if we just stayed up here, we’d be safe.”

“From what?”

Sirius didn’t answer immediately. “Everything. The world. My mother. The bloody future.”

James sat up, too, brushing his hair out of his eyes. He didn’t press. Sirius never talked about his family unless he was about to explode or already had. But this—this quiet—was rare. Softer than the fury. He leaned into it.

“You’re not alone, you know,” James said.

Sirius gave a half-laugh, almost disbelieving. “I know. You always say that.”

“I say it because it’s true.”

They didn’t look at each other. They didn’t need to. The silence between them stretched out, not awkward, but full—like something building.

Sirius lit a new cigarette, the match flaring in the gloom. He didn’t smoke it, just let it burn slowly between his fingers. “Sometimes I think… maybe I ruined it.”

James tilted his head. “Ruined what?”

Sirius shrugged. “Whatever this is. You and me.”

James blinked. “You haven’t.”

“I don’t know how to do this the way you do, Prongs. You’re… good. You know what you want. You’ve always known.”

James looked down at his hands. “You don’t have to know everything. That’s not what this is about.”

Sirius glanced at him then. “What is it about?”

James hesitated. Not because he didn’t have an answer, but because saying it out loud felt like cracking something open he wouldn’t be able to close again.

“It’s about showing up,” he said finally. “Even when you’re afraid.”

Sirius took a long breath and didn’t let it out for a while. “You think I’m afraid?”

James smiled gently. “I know you are.”

Another silence. Another truth resting between them, unsaid but understood.

And still, they didn’t move. They just sat on that rooftop as the sun began to bleed into the sky, shoulder to shoulder, hearts tethered in quiet defiance of everything coming.

James thought that was enough.

For now.

[moondrunk-pages]

Smoke Between Stars

The Astronomy Tower was supposed to be locked after curfew. But that never stopped Sirius Black, and it certainly didn’t stop James Potter from following.

They lay side by side on the roof, cloaks draped over the stone like makeshift blankets, the wind ruffling their hair. Above them, the stars burned quietly—watchful and distant.

Sirius exhaled, a slow breath turning silver in the chill. “What do you think comes after this?”

James glanced at him. “After what?”

Sirius shrugged, letting his head tip back onto the stone. “This. Hogwarts. War. Being young and thinking we’re invincible.”

James didn’t answer right away. The question lodged somewhere between his ribs. “I dunno. I guess I hope it gets simpler.”

“Does it ever?”

“You tell me.”

Sirius smirked. “I’m not exactly the picture of wisdom, am I?”

“Could’ve fooled me,” James said, nudging his boot against Sirius’s. The contact was brief, but something lingered in the space after—like a spark not yet given permission to burn.

For a while, the only sound was the wind threading through the ramparts and the quiet creak of stone cooling in the night air.

“You ever want it?” Sirius asked suddenly. “The whole thing. House. Kid. Normal life.”

James blinked up at Orion’s Belt. “Yeah. I think I do.”

Sirius let out a soft laugh—too bitter to be mocking, too sad to be anything else. “Doesn’t suit you.”

James turned on his side to look at him. “Why not?”

“I dunno. You’re too bright for that. Meant for bigger things. Leader of the Order. Head of the Aurors. Maybe even Minister one day.”

James raised an eyebrow. “That sounds terrible.”

Sirius snorted. “Okay, maybe not Minister.”

He paused, eyes tracing constellations James couldn’t name.

“I don’t know if I could ever live like that,” Sirius said, quieter now. “I don’t think I’m built for… peace.”

James didn’t speak, but he reached out and plucked the cigarette from between Sirius’s fingers before it could be lit. Sirius didn’t protest. He just watched James snap it in half and toss the pieces into the dark.

“You are,” James said. “You just don’t know it yet.”

Sirius looked at him then. Not in the teasing way he always did—not with that glint in his eye that said we’re young and nothing can hurt us. This was different. Like James had peeled something back without even meaning to.

“Maybe you’re the only one who thinks that.”

“I’ll keep thinking it, then.”

Sirius looked away, jaw tightening. “Don’t, Prongs.”

James frowned. “Don’t what?”

“Don’t look at me like that. Like you see something worth saving.”

James didn’t know what to say to that—because he did, and had, for longer than he could admit. Sirius had always been a mess of contradictions: wild and razor-sharp, cruel when cornered, kind in unexpected ways. He’d leapt into James’s life like a firework and never once burned out.

“I’m not looking at you like anything,” James said finally, voice low. “I’m just here.”

Sirius nodded slowly, as if that meant more than it should have.

They lay in silence again, the kind that didn’t beg to be filled. James let his eyes close and listened to Sirius breathing beside him. Steady. Real. Still here.

He didn’t know what would come after this—after school, after fighting, after the things they’d already lost. But in that moment, he didn’t need to.

There was still now. There was still them.

[moondrunk-pages]

Ashes and Honey

Remus doesn’t mean to linger near the Astronomy Tower — not tonight, not after the full moon, not with the ache in his bones still whispering reminders of who he is. But there’s something about the quiet up here, the hush of wind around the turrets, that lets him pretend for a while that he’s just a boy. Just Remus Lupin. Not the monster he keeps tethered by willpower and Wolfsbane.

He’s halfway through rolling a cigarette — Muggle tobacco, just to annoy Sirius if he ever finds out — when he hears footsteps. Measured, precise. Not like someone out for a reckless midnight wander. Someone with purpose.

He turns. Regulus Black stands framed in the archway, arms folded, Slytherin tie loose around his neck. He looks out of place in the faint blue light of the stars, like he belongs somewhere darker.

"You look like hell," Regulus says.

Remus huffs a tired laugh. “I’ve had better nights.”

Regulus doesn’t smile. He rarely does. Instead, he walks forward and leans against the stone wall beside Remus, not close, but close enough.

"You shouldn’t be up here alone," he says.

Remus arches a brow. “Didn’t know you were the prefect of brooding tower walks.”

"I’m not," Regulus replies, tone even. “But I know what it’s like. Not sleeping. Carrying too much. Wanting to disappear without making it obvious.”

That shuts Remus up for a moment. He studies Regulus — the sharp line of his jaw, the pale skin under his eyes, the quiet twitch of his fingers like he wants to do something with his hands but doesn’t know what. Regulus looks like someone trying very hard to stay whole.

"And what’s keeping you awake?” Remus asks finally.

Regulus doesn’t answer right away. He looks out over the grounds, toward the forest, like something might leap out and drag him back into the shadows he comes from.

“I think I’ve done things I can’t come back from,” Regulus says. “Or I will, soon. And I don’t know what that makes me.”

Remus doesn’t know what to say to that. He isn’t used to honesty from Slytherins. He isn’t used to honesty from anyone but James and Sirius and maybe Lily, when she isn’t furious at the lot of them. But this isn’t the kind of honesty that wants something. It’s just... there. Quiet and aching and real.

“You’re still here,” Remus says. “That counts for something.”

Regulus glances at him then, and for a second his eyes soften — something raw flickering there, like a candle struggling to stay lit.

“I don’t want to be alone anymore,” Regulus admits, voice barely audible.

Remus doesn’t reach for him. He doesn’t say anything sentimental. But he offers Regulus the half-rolled cigarette, and when their fingers brush, it’s the lightest thing in the world — and still, it feels like a beginning.