#dear god I think I've dunked the whole thing in purple

[spikybanana]

@wolfstarmicrofic - prompt: collection - aimless fluff that barely even mentions skating but lives in the figure skaters au cw: a bit of internalised aphobia

Remus kept a collection of Sirius-kisses— it sounded like the sort of things lovers kept collections of.

When he told Sirius of it, kiss-dazed and hidden away in an grey-stone alcove, Sirius had laughed breathily in surprise, before his eyes drifted off with a curious small smile.

“Well then,” he said when he turned back to Remus, face full of playful delight, “here’s another one for your collection,” and dropped a kiss to the tip of his nose.

-

The memory of the first kiss had long since mellowed and morphed: a stormy sky was repainted wine-purple, and rain-darkened pavement shone indigo in the lilac street lamps. It was the bottom of the urn, the heart of the mystery.

“Do you know?” Sirius had said of it once, “That might be the favourite moment of my life. For an instant everything was so clear, so perfect. Right then, I thought I knew everything I’ll ever need.”

And Remus, because he was an idiot, and because he had no idea how to deal with when Sirius said these kinds of things, had replied, “but you didn’t really, know everything you’ll ever need.”

Somehow, Sirius reacted to that with laughter and a kiss to his cheek, “you’re right, wise Moony-of-mine. I think I’ve learnt about other things I didn’t know I needed,” he said, and pulled Remus into a kiss again, “things like this.”

-

By the time the second kiss happened, Remus had already spent days wondering if Sirius simply managed to break something in his brain with the first. Because suddenly, Sirius became Sirius, the instigator of random spacey smiles and chest pains and that woozy, heady rush, the reason that all those senselessly sentimental love songs on the radio started to make sense. And Remus was embarrassed because, dear god, him? Remus John I-know-more-books-than-people Lupin?

His heart had simply ran ahead without his permission, and so did his mouth, apparently.

Because in the grey light of that cool, still morning, Sirius asked him on the rink, “Can I kiss you?”

And Remus blurted in response “I love you.”

Surely that’s what people meant by the word, right? This all-consuming kind of obsession that sometimes terrified himself, that Remus was sure Sirius would be scared off by.

But Sirius had looked overjoyed. “You do?” He said, wonder spilling from his voice. Then, and then, miraculously, Sirius had replied, “I love you too.”

The third, fourth and fifth kisses came quickly after that.

-

And so the collection grew. Picked up like petals from a meandering stream, like purple shells on the beach. It was light flutters of breath, soft lips dancing over skin and never lingering. It was kisses that were more smiles than heat, that were merely new stamps for old missives the weight of two hearts that had long-since been there. Somehow, even after months and months, every kiss still came as a surprise, unsought gifts that Remus gathered up like paper stars in a jar, that he was content with letting sit on the windowsill and bronzen in the sun.

“I don’t really fancy… doing more,” Sirius had confessed once, uncharacteristically awkward with himself.

“So we won’t.” Remus said simply.

“It doesn’t bother you?”

“Why would it.” Remus said with puzzlement, “I love this, all of this. I love you.”

Sirius’ eyes were downcast, and his smile came slow— but it did come, and he’d replied, “I love you too.”

There were kisses on the forehead, on the temple, under his jaw, on the inside of his wrist. There were kisses on entwined fingers as they stumbled down dark cobble-road of the village, raced down the echoing stone halls of their school. Remus made it a mission to return every gift in kind, with kisses and cuddles and chocolates in the leather jacket’s pocket that Sirius would never admit to have eaten. He’d hug Sirius close on his bed, wrap an arm around his shoulder, wait for Sirius to urge him with a squeeze of his hand before leaning forward, and pressing his lips to Sirius’ smile.

Maybe as they grew older, less and less about their world made sense. Dreams about a sport with crystalline beauty sometimes revealed to be murky or downright ugly. They would grow into the weights on their shoulders, that might end up pressing them away from each other until even their touches grow hesitant.

“There’s so much I can’t figure out how to fix. Or barely understand.” Sirius said once, sat in snow and shouldering the whole of the grey sky behind, “And I’m so afraid that, someday something horrible will happen to ruin everything.”

Opposite him, Remus took his hands out of his pockets to scoot forward and hold Sirius’ face close, his fingers threading through the hint of hyacinth in his dark hair. He held Sirius’ eyes, this, Remus thought, while committing another moment to memory, “Nothing can ruin everything,” he said, dropping a light kiss— their kiss— on Sirius’ lips, “I promise.”

This would remain pure and simple.