Winter was nice.

That was when you, Sirius, and Remus stayed tucked away in the flat most often—curled up under mismatched blankets, the radiators clanking like they were trying their best, the windows fogged over from the cold pressing in outside.

You saw each other more in winter. Mostly because you had to. Snow piled up against the streets, and even when it didn’t, the cold was biting enough to make stepping outside feel like a poor life decision.

This particular morning, though, you weren’t snowed in.

Which meant Remus had no excuse.

He’d been up first, quiet as always, moving about the flat without waking either of you. Before he left, he’d pressed a soft kiss to your temple, then another to Sirius’ hair, lingering just a moment before slipping out into the grey morning.

You woke a while later.

Sirius was still dead to the world beside you, sprawled across the bed like he’d been knocked unconscious, snoring faintly into the pillow.

Right. So Remus had been the responsible one.

Typical.

You didn’t bother waking Sirius. Didn’t bother doing much of anything, really. You shuffled into the living room, curled up on the sofa, and let the telly fill the silence—some random programme flickering in dull colours, just interesting enough to keep your eyes on it.

You didn’t even make food.

That was the thing about winter. It made everything feel slower. Heavier. Like your body couldn’t quite be bothered. Maybe it was the cold. Maybe something else.

It didn’t seem like a big deal.

Not until Remus got home.

The door clicked shut, quiet but purposeful. You heard the rustle of bags, the soft thud of cupboards opening and closing as he put the shopping away.

Then his footsteps.

“I knew it’d be you,” he said gently as he stepped into the living room, voice warm despite the chill clinging to his coat. “Sirius has a right time getting up, doesn’t he?”

He came up behind the sofa, leaning down to press a few soft kisses to your cheek, absentminded, familiar.

“Morning,” you said, voice still a bit quiet.

“Morning,” Remus echoed, brushing his thumb briefly along your shoulder before straightening. “Sorry it took me a bit—had to get groceries. What d’you have this morning?”

Simple question. Casual.

You shrugged.

Silence settled for just a second too long.

You glanced up at him, catching the shift in his expression—subtle, but there.

“I had a coffee, not long ago,” you said, like it wasn’t anything worth noting.

Remus blinked. Once. Slowly.

“What did you just say to me?”

“I—”

“Sirius!” Remus called sharply, cutting you off. “Sirius Black!”

A loud groan came from upstairs, followed by heavy footsteps. About ten seconds later, Sirius stumbled into the room, hair a mess, eyes barely open.

“Merlin, you come back and make all this racket,” he grumbled, dragging a hand down his face. “What?”

Remus didn’t even look at him. “Are you aware your girlfriend hasn’t eaten all day?”

That did it. Sirius blinked properly now, eyes snapping open.

“What?”

“Did you ask her if she’s eaten?” Sirius shot back.

“Of course I did,” Remus said, voice tight in that quiet way he got. “She said she’s had a cup of coffee.”

Sirius stared at you like you’d just said something completely mad.

“I left at eight this morning,” Remus went on, crossing his arms, “it’s now four—and she hasn’t eaten. Care to explain that?”

“I’ve been asleep,” Sirius defended, then turned to you, brows furrowed. “So why haven’t you eaten, then?”

God.

You felt properly cornered.

That was the thing about being with two people at once.

It wasn’t just one person fussing at you when they’d ask what you ate today and you’d tell them "coffee." anymore—

It was two.