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Chapter Text

Remus walks into the living room of their small flat on December sixteenth and is surprised to see all of the presents under the Christmas tree have been rewrapped, colors and patterns all a bit different than they were yesterday. He creeps a bit closer, safe in the knowledge of Sirius sleeping soundly in their bed. Remus isn’t going to try and open them, or figure out what they are. He just wants to enjoy this tangible sign of Sirius’s love for him. It feels a bit too vulnerable to admit to out loud.

It doesn’t take long to figure out the reason for the rewrapping. Bold black marker spells out “To: Remus” over patterns of peppermint stripes and snowflakes, where previously they’d sported a name that hasn’t really felt like Remus’s for months. Not that Sirius had known that, of course. Not until yesterday evening, that is, when Remus finally felt certain enough in the new name to tell Sirius, weeks after coming out to him. And now here they are, all freshly marked with his new name. It’s the first time he’s seen Remus written on something other than his own little doodles in the margins of notebooks and random sticky notes.

He’s a little surprised at how emotional it makes him. It’s not like he’s ever hated his old name. He can’t even call it a deadname, really, because it’s still in use in so many ways—legal documents, medical appointments, employment paperwork—and he’s perfectly alright with that, he thinks. The pronouns have always seemed more important to him, the general perception of him as, well, himself. And yet, all he can do in this moment is stand there, staring, mouth parted and throat tightening. He’s too pleased to even feel embarrassed about the way Sirius’s presents for him dwarf his own for Sirius in number.

Remus isn’t sure how long he’s been standing there, gazing longingly at the presents marked with his own name, when he hears the soft thud of Sirius rolling out of bed, but it jars him into motion. He drags his socked feet along the carpet in that way Sirius hates on his way to the kitchen, where he sets the kettle on the stove, lays out two mugs with two different tea bags (earl grey for himself, lemon for Sirius), and cracks five eggs into a skillet.

The eggs are just sliding onto their respective plates, three perfectly golden triangles of toast stacked on each one, when Sirius emerges from the bedroom. His curls are frizzy and unwashed in the way that only Remus is allowed to see them, and he’s still in his pajamas with a blanket draped over his arms and shoulders like a cape.

Without a word, Sirius crosses over to Remus and leans on his back, arms flung over his shoulders but carefully avoiding his chest. That’s new, since Remus came out. When Remus called himself a girl Sirius was never afraid of an accidental grope, just shoving his hands where he wanted them. He never asked Sirius to stop touching his chest, and part of him feels like he ought to be a bit upset that Sirius is assuming all of these things instead of simply asking him. But if he’s honest he isn’t, not even a little. He’s grateful, in fact, that Sirius is so finely attuned to Remus’s feelings, that he doesn’t have to lay out all of the softest, most sensitive parts of him for scrutiny and beg him to please, be gentle, be careful with these delicate bits of him.

Not that he has some issue with Sirius touching his chest. Remus knows that the way he feels about his body isn’t quite typical for a trans person. Although, all he has to go off of is a very small amount of surface-level media representation and whatever firsthand accounts he could find in desperate Internet deep-dives. But he’s alright with his various parts, mostly. He doesn’t want Sirius to feel like they can’t hug or cuddle now, so he supposes it will have to be a conversation eventually. But for now, while it’s all still fresh and tender, he simply enjoys the feeling of being cared for so immensely.

Remus is distracted from his little mental tangent by Sirius pressing his mouth to the side of his neck, more a sleepy search for contact than an actual kiss, and then dropping his head heavily onto his shoulder.

“Hi,” mutters Remus, feeling his cheeks grow warmer. After so many months of living with Sirius he should probably be used to sleepy, cuddly morning Sirius. Yet he still finds himself blushing every time.

“Mmm. Hi. Eggs?” The words are barely intelligible between the blanket wrapped halfway over Sirius’s head and the pressure of his face against Remus’s shoulder.

“Yeah, you hungry?”

Sirius sighs, then unwraps himself from Remus and grabs his plate before shuffling over to sit on the couch. Remus follows quickly, balancing both of their mugs of tea on the edge of his plate since Sirius neglected to carry his own. 

They eat their breakfast and drink their tea in silence, as is typical while waiting for Sirius’s brain to wake up. He’s always a bit slow and foggy in the mornings, but the light has usually returned to his eyes by the end of the meal.

Today, luckily, is no exception.

Remus scoots gently across the couch to press up against Sirius, grabbing his plate from his lap and setting both of their dishes on the carpet. He nudges his foot against Sirius’s. When he looks up from their socked feet pressing together—his silly, fuzzy, puppy-covered ones almost comical next to Sirius’s solid black—Sirius is already watching him.

“I saw the presents,” whispered Remus.

He watches in amusement as Sirius’s little smile quickly morphs into something vaguely stressed before pointedly smoothing out into an unusually neutral expression.

“Yeah? What about them? What did you…think?” He asks Remus.

Remus smiles himself, then, and runs his fingertips along Sirius’s cheekbone before snuggling into his side and grabbing his hand resting on the cushion between them.

“I love them. You’re so good to me.”

“Well, you don’t even know what’s inside them yet. You could hate them.” Sirius laces their fingers together and squeezes, the sweet gesture a contrast to his joking tone.

Remus rolls his eyes, but he isn’t sure Sirius can even see it. “Don’t be an idiot. I’ve never received a gift from you I didn’t love. Besides,” he says, and then hesitates for a second. “You could have wrapped empty boxes for all I care. Seeing my name on them is enough.”

Chapter Text

Remus needs to bake something. It’s over halfway through December and he’s hardly had time to bake at all. Between working at the local library, seemingly endless laundry to wash and meals to cook, and the cold fueling the aches in his body, he’s just been tired. But today he feels good. He’s got the day off, he’s got tomorrow off, Sirius is cooking dinner, the weather is marginally warmer…it’s time.

Remus is pulling ingredients out of the cabinet in a frenzy—flour, sugar, baking powder, cocoa powder, vanilla, salt. He grabs butter and eggs from the fridge, frowning as he realizes he probably should wait for them to warm up a bit before continuing.

He thuds into the living room with a huff and flops dramatically onto the sofa next to Sirius, head landing heavily against his thigh.

The second Remus has stilled, he feels Sirius’s warm hand on his head, fingers tugging gently at his curls. “What’s up, my love?”

Remus gives another rather sizable huff. “Want cookies,” he mutters.

“Cookies?” Sirius sounds a little confused. Which Remus supposes is understandable.

“Yeah. Wanna bake cookies. But the butter and eggs are too cold,” he elaborates.

“Oh, poor baby,” murmurs Sirius mockingly. Remus buries his face in Sirius’s lap. “How about…we cuddle until the butter’s soft? Would that make it better?”

Remus decides there’s no need for him to respond to this and instead crawls his way up Sirius’s body until he’s settled nicely on his lap, face pressed against his shoulder, arms snug around his waist.

There isn’t anywhere else, he thinks, that he feels safer than in Sirius’s arms, surrounded by Sirius’s warmth, his softness. No one else is as comfortable as Sirius either, or holds him as well. No one’s known him for as long, or loved him as deeply.

Sirius’s leg falls asleep eventually and Remus reluctantly slides off his lap to sit next to him. He does not remove any of his limbs from around Sirius’s torso, though. The TV’s been playing what Remus can now hear is Sabrina the Teenage Witch softly in the background. He turns his head enough to watch it a little as he waits.

When the timer he set for the refrigerated ingredients goes off, Remus leaps up off the couch, grabbing Sirius’s hand and tugging insistently. Sirius stands and goes along with him instinctively, sparking a warm fuzz in Remus’s brain, but he’s laughing a bit and protesting as they go.

“Remus, Remus, what are you doing? Where—”

His laughter is contagious; Remus can’t help but join in. “We’re going to bake cookies!”

“We?!”

“Yes, we. It’s Christmastime and you’re my boyfriend so you have to. It’s in the contract.”

“And by ‘we’re baking cookies,’ you mean…?”

“Fine. I’ll bake cookies and you can sit on the counter and keep me company and maybe dump in the flour,” Remus admits with a long sigh.

As soon as he reaches the kitchen, Remus pokes at the butter, relieved to find it’s soft enough for his finger to make an indentation.

Sirius has gotten distracted choosing a record to play while they bake. After far too many minutes, he seems to come to a decision and gently places the vinyl on the turntable.

“Grab the mixer,” he orders Sirius as soon as the needle is lowered.

When Sirius doesn’t move, he looks over to find him standing there, hand over his heart and mouth dropped open in mock offense. “Is that all I am to you? An assistant?”

There’s only one way around this. Remus knows it. He takes a deep breath in, holds it for a moment, and lets it out slowly, preparing his mind and body.

It’s time to break out the real persuasion techniques.

He dips his head down a bit, looking up at Sirius through his long eyelashes, and pushes out his lower lip in a childish pout. “Pleeease? I need my big, strong boyfriend to save me.” When Sirius only snorts, he continues, “I have chronic pain,” and bats his lashes.

This has to get him what he wants. It’s a technique proven over many months of friendship, dating, and eventually cohabitating—the combination of playing into Sirius’s dramatics and the chronic pain card is irresistible.

As expected, Sirius caves almost right away, squatting down to scoop the mixer out of the cabinet and heave it onto the counter, even plugging it in for him.

Remus smiles to himself and directs Sirius to chop the butter into smaller pieces and place it all in the bowl of the mixer while he measures out the sugar.

~*~

Half an hour later sees two crowded baking sheets of dark brown, snowflake-shaped cookies in the oven and a surprisingly small mess in the kitchen, all thanks to Remus commanding Sirius to put things away as they went. All that remains is a messy counter covered in flour, cocoa powder, and sticky dough residue; and a terrifying stack of dirty dishes in the sink.

But both of those can wait.

A new song has just started, soft and slow. Sirius is bouncing on his toes, reaching his arms out for Remus, and who is Remus to keep his lover waiting?

Remus sighs softly as he slips into Sirius’s waiting arms, pressing their bodies as close together as he can and blushing immediately after. The warm pressure of Sirius’s arms around him, the deep, chocolatey smell of the cookies baking in the oven, and the gentle music trailing from the record player soothe Remus and he finds his mind in a rare state of complete peace as he lets Sirius coax him into a slow, romantic dance around the kitchen. He squeezes Sirius and presses a few quick kisses to his forehead. 

Sirius responds with a sweet kiss on Remus’s mouth.

And then he tips his forehead against Remus's and whispers “Baby, do you want to try leading?”

Remus feels his lips part and his face grow hotter. It’s not something he’s ever considered, maybe since they’re both boys anyways, already in defiance of such arbitrary norms. But oh, he wants it now that he knows it’s an option. He doesn’t know how Sirius always seems to know, how he’s already learned to accommodate his dysphoria and help him find euphoria as if it’s second nature. But—

“I wouldn’t know how,” he replies sadly, looking down to where his own feet follow Sirius’s steps. He’s quite alright at following someone else’s footsteps, but leading? Remus is sure he’d bring them both tumbling down in minutes.

Sirius, though, only smiles fondly. “I’ll teach you, you silly goose. Only if you want to though.”

Before he can think it through any more, Remus nods eagerly.

Sirius guides his and Remus’ arms into the proper position and they settle back into the embrace. He nods at Remus to go ahead, and Remus takes a step forward hesitantly. Sirius follows easily. After a few steps without any horrible clumsy mishaps, Remus gains a tiny bit of confidence and tightens his grip around Sirius. Of course, disaster strikes soon after in the form of Remus accidentally guiding them right into the counter.

“Fuck, ow,” hisses Sirius, hand reaching to rub the tender spot where his back collided with the granite edge.

“Shit! I’m sorry! Fuck, sorry, this was an awful idea, I can’t do this, clearly. Sorry, baby.” The words pour out of Remus’s mouth in an uncontrollable, panicked stream, hands slipping around Sirius’s waist to rub the pain away. He thinks he might genuinely overheat to dangerous levels from the rush of blood to his face. His first attempt at leading and he drove his partner right into a granite countertop?

“Hey, no, don’t be ridiculous. Just—come here.” Sirius holds him in place when he tries to pull away. “Here, watch.” And Sirius easily leads them through another simple sequence, spinning them slowly across the floor a few times while Remus watches their feet intently. It’s harder to keep up with the motions while looking downwards, and he tries to remind himself of this for when they switch again. It looks easy enough when Sirius does it. But then again, Sirius had taken God knows how many months of dance lessons, courtesy of the posh, strict Black family. Remus’s only dance experience was whatever Sirius dragged him into. Slow dances are, apparently, a mandatory component of dating one Sirius Black. Not that Remus can pretend he minds too terribly; what’s there not to like, really, about huddling close to his boyfriend and sinking into the music?

On Remus’s next try, he steps on Sirius’s feet no less than four times. They’re both barefoot, luckily, so the only injury is to his own ego. Sirius keeps encouraging him to keep going, and his face glows brighter every time but he does. To Sirius’s credit, it isn’t until Remus somehow manages to step on his own foot that he lets his laughter loose. Remus is embarrassed and pouts at him, but quickly joins in with the laughter when he tries to start again and almost instantly trips them both. They land in a heap on the floor and Remus slumps over Sirius, defeated.

“Remus, Remus, how—” Sirius manages to gasp out between bouts of giggles. “How did you even do that?”

“I don’t know!” He whines. He hides his face in Sirius’s stomach and vows to never come out.

This vow holds for approximately three minutes, at which point the oven timer beeps a one-minute warning and he perks up immediately. 

“Cookies, cookies, cookies,” he sings as he leaps to his feet. The oven mitts prove a bit difficult to find—Sirius and Remus have never been able to agree on an appropriate place for them and instead put them away somewhere different every time they use them—but he’s located them and secured them on his hands by the time the timer goes off.

The oven unleashes a sweet-scented torrent of air when he opens it, and he tosses the trays onto the stovetop before turning the oven off, leaving the door open to warm their apartment. His mother always did it when he was younger, when they couldn’t afford to heat the house quite as much as they’d like and the excess heat of the oven was a welcome luxury. It’s a habit Remus has picked up himself, even though he and Sirius can afford the regular heating. It would be wasteful not to.

Sirius, who had snuck up behind Remus with plates while he was busy fussing over the cookies that melted out of their perfectly circular shape, slides two onto a plate for each of them, briefly kissing Remus’s neck before darting off to cuddle up on the sofa. Remus follows, grabbing a few napkins as he goes.

Sirius has constructed a perfect blanket nest for the two of them, and left just enough of a gap for Remus to slip in, which he does instantly. Sirius closes up the blankets behind him and they feed each other bits of cookie, playfully biting each other’s fingers and panting and gasping when they reach the still-too-hot centers. The cookies are soft and sweet, the cocoa flavor dark and deep, and as Remus swats Sirius’s hand away trying to sneak a bite of his cookie, he thinks that this is what Christmas is for.

Chapter Text

It’s Christmas Eve and Remus is at the Christmas party that the company Sirius works for hosts every year. He’s not sure why they host it on actual Christmas Eve; it’s not mandatory but it’s “strongly encouraged,” and people should not be at company parties on Christmas Eve. They should be with family and friends.

Alas, the company made their choice regardless of what Remus thinks. So he finds himself in a large ballroom surrounded by people he hardly knows, clinging to Sirius’s arm and pressing into his side. Fortunately, Sirius seems content to let him stay that way. He can only be grateful that he’s not attended any of Sirius’s work events in the past. Coming out as trans to a room full of his partner’s coworkers sounds awful, but he’s not sure how they would’ve been able to get around it had he known them as a girl. Sirius doesn’t talk too much about his personal life at work, and has always said he doesn’t care if Remus attends any work events at all with him. But this year Remus didn’t want to be alone on the evening before Christmas, so he’s decided to tag along.

The room is decked out in sparkling red and glittering gold, holly and pine draped along the walls and ornaments suspended from the ceiling on invisible strings. Interspersed with the ornaments are stems of mistletoe, which Remus finds a bit strange and borderline creepy for a work party, but once again, no one is asking him. The dance floor in the center is small, surrounded by circular tables with centerpieces of poinsettias and gold-painted berries. To complete the atmosphere, Christmas tunes are blasting at full volume from speakers mounted near the ceiling, red velvet bows artfully draped over them in an attempt to make them less ugly.

All in all, Remus is a bit overwhelmed. It doesn’t help when they’re practically accosted the second they step into the room. Sirius had warned him this would probably happen—the company is always impressing upon employees that they should consider it a family, not a place of work, and that includes sharing about their personal lives. Sirius has always held firm boundaries at work for what he will and won’t share, and had vaguely mentioned a partner in the past without providing much additional information. Naturally, every one of his coworkers heard “partner” and automatically assumed “girlfriend.” So, in addition to the shock of Sirius Black bringing his partner to a work function, there’s also the surprise that Sirius is gay (bi, actually, not that anyone here would care). 

Without really trying to, Remus finds himself drifting off a bit, tuning out the endless stream of sharply-dressed businesspeople greeting Sirius and asking after himself, smiling and shaking their hands and introducing himself on autopilot. He’s a bit worried about passing—he’s wearing the same dress slacks and button-down shirt he would have worn as a girl, but he made sure to pair the top with one of his more flattening bras. Remus had spent at least five solid minutes inspecting his reflection in the mirror before leaving, and he deemed himself “manly” enough. But he’s never tried to pass as a boy at all, let alone a cis boy, and he doesn’t know how his assessment holds up to cis standards.

He starts paying attention again at a gentle nudge to his side from Sirius. A tall woman with golden brown skin is walking up to them. She’s wearing a pencil skirt and a bright red sweater threaded with strands of tinsel, dark curls loose around her shoulders.

“That’s my boss,” Sirius breathes in his ear. Remus shivers, a bit nervous about having to speak to Sirius’s boss of all people.

She stops just in front of them, a bright smile already lighting up her face. She greets Sirius and he responds in kind, exchanging corporate niceties that Remus only knows are faked after years of knowing Sirius and studying every mask he wears.

The woman gestures to Remus. “And who’s this handsome man you’ve brought with you?” she asks Sirius. Remus blinks rapidly a few times and inhales sharply, unevenly. Handsome. Man? Handsome? She means him?

“This is my partner, Remus,” Sirius says. Oh. That’s him.

Remus isn’t sure how he finds the brain power to finish out that interaction, what with about 80% of it taken up by static and fuzzy thoughts about being called a man, and handsome at that. But he manages to shake her outstretched hand and plaster on a smile, one that quickly becomes feigned when she decides it’s appropriate to coo over how cute his dimples are. Remus can tell her fawning annoys Sirius, too, by the firm arm he slips around Remus’s waist, fingers resting firmly on his hip.

It isn’t long before Sirius is making excuses about needing to greet everyone else, all apologetic grimaces and promises of finding her again later tonight, and guiding Remus away with the hand at his side.

“Sorry about her,” grumbles Sirius as they slip past her. A quick glance back shows that she’s already latched onto someone else.

“Sorry? Love, did you hear what she called me?” Sure, Remus is a bit uncomfortable with the way she’d doted on him. And sure, he’s annoyed that she’d behaved that way—he’s her employee’s partner, who she’d never met before. But all of it is overshadowed by those first few words she’d said.

A slight frown mars Sirius’s face, and Remus waits patiently as he goes back over the interaction in his head.

“Oh,” Sirius gasps.

Another smile grows on Remus’s face, but this one is born of pure happiness, all for Sirius. Sirius, who immediately smiles at him and nudges his cheek against Remus’s own.

“Well, she’s not wrong. You certainly are handsome,” Sirius continues.

Tears prick at Remus’s eyes. Sirius has never called him that either.

“I’m, I’m just…shit. I didn’t think it would feel so good,” Remus confesses, scrubbing the tears away from his eyes harshly. This is a work event, for God’s sake, he can’t start sobbing in the middle of the ballroom. “I didn’t think I’d care.”

“Aww, baby. My handsome baby,” whispers Sirius as he wraps Remus in a hug.

~*~

For a while, Remus forgets entirely about the mistletoe strung up from the ceiling. No one seems to be paying it much attention—everyone is wandering the room freely, and no one is being hollered at to kiss—so he does the same. As the hours tick on, though, and people slowly start to trickle out, the nonsense begins. Remus is pretty sure the abundance of alcohol is helping, too. He himself has been nursing the same half-full glass of golden champagne since the party started, but he knows he, along with Sirius, is alone in that decision.

Whatever the reason, Remus is rudely distracted from his conversation with Sirius in a shadowed corner by a sudden wave of cheers and applause. Sirius’s face mirrors the surprised confusion he’s sure is displayed on his own. Everyone’s eyes are fixed somewhere above his and Sirius’s heads, and they both look up in unison. Ah. They’d accidentally parked themselves right under a scraggly sprig of mistletoe.

“Go on, give your boyfriend a kiss!” someone calls out.

Remus smiles and tilts his head a little. “Yeah. Give your boyfriend a kiss,” he breathes into the space between his mouth and Sirius’s.

And he does.

Sirius leans in just a bit, just enough for their lips to touch, hands coming up and resting innocently on Remus’s waist. It’s a soft, chaste kiss, closed lips pressed against closed lips. Remus pulls back after a long moment, watching as Sirius’s eyes slowly flutter open, and smiles shyly at him.

Sirius smiles back, but there’s not a trace of shyness in his. No, he leans in without hesitation to give Remus a kiss right on the tip of his nose before holding out his hand. Remus slips his hand into Sirius’s and lets himself be guided towards the elaborate dinner buffet.

Boyfriend.

Remus has never loved a word so much.

Chapter Text

It’s not until Christmas evening that Sirius and Remus settle in under the tree to open presents. Remus insists that Sirius open his first, knowing that Remus’s own will take much longer to open, embarrassing as that is. He’s gotten Sirius a nice sketchbook and a set of graphite pencils, thinking of the time Sirius told him that he always wanted to be an artist but Walburga never let him, and then he just never got around to doing it himself. It seems that Remus picked well—Sirius rewards him with a sunny smile, a quick kiss, and a rush of sweet, excited words.

When it’s his turn, Remus goes for the shiny silver envelope first, smooth under his fingertips. Remus slips a finger under the seal easily, slowly prying it loose and opening the flap. The card he pulls out shows a snowy landscape, gentle hills dotted with spiky snow-dusted pine trees, and a wolf poking his nose curiously into the snow. Right beside the wolf is a clearly hand-drawn black dog, tail pointing up excitedly, snout nudging the wolf in the side.

Remus can’t help the giggle that flies out of his mouth. Sirius clearly tried very hard on the dog drawing, and Remus loves it simply because Sirius made it. But the artistic skill is a bit…lacking, while the wolf is so detailed that Remus can almost see every individual hair in his coat. Nevertheless, it’s a very sweet, very cute card, and it’s not like Remus himself could do any better anyways. He’s not even sure how Sirius found a card with a wolf on it, but if anyone could do it, Sirius could.

“Hey! I’ll have you know that is my very best work,” Sirius interjects. Remus placates him with kisses.

If Remus thought the outside of the card was meaningful, he’s not even sure there are words for the inside. All he registers are the words, “My sweet boyfriend,” at the top before tears overtake his vision. He sets it down carefully on the ground, somewhere safe from the tears rapidly trailing down his cheeks and nose, and flings his arms around Sirius’s neck to sob into his shoulder.

Sirius jolts a bit when Remus’s body hits his, but quickly curls his arms around him, cradling him closer and rubbing soothing trails around his back and shoulders and thighs. It’s a little embarrassing how long it takes for Remus to compose himself, and when he finally sits up a bit his cheeks are as red as his nose and eyes. Sirius just gives him a sweet smile and cups his cheek.

“Sorry, that was…sorry,” Remus mutters, dropping his gaze to his lap. “It means a lot to me. It’s so…” He’s not really sure how to finish that sentence, how to explain the feeling of gender euphoria, but Sirius doesn’t mind when he trails off.

Sirius’s long fingers tilt his face back up gently, and as soon as their eyes meet again he whispers “I love you.”

“I love you,” Remus replies. He slides off Sirius’s lap to read the actual message in the card, laughing at Sirius’s pout and grabby hands. “More cuddles later, I promise. Presents now!”

Remus picks up the first present from the pile a bit hesitantly, weighing it in his hand. It’s rather heavy. Not painfully so or anything, but more than he would’ve expected for an object this small. He glances up at Sirius a bit, eyes darting from his face to the present, and then slips a finger under the seam of the paper at Sirius’s encouraging nod. Remus isn’t sure why he’s being so cautious. He’s never been one to preserve wrapping paper off of presents in the past, but something about this feels a bit delicate. Rather than tearing it away, Remus unfolds the neat corners and lifts the turned-in edges, sliding the rectangular present out of its paper shell.

Without really registering what he’s holding, Remus flips it over in his hands, smoothing fingers over the lettering on the front—right below the scent name in small print are the words: “Men’s body soap.” Men’s. Men’s.

Remus snaps his head up and finds Sirius’s eyes already searching for his own.

It takes him a few moments to find the words, mouth hanging slightly open until he does.

“I…Sirius. I’ve never—” he swallows hard. “Never had something like this.” And he knows Sirius knows what he means when he smiles gently. Of course he does—after all, he knew to get it for Remus in the first place. After all, Remus hadn’t come out to anyone else when he came out to Sirius, when he’d told him how he felt a bit out of place even amongst other trans people, how he’d never just known at a young age, how there wasn’t even anything to know when he was a child.

Remus smiles back, blinking hard to stave off the second bout of tears threatening to pour down his cheeks. If all the presents are going to make him this teary, he’s concerned for his hydration.

He’s a bit less surprised when the next two presents he opens, covered in the same red-and-white striped paper as the first, are a bottle of men’s shampoo in the same scent as the soap and a small glass bottle of cologne. He’s never had cologne before, never even tried it at the store or stolen a spritz from his dad’s bathroom. Remus didn’t realize he could want something so badly after only deciding he wanted it a few months ago. He twists the lid off the latter item immediately and brings it to his nose, eyes slipping closed as he inhales the sharp, musky scent, something his brain immediately registers as boy, something that settles some deep need within him.

There’s no stopping the tears now, and he laughs a bit at his own silliness, looking up at Sirius again and leaning in to kiss him damply on the cheek. “Thank you,” he whispers.

Sirius kisses him on the forehead and whispers “Of course, baby” right into his ear.

~*~

Of course, Remus had assumed that was the end of it. He didn’t expect to open a thick envelope and find a bookmark with “Remus J. Lupin” embossed upon it in foil. Remus hasn’t chosen a new middle name yet, but he’d told Sirius he plans to keep the same initial. A little thrill runs through him at seeing his full name written out like that.

A smaller envelope contains a gift certificate for a barber shop. Even the clearly book-shaped present surprises him when he opens it to reveal the title A Global Trans History. A skim of the inside flaps tell him that it’s a collection of mini biographies of trans and nonbinary people throughout time, both significant historical figures and just everyday people. Like him. Everything in him wants to curl up right there amongst the discarded wrapping paper and still-unopened presents and read the whole thing cover to cover, but Sirius’s increasingly impatient wiggling keeps him focused. A soft, squishable present unleashes a small explosion of men’s flannels on his lap as soon as the tape is loosened. 

Remus glances over at the neat stack of folded wrappings and suddenly places that urge to preserve it all. Something about seeing “Remus” written over and over again in Sirius’s handwriting feels important to him.

He can’t help but flush a bit when a tight cylinder-shaped bundle turns out to be a bunch of rolled-up boxers, and moves on quickly.

There’s a small box from Lily mixed in amongst the pile from Sirius. When Remus opens it, he finds a necklace. It’s a simple, boxy gunmetal chain. She’s left it in the original box from the store, which clearly marks it as a men’s item, reminding him of why Lily is considered the best gift-giver among their friends.

He remembers the day he came out to her, only a few days after telling Sirius. He’d talked to her a bit about what he wanted for his transition, and remembers unloading some of his worries about the things he still likes that are traditionally considered feminine, remembers using his jewelry as an example. Remus likes jewelry, he does. But everything he has is delicate and dainty and…feminine. He stopped wearing it entirely before he even came out. It was an offhand comment, buried amongst so many other hopes and worries and anxieties, and he’s touched (although not surprised) that she remembered it. 

He slips the chain around his neck, asking Sirius to clasp it behind him, and smiles.

~*~

When he opens the next present, a tube of clear eyebrow gel tucked away in a small festive gift bag, the warm glow that’s occupied his belly all day dims a little, moving uncomfortably to his face instead. Remus is…not sure about this.

He wants the gel, of course. Sirius wouldn’t have gotten him something like this, something feminine, if he wasn’t sure. Remus has been wearing it every day for years, continuing after he stopped wearing actual makeup, after he came out.

But, well. It’s made for women. And Remus knows that’s a bit of a silly thing to be worried about. More than silly, really. He knows that gender binaries and roles are societal conventions, and that makeup and cosmetics have no gender, and all of the other sayings being touted by queer activism groups. And he agrees, obviously.

It’s just…a bit harder to convince his brain that that extends to himself, too, when he knows that most people still see gender as a strict, binary structure with clearly defined roles. Something like clear brow gel isn’t going to be the difference in whether he’s perceived as a man or a woman, sure. But it could be the difference between passing as cis and being clocked as queer, between someone respecting him and not respecting him. Between someone thinking he’s normal and abnormal.

His mini spiral is interrupted by Sirius squishing his hot cheeks playfully, cooing at him and pressing kisses to his dimples. When Remus looks up, face flushing further, he says “Hey, it’s okay. If you don’t want them I can return them. You’re not obligated to do any of this any one way, Remus. But…it’s okay if you do want them. There’s nothing wrong with that. Your gender is about you, not what other people think.”

Yeah. Sirius knows him well.

~*~

Sirius eagerly shoves the last present into his hands. It’s wrapped in sparkly blue paper, and Sirius had been insistent that he open it last. Remus isn’t sure why.

The second he opens it, though, he realizes. It’s easily the biggest present of them all. The most meaningful, the most risky.

All he needs to see is the edge of a roll of tape, the beginning of the word “trans” trailing off under the paper, and the tears he’s been battling with all morning rush hotly down his face for what has to be the third or fourth time now, collecting under his chin. Remus tips forward, burying his face in his hands.

“Hey, Remus? Baby? Are you okay? Was it too much? Shit,” Sirius says desperately. Remus feels his warm hands settle on his hips and he squirms frantically to face Sirius. Tears are still streaming down his face as he flings his arms around Sirius’s shoulders, squeezing him hard. He draws back only to smack short, wet kisses up the side of Sirius’s jaw, cheek, temple. He fits his mouth to Sirius’s and sighs, the warm press of lips feeling like home.

He pulls his mouth away just enough to whisper: “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.” 

Sirius responds by squeezing him so hard he can’t breathe, and they cuddle on the floor for as long as Remus’s temperamental joints can stand the awkward position. He can’t even bring himself to regret it when he finally stands up and his joints ache with every movement.

~*~

It’s later that same day that Sirius practically shoves Remus into their cramped bathroom, urging him to try on his new clothes. Remus closes the door behind him, clicking the lock as gently as he can. He and Sirius don’t usually bother with it, not having too many boundaries between them. But he wants to do this alone, and even though he knows Sirius wouldn’t mind, part of his brain worries it’s rude, somehow.

Remus strips slowly, tossing each item of clothing into the laundry basket in the corner of the room. He pauses a bit before pulling off his underwear too. The reflection in the mirror is familiar, and it doesn’t bother him much. All the same, he’s eager to cover up a bit and picks up a pair of boxers from the soft pile on the counter. The material is soft as he slides it up his ankles, his calves, his thighs, his hips. Remus peels open the package of trans tape. He’d secretly done some research into this, learned how to apply it in the hopes that he’d get to someday. He hadn’t expected that to be so soon, but he’s glad he doesn't have to spend time figuring it out now. 

He has to create little pads to protect his nipples first, folding up toilet paper and taping it to his chest with small strips of the tape. Then he cuts a few longer strips of tape, peels the paper backing off, presses the end right over his nipple and pulls it around his ribcage to smooth it under his armpit. It feels strange, but he repeats the process until he has two smooth strips of tape on each side of his chest. 

The flannel is last. Remus is still avoiding the mirror as he undoes the buttons and slips his arms into it. The fit is different, roomier in the shoulder area, reaching further down his thighs. He leaves the buttons hanging open and peeks out into their bedroom to see if Sirius is still there, a bit relieved when he sees the room empty. Remus really wants to see himself in the full length mirror. On a whim, he grabs a hair band on his way out, tucking his hair back into a low bun not visible from the front.

Remus’s eyes are shut tight as he steps in front of the full-length mirror hanging near their wardrobe. Slowly, he opens them, trailing his gaze up his own body. His eyes stop on his lower body, a bit embarrassed by how right those boxers feel. And then he catches sight of his chest.

That’s…him? Oh. He looks so…masculine. So different. 

The tape matches his skin well, missing the freckles but sharing the warm bronze tone. It pulls his breasts aside just right, creating the perfect illusion of a flat chest. He nudges the flannel open a bit more, wanting to see more. He can’t believe that’s his body. It’s…perfect.

~*~

Remus loses long minutes to the image in the mirror and eventually Sirius comes to find him. He’s not surprised to see him approaching, pressing right up behind him.

“Hey Moony,” he says softly, breath tickling Remus’s neck. “So handsome, love.” Sirius’s chilly hands reach under his arms, around his torso, and run down his tape-bound chest.

Remus gasps, a hitching, choked thing, and brings his hands up to follow Sirius’s.

Oh.

He was wrong.

It’s not an illusion.

That’s his body. His chest is flat. He can feel it! Sirius can feel it.

Remus didn’t know it would feel different for someone to touch his chest while it was bound, but oh God, it does.

He tips his head back against Sirius’s shoulder, but it’s futile. The tears escape anyways.

“Good?” murmurs Sirius.

“Wonderful,” sighs Remus.