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Sirius had always been a terrible cook. He never had the patience for making sure everything was properly mixed, he never remembered a grocery list at the store, he’d leave pans unattended on the stove for far too long and come back to a dish full of char. Remus hadn’t been much better right out of Hogwarts and they’d both lived off takeaway while they could afford it and whatever they could scrounge up when they couldn’t.
After everything, Remus learned how to transform raw ingredients into dishes only out of necessity. It was harder to tell what was stale or overripe when everything was mixed together. He wasn’t good at it, really, but it was enough to keep him alive during all those years alone. His skill level was basic at best but it was enough to impress Sirius when they met back up all those years later. The both of them were lucky that they could rely on Molly Weasley’s cooking during the worst of everything.
It’s only when the war was over, when it was just the two of them and Harry in the kitchen of their new house, that Sirius started to show an interest in cooking. At first, it was something the two of them could do together. Remus would stand in the threshold and peer in as Harry hid a grin behind his hand, instructing Sirius on how to saute chicken, fry potatoes, caramelize onions. It was bonding after so many years of too little time and of course Sirius was brilliant at it once he really tried. He’d always been good at anything he put even an ounce of effort into. Their pantry was suddenly filled with things Remus had only ever dreamed of before: rich spices, garden-fresh produce, soft bread straight from the oven. There’s always food in the house, they never have to worry about where their next meal will come from. Remus still isn’t sure how to process his feelings about that.
Neither Sirius nor Remus expected Harry to continue to eat dinner with them night after night though. And they were delighted for him when he made dinners for Ginny at her flat instead of for them. They were proud of him, really, that he could have a normal life after so many years of chaos. Harry finally seemed happy. And Sirius, too, seemed happy to pick up the role of chef where Harry left off.
Sirius went at preparing their dinner with more care and caution than Remus had ever seen him possess and more than that, he seemed to love it. It mesmerized Remus to watch the slight, confident set of Sirius’s mouth, the ease with which he sliced through thick slices of meat, the way his eyes would crinkle in the corners with an easy grin when Remus would wrap his arms around his waist when he couldn’t just watch any longer. His meals weren’t fine dining but they were still good, homemade and flavorful and full of comfort.
It still seems foreign to Remus that he can have this. That their dinner won’t be snatched away from them one day at the table, that he won’t open up the cupboard to find it empty of everything but old tins of soup. There’s a part of him that feels guilty to even have access to three full meals a day, to be able to eat whenever he’s hungry. Remus is used to guilt, he’s dealt with it all his life but there’s something about this that sits wrong in his stomach, deep and heavy, like the pit of an overripe peach.
“This ever feel weird to you?” Remus asks one morning, pulling himself up to sit at the counter while Sirius puts away clean dishes from breakfast. “Not having to rummage through bins in the alleys behind restaurants or slipping tins of tuna in your pocket when the guy stocking shelves can’t see you.”
“Not hunting for rats in the forest at night,” Sirius shoots back with a wry smile. He knocks Remus’s knees with a clean wooden spoon so he’ll move out of the way of the drawer. “Yeah,” he sighs, though not unhappily, “it’s different, that’s for sure. Can’t say I miss how things used to be though.” He doesn’t say anything else though, doesn’t acknowledge or make any hint that he shares the feeling of an uneasy lump in his gut that Remus has.
“Could we, do you think maybe, give something to one of the food banks? Just some money, or something,” Remus’s voice is timid as he spreads his legs, giving Sirius room to pull out the silverware drawer. Sirius gives him a long look, studying almost, and Remus has to break eye contact.
“Of course,” is all Sirius says, putting away the spoon. “You ever go to one of those?”
“Yeah. There was a Muggle one not too far from the apartment we shared. They knew me at the wizard one, wouldn’t always let me in.” Remus shrugs. He’s not sure why he feels embarrassed talking about this with Sirius, of all people.
But Sirius only nods, places his hand on Remus’s knee and squeezes, turns back to the dishes. He doesn’t push to talk more about it but they send money to the food banks after that, a portion of every paycheck they make. Remus feels good about it. He didn’t think he’d ever be in a place to even try to give back to the place that kept him alive for so many months and he’s glad he can do anything at all.
It doesn’t lessen the chunk of something simmering deep within him, though, and Remus isn’t sure what to make of that.
“I can’t see my ribs anymore,” Sirius says one day, standing naked in front of the full-length mirror in their bedroom. He raises his arms high above his head, twists this way and that. He’s smiling, Remus notes.
There’s a few moments of silence before Remus can think of a proper response. His mind draws a blank so he comes to stand behind Sirius instead, rubbing his palms up and down on the soft skin of his side. He hums. “You look really good,” he finally says. And it’s true. Sirius looks fucking amazing now, like he’s finally grown into himself. He doesn’t have the sharp, ragged edges he had a few years ago either. He doesn’t have the athletic build he had in his youth but Remus wouldn’t expect him to, wouldn’t expect anyone to look the same as they did in their late teens. His face is warm and full, he has the energy and strength to break up the soil in their garden by hand instead of magic, he’s inviting and soft in the best way when Remus pulls him close in the middle of the night.
Their eyes meet in the mirror and Sirius grins at him, sharp incisors peeking out like he knows how good he looks, what he does to Remus with just a glance. Remus shakes his head, smiling back, and lets his fingers drift down to stroke against the stretch marks on his thighs, the pale scar tissue standing out in stark contrast to his skin. Remus thinks they’re beautiful but he’s never said so. He’s still not sure he knows how but he hopes Sirius knows.
Remus catches a glimpse of his fingers in the mirror on the strong, rounded curves of Sirius’s thighs. They look haunting, like a spider creeping across its web, like the ghost of a man. Only he’s not a ghost, not anymore. Remus feels full and content and happy in this life after the war, better than he ever thought he could feel. He forces the crawling thought from his mind, draws his eyes back up to meet Sirius’s. He looks so alive and it fills Remus’s heart with joy.
A part of him, though, can’t help but wonder what would happen if he let himself blossom and grow like Sirius. What would happen if he saw himself like this in the mirror, strong and full and content. The thought is nearly overwhelming.
“Hey,” Sirius’s voice is soft, pulling him back. Remus just shakes his head once to clear his mind, buries his nose in the spot behind Sirius’s ear, smiles against the skin.
“Let me show you just how good you look,” Remus mutters as he pulls Sirius back to their bed.
It’s not until a handful of nights later, the two of them joined by Harry, Ron, and Hermione for dinner, that Remus puts the pieces together. Harry had surprised them with takeout, containers full of butter chicken, gobi aloo, and hot buttery naan in hand. Harry’s been busy lately between school and seeing Ginny, something Hermione brings up with a sly smile and Ron with an uncomfortable blush, and as much as Remus and Sirius love spending time just the two of them, it’s nice to have Harry’s liveliness back in the house, even if it makes a part of Remus’s heart ache to realize what they could have had, should have had, while Harry was growing up.
He lets himself sit back and watch as Hermione teases Harry over his classes, over things he should have learned years ago, and Sirius laughs and ruffles his hair. Ron’s fairly quiet over dinner as well, never one to master the multitasking of talking and eating, and only rolls his eyes fondly at his best friends while scooping another helping of food onto his plate. Sirius grabs another piece of naan and leans back in his seat, resting his arm on the back of Remus’s chair in an almost touch.
“Do you want one?” He asks Remus, voice low and warm in his ear. Remus goes to shake his head immediately but then he really thinks on it for a minute.
He’s already finished his dinner, his own healthy portion of flavorful chicken and rice and vegetables. The leftovers won’t go to waste, they’ll be packaged up and split between all of them for another day. But he thinks about the taste of naan on his tongue, the soft tear as he bites into it, the warmth of the temperature and the familiarity both. And he finds he wants it.
Remus thinks of all the other times, just like this, when he’s wanted something, even just vaguely, and didn’t let himself have it. He’s never realized it and frankly, he’s not sure why he does it. He would never in his wildest dreams deny Sirius such a simple pleasure as another bite of food that he wants to eat, even if he’s already had his fill. He deserves it, after everything he’s been through. Hell, he deserves for it no other reason than he wants it. Remus wonders why he wouldn’t give himself that most basic slice of joy.
“Remus, you alright?” Sirius’s voice mutters in his ear and Remus realizes he’s never responded, too lost in his own thoughts.
“Yes, sorry. I was in a fog there for a minute.” Remus puts on a smile that doesn’t quite fit, forces it to meet his eyes. “I’m alright though, thanks.” He scoots his chair a few inches closer to Sirius though, lets Sirius’s arm come to wrap around him fully. His blunt nails come to scratch gently at Remus’s back and he feels himself relax into the touch.
A part of Remus wonders if his reluctance to eat more than his fill comes, like nearly everything in his life, from being a werewolf. There’s a beast living inside him, clawing at his skin and he knows any extra ounce of pleasure he gives himself goes straight to the animal that lies just beneath. You can’t feed the man without giving in to what else lives inside. That seems too simple though, too textbook, like the answer a lazy therapist would give after looking over a checklist of who he is. Gay, werewolf, low sense of self-worth, heaps of catholic guilt? Right, you don’t think you’re worthy enough to deserve food. Here’s your bill, see you in two weeks.
But maybe it is that simple. Maybe it is as easily explainable as he thinks his own body is a prison to a monster and why would he think he ever deserves anything good because of that. And what a terrible realization to come to while you have guests over. Remus shuts his eyes for a moment, sinks into the feeling of Sirius’s hand, warm and grounding, on his shoulder, and tells himself he’s not a monster, that not even the wolf is a monster, and they both can have good things. Sirius’s company, or Harry’s, or their quaint little one-story house, a living wage, food to keep their bellies filled and then some. Remus wonders briefly if he’s ever been this gentle with himself, but that’s a little too much to focus on right now in their crowded dining room. The realization isn’t a cure-all, he knows, isn’t a magic switch. But Remus feels like it’s a start.
He takes another piece of naan and relishes the taste on his tongue.