Attempting to love them both was harder than you’d expected.

Not because they were impossible—though, honestly, they were a bit of a nightmare in their own special ways—but because it was uncharted. Untraditional. Hogwarts did not exactly provide a handbook for three people trying to fit into one fragile arrangement.

Remus had spent years adjusting to Sirius’s moods alone. Sirius had spent years pretending he didn’t need anyone steadying him. And now there was you—threaded somewhere between them, not replacing, not intruding, just… there.

It wasn’t as though your friends objected. James had nearly choked laughing before declaring it “brilliant, actually.” Peter had nodded along, wide-eyed but supportive. No one seemed scandalised. If anything, they acted as though it made sense.

They knew the three of you leaned toward each other naturally—like magnets that had finally stopped pretending otherwise.

The difficulty was internal.

It was casual. Not declared. Not labelled. No grand conversation beneath the Whomping Willow about what you were. It was simply shared glances in the Great Hall, hands brushing.

It was fun. It was reckless. It was confusing.

Loving them both felt almost painful—sharp and bright—but also inevitable.

Now the three of you lay tangled together in Sirius’s dorm, sunset bleeding orange and gold across the wooden floorboards. The air smelled faintly of parchment, cologne, and the lingering chill of autumn drifting through the cracked window.

You were asleep, cheek pressed to Sirius’s shoulder.

Remus lay on his other side, equally asleep—or nearly so—breathing slow and heavy in that way he did when exhaustion truly claimed him.

Sirius, however, was wide awake.

He stared at the ceiling as though it had personally offended him. Boredom never suited him well.

Slowly, a wicked thought curled across his face.

He lifted his hand and dragged a fingertip lightly along Remus’s jaw, then flicked his chin.

Remus’s brow furrowed.

Sirius did it again.

This time Remus’s hand shot up sluggishly, catching Sirius’s wrist mid-air.

“You’re not actually asleep, are you?” Sirius asked innocently, voice low and amused. “Bit suspicious, that.”

“I was,” Remus muttered, voice rough with sleep, face half-buried in the pillow.

Remus cracked one eye open, hazel gaze tired but sharp. He glanced over Sirius’s shoulder to check on you—still asleep, blissfully unaware—then looked back.