Chapter Text
From the outside, Howell looks pretty nondescript, melting into its surroundings with its smokey stoned bricks and a soft light emanating from the wide partitions. It’s the entirety of the ground level of a rather large complex and resides on a street full of similar looking buildings— ranging from more retro restaurants and prissy boutiques.
“Welcome to chateau Howell,” Remus says with a lazy swish of the hand before leading Sirius indoors. The foyer has a regal looking stone fountain, and there’s a pretty, university aged girl working the front desk who greets Remus by name and waves them through to the main viewing area of the exhibit, winking Sirius’s direction when she catches how their littlest fingers are linked, but he ignores her in favor of devouring the sight of the exhibit that basically brought Remus here, to New York. What brought Remus to him.
The ground is covered in a rich, red carpet, and the walls are a soft eggshell— most likely a tone easy on the eyes so to highlight the portraits hung with a graceful sort of panache around the panorama. Sirius is about to try to discern the themes of the differing aisles— swears he’s sees a logo for the feminist activist group that Lily has a whole array of stickers and shirts displaying, the Guerrilla Girls. Though before he could inspect any further, he hears a softly melodic voice crowing Remus’s name, and when he looks upwards, there’s a woman— clad in leggings and a Sex Pistols top that casually falls over one shoulder— walking towards them from a separate room with another array of pieces. Her hair— a few shades fairer than Remus’s own— is pulled up into a messy topknot, and she’s got on a smile that makes her look like she’s near glowing— even has the same shape to her eyes as Remus does, though they are a solid cornflower in contrast to the ever changing hazel. There’s absolutely no doubt that she’s his mother, even sports that same, sole dimple on the apple of her right cheek that Sirius has always been enthralled by, ever since spotting Remus that first day on campus.
“Well look what the cat dragged in, a bedraggled looking marshmallow.”
“I’m telling Moony you think he’d ever drag anything anywhere,” Remus retorts, mock scathing as he sheds himself from the extra layers, tossing them aside to a built in bench and stepping forwards for the hug she’s offering. “Bet he’d scratch up all your bedroom furniture in retaliation.”
“I guess that’s the cheek that thirty hours of delivery gets a girl.” Hope harrumphs, tugging at a lock of his hair as he pulls away.
“It was twenty-three last time you said that.”
“Oh bite your tongue before I decide to blindfold you in the middle of Hells Kitchen and make you find your own way home.”
“That was a cruel and twisted way to try and get me familiar with the city, and I’ve still got Mr Evans collecting the depositions for the law suit.”
“Right, well give me adequate time to prepare for the court date, sweets, I’d like to facetune the photos of the stretch marks you gave me, and the gray hairs over that little rebellious phase you had freshman year.”
“Hmm, I suppose we’re at an impasse.”
“I’d gladly forget the whole business if you agree to take your poor, decrepit mother out for Sundaes tomorrow,” she offers, turning her head slightly to smile goodbye to an elderly couple holding an expertly wrapped painting that they must’ve just purchased.
“Well I don’t know if you’d want that considering your advanced age, might spike up the blood pressure and all.”
Hope sniffs, elbow checking his side with a glower. “Enjoy being young and pretty Remus John, because I promise I will be sending out news letters the second you get your first wrinkle.”
“Charming.”
“I’ve been called that, yes. Now are you going to introduce me to cheekbones here, or is he going to be staring at us like a floundering fish all night long.”
Remus snorts at the rejoinder, but Sirius only feels his cheeks flood scarlet as he stumbles forwards, raising his hand mechanically between them. “Nice to finally meet you Ms Howell.”
“Oh, he’s cute and has manners? Remus I think you’ve hit the jackpot!”
“Trust me, it’s an artifice,” Remus replies, probably still smarting over the whole hat business, but Sirius flickers his gaze over to him, near pleading for him not to fuck up Sirius’s only chance to make a good, first impression on his mom. “Right,” Remus says with a exasperated sort of exhale. “Sirius, this’s my mother, Hope Howell. Mom, this is, erm— Well this is the guy I’ve been seeing, Sirius Black.”
Hope’s entire countenance goes impossibly brighter, taking Sirius’s hand with a surprisingly tight grip and gives it two, quick shakes. “The boyfriend I’ve heard so much about!”
“Mom,” Remus hisses, glaring at her with an almost unkempt frenzy.
“Oh Remus don’t pout, it’ll give you frown lines,” she jeers, flicking the end of his upturned nose before glancing back up at Sirius. “Well, dear, apparently I haven’t heard anything about you, but I’m sure if I had I’d like everything Remus would gush over you instead of eating his dinner like a dope, and be very impressed with your wit, and how you’ve made it so my son is actually passing his math classes.”
“I hate you,” Remus sneers, never looking away from his mother.
“I’m a delight,” she counters.
“You’re terrible and I’m moving in with Lyall.”
“I understand,” she smirks, pinching his cheek dotingly and begins to stroll around her exhibit— beckoning them over with a bend of the knuckle.
“She’s fantastic,” Sirius laughs, lacing his fingers through Remus’s own once more and quickly following suit.
“I want to be emancipated!” Remus shouts back, loud enough for her to hear, and making it so Hope’s pale head falls back with pure mirth.
“Don’t mind him,” she tells the bemused looking patron with a nonbinary pride flag on their coat. “He’s just upset that I told him and cheekbones that they can’t get hitched before high school ends.”
They press a hand to their mouth, eyes teeming with humor as Hope walks away, stopping eventually to talk with another adult that looks like he might want to buy the landscape he’s peering at. And it’s awing watching Hope in her element, talking about the paint strokes, and the emotion embedded into each one, and the stillness amidst the chaotic year that the piece was created within— Eventually directing him to the front desk to fill out the papers to take it home with him. It reminds Sirius of whenever he got Remus on a roll talking about the filmography of his favorite movies, of the directors choices and how dialogue can only get across so much without an expert hand on the camera.
It’s definitely a welcomed similarity.
“Oh I can’t wait to tell Adaeze, this’ll be her first sale since coming back to the states.”
“Oh, I really liked her self portraits though, how vivid they are.” Remus says, coming a bit closer to look more carefully at the excessively different style.
“I know, but I think she just wanted to proudly show off her love for her country, show how beautiful Nigeria is. Separate from the turmoil that was spurred on by the west and all.” Hope explains, slinging her arm around Remus’s middle, standing at a curvy, five foot nothing compared to her son’s wiry, 5’10 frame. “So you boys had fun in the city today? I didn’t think I’d see you until later tonight. Lils is still coming around to help make those programs for the fundraiser over in Manhattan next week, yeah?”
“Mhmm , yeah. Honestly was planning on having a lazy Saturday, but this one,” he nudges his thumb over to Sirius who’s now flocked on his other side. “Had some winter blues over the lack of snow, so I tried getting him to see it in a different light.”
Hope’s smile right then goes more soft and adoring, tousling a hand through her son’s curls. “That’s my little Wes Anderson.”
“You’re a piece of work,” he retorts, though his complexion has gone a distinctly rosy color as he tries to bring back some semblance to his hair.
“The finest masterpiece there ever was, isn’t that right Sirius?”
“Wha— Oh, yes. I, erm—“ He sounds like a complete idiot and has no idea how to fix it, is only slightly relieved when her teasing wink melts away for a real, abrupt laugh.
“Oh, he’s precious. Can we keep him kiddo?”
“You’re being mean, he’s nervous.” Remus intones, squeezing her around the shoulders before letting go completely.
“Let me have my fun Remus John! You never bring around the boys you like!”
Sirius snaps his gaze to him, feeling suddenly an outrageous amount of glee that makes his fucking knees weak. “Oh? Am I special then?”
Absentmindedly, Remus tosses him the bird and glares at his mother for good measure. “I’m packing my bags when Sirius drops me off. You and Lily can deal with the programs yourselves.”
“I thought I told you, no trips to Vegas till you get that degree.”
Sirius can’t help the way his laughter bursts out of him, made even louder when he looks over to how Remus is positively fuming now. “Right, well there’s no one to blame but me. I’m sorry Sirius, I should’ve just taken us over to Anwar’s place right away instead of stopping by to see this woman who I once called my mother. I’ll take the L and we can just go.”
“Oh,” Hope stilts from where she was loosening and regathering her hair with a polka dotted scrunchy, voice pitched a bit higher now. “Well, honey, I can run over real quick and get you and cheekbones dinner. Just text me what you want.”
“Oh, no, Ms Howell, ’s fine. You don’t have to do that.”
“Nonsense, sweetheart. I— erm, I’ve got to return the charger Anwar left here this morning anyhow.”
Sirius furrows his brows now, more than slightly confused. “’S fine, i’m sure he knows Remus and—“
“Oh no Sirius, she doesn’t just want to give him his charger.”
Sirius glances over to his boyfriend now, catching the smug way he’s smirking— Head cocked and arms crossed against his chest. “Oh?”
“Yeah, you see, mom here has a bit of a crush.”
“Remus, don’t think I don’t have an entire album on my phone dedicated to your baby pictures.”
“Psha, I think you’d rather not waste the time embarrassing me, that you could be spending over there, making heart eyes at Anwar, and watching him practically kiss the ground you walk on.”
Hope bores her gaze into her son’s own, blue eyes melding into a bright caramel. “Sirius, has Remus talked about him being convinced he was a merman when he was five years old?”
“Okay, yeah. Just the chipotle melts and a couple chais for us, carrot sticks on the side.” Remus hurriedly interjects, quite literally standing between Sirius and his mother now.
“Mmm, good choice, now c’mon and walk me out. Cheekbones can wander around the gallery while you help Natalia with the sale.”
“Fine,” Remus sighs, turns around and tells Sirius to be good before he leaves.
“Hey! I still wanna hear about the merman story!” He yells towards their retreating backs.
“I need it for blackmail purposes,” Hope explains from over her shoulder, casting him a wink. “But soon.”
“Not over my dead body,” Remus reproves, speeding up his pace towards the front.
Suddenly feeling bereft after their departure, Sirius takes Hope’s advice and begins meandering around the exhibit, divided into three main rooms and an upstairs area that’s mostly just a balcony to look down at the floor level. The pieces are an eclectic bunch, ranging from all different sorts of painting techniques to a few installations— like a curious pair of mannequins that are clad in different sets of women’s underwear made out of latex. And admittedly, Sirius’s never been the sort to pontificate on art work or analyze why something was included, or what someone was trying to get across, but he can’t help but be captivated by all of the passion found here, getting lost in the hum of the soft music crooning from above and in the still stories being shouted out from the work.
He’s walking away from a series of paintings depicting women of different ethnicities, going through the sequence of events on how to wrap a hijab around their heads, when he spots an unnervingly familiar image. And the closer he comes the more sure he is in the fact.
The focus of the piece is of a pair of hands resting on a tabletop littered with papers, a pen slid into one of their grasps while the other lies flat, and the only other attributes he can see of the man depicted in the scene is a profile that only really shows the slope of his nose, and the downturn of his pink lips, and how his dark tawny hair falls over to cover his eye and most of his cheek. Though Sirius has a gut feeling that beneath the fountain of curls he’d see an iris that’s a whiskey sort of gold, and a consolation of freckles etched into his skin. Convinced all the more when he returns to studying the hands he knows so well now— their long, tapered fingers, and the knobby knuckles. The inhuman elegance of them and the way Remus has always bitten the nails down to the nub. Even a customary ink stain on the index finger of his left hand. There’s such an aching credence to the snapshot that it makes Sirius dizzy, especially while that traitorous little part of his brain taunts over just how intimate of a scene this is, how the bare shoulder and exposed forearm that are captured within the portrait proof that Remus isn’t even clothed.
but fuck is this such a beautiful dedication to him.
Bracing himself, he flickers his eyes over to the small bio that every creation has placed besides it, and he sees a photograph of a guy with shaggy blonde hair, and the sort of cocky grin that irritates the hell out of Sirius. His name’s Caradoc Dearborn, and is a third year fine arts major in NYU, spending the semester in Spain. And all Sirius could think is that he hates him, and that he was too old, and that he thought Remus’ ex was some prudish, English lit major from St Thomas— But then again, the rumor mill never gets anything right, and yeah— this probably makes more sense all things considered.
Sirius doesn’t notice when Remus and Natalia wander over to where he’s standing until he feels someone tugging at his hand and finds them eyeing him speculatively.
“Hey,” Remus greets, a bit tepid once he spots the painting Sirius is stood in front of. “Didn’t know Mom agreed to put this up.”
“Oh yeah, she just did it maybe last week?” Natalia answers the tacit inquiry, grinning over at the pair of them. “Think she still doesn’t really like Car after finding out that his internship here had a lot more to do with you over the actual gallery, but I think your mom got a soft heart after he emailed explaining that he’s totally broke out there. Besides, everything he painted inspired by you always gets the most attention, honestly, it’s his best stuff.”
Remus purses his lips, darting his eyes away from both of them. “Yeah, well ’s only because he was around me so much. I’m sure he’s gotten better ever since getting to Barcelona.”
Natalia shrugs, noncommittal, before she returns to her post, leaving a stifling quiet behind.
“So, erm— That’s the bastard you went out with before me?”
Remus smiles indulgently over at him, and it feels like the knot of tension in Sirius’s gut finally unfurls.
“Car was a pric, don’t even think about it, yeah?”
“Yeah, all right,” Sirius agrees, tentative when he hooks his pinky into Remus’s own and presses their foreheads together. “Then should I be worried that some old, closeted geezer is gonna buy this and lust over you?”
Remus pushes his shoulder, grimacing now. “Don’t be gross.”
“I feel like I should at least make a bid? Hang it up in my room so I can have something nice and clear to jack off to.”
“You’re literally the worst.”
“Is that a yes then? I mean the kid’s no Rockwell or anything but at least he knows what’s pretty enough to make a painting.”
“If you know what’s good for you, you’d shut the fuck up and come with me to see if my Mom’s too busy flirting to get our food.”
“Mmm, and what if I keep being naughty, Messr Lupin?”
Remus only rolls his eyes before he pulls Sirius along— non too gently— muttering all the while about assholes and dirty mouths and something that sounds suspiciously like “I need to find us a closet in this place.”
Sirius is absolutely cackling and he feels such a rush of affection for Remus pulsing in his chest, though it doesn’t stop him from glancing back to the portrait, and wondering what made Caradoc such irrelevant trash in Remus’s opinion— besides the obvious. And then he can’t help but wonder if it’s any worse than the bet, which sobers him completely.
“You okay?” Remus asks once they pass into the main room of the gallery and notices that Sirius isn’t acting like a mad man any longer.
“Yeah, yeah. I’m golden, babe.” Sirius answers in a voice that comes off counterfeit to his own ears, but before Remus could interrogate him any further, Sirius stops at the entrance and knots a hand into Remus’s hair before kissing him open mouthed and needy, feeling just slightly better when Remus returns the embrace with an equal amount of further.
So they stand their, in the middle of the art gallery, kissing and clutching and clinging onto one another as if nothing else matters more than their feverish grasps, and Sirius loses himself in the smell of citrus from his shampoo, and the taste of chocolate still coating his tongue from the brownies they picked up before coming to the city, and in the sound of his near silent gasps every time Sirius nips at his bottom lip— gasps that melt into the Velvet Underground song that’s thrumming between them.
Thought of you as my mountain top
Thought of you as my peak
Thought of you as everything
i’ve had but couldn’t keep
“let’s go.”
“Oh, yeah,” Remus looks momentarily dazed when Sirius pulls off of him, but collects himself quickly, back to his perfectly crafted control. “Let’s get out of here.”
Together, they walk out, and Sirius hopes that absolutely nothing ever changes between them.