Summary: Remus wonders what makes him so undesirable that no one ever fancies him. Sirius explains that people are afraid to want him because he's too perfect to be attainable. But Sirius isn't afraid of anything. Slashy oneshot.

Disclaimer: Rowling owns the characters, the lucky wench. Some anonymous person from the internet owns the apple metaphor, which I took the liberty of altering slightly. I own everything else. Yes, I realise that there isn't much else. :sighs and defeat and goes off to write more fan fiction, proving even further that she owns nothing:

I Wish Someone Wanted Me

Wind soaring through the glassless windows of the ancient tower assaults him, chilling his bones and chapping his lips. There is no comforting cloak around his shoulders or scarf around his neck. He doesn't care. He deserves this.

It's a new moon tonight. All he can see are a few cold, distant pinpricks of light against a sea of blackness. He contemplates wishing on one of the stars for someone to want him, though he decides not to when he realises what a selfish desire it is.

"I am such a bad person."

"Dunno where you got that mad idea from." The warmth of breathing on the back of his neck contrasting with the winter breeze startles him as much as the voice itself.

"Sirius!" Remus exclaims, turning to face his friend. "What are you doing here?"

"Came to find you, of course. We haven't seen you since lunch, and you're never out this long after curfew. I was worri-" Sirius breaks off, appearing embarrassed. He looks at Remus closely, searching for a change of subject, and declares, "Merlin, you're freezing! You're lips are practically blue!" He steps nearer to Remus and wraps the cloak he is wearing around them both, almost pressing their torsos together.

Remus shudders involuntarily as tingling erupts throughout his body. Now, he is grateful for the low temperature. Without it, Sirius might question why he is shivering. "No one else pays attention to my lips." The statement is spoken flatly, completely devoid of emotion.

The phrase causes Sirius to stiffen awkwardly, though he doesn't stop embracing the werewolf. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means that…Never mind. It doesn't matter." Remus gazes at the stone floor and begins to pull away.

Sirius tightens his grip on Remus' back with one hand, and with the other he gently lifts Remus' chin to make his friend look at him. "It matters. If it didn't you wouldn't have said it." He hopes Remus hasn't discerned the depths of his feelings, though he recognises that Remus is incredibly observant and that he himself is incredibly tactless. "Listen, if I've done something to make you uncomfortable-"

The Prefect is surprised. "You? Why would you think that you made me uncomfortable?"

"But you said…" He shakes his head in a dog-like manner as if to clear it. "Maybe you'd better explain 'cause me trying to analyse stuff obviously isn't working."

Remus does not want to admit it out loud. He doesn't want to Sirius to be aware of petty he is. "Padfoot, it's not important."

"It is," argues the ever-stubborn Black. Only meager starlight filters through the drafty windows. Nonetheless, Sirius can see Remus' bright eyes in the darkness, and they look sad. "Tell me. Please."

The 'please' is what prompts Remus to cave in. He buries his face against Sirius' chest so he won't have to view the other's expression after he vocalises his confession. "No one wants me. I should be relieved because if anyone did fancy me I wouldn't be able to date them since they don't know what I am. But I'm not relieved. I feel like there must be something terribly undesirable about me for no one to fancy me the smallest bit. I'm not jealous that almost everyone prefers you and James; I'd just like someone to be interested me. And if someone was, I'd have to turn them down. It's so selfish of me to want somebody else to feel rejected just so I can feel adequate." Remus' voice hardens with self-disgust as he repeats, "I am such a bad person."

Fingers run soothingly through Remus' hair as Sirius' other hand remains warm against his spine. "That's not true. You're at the top of the tree, that's all."

He lifts his cranium to bestow the animagus with a curious look. "We are, in fact, near the top of the Divination Tower, but what do trees have to do with anything?"

"People are like apples on a tree. The best ones are at the top closest to the sun." Sirius wonders if he ought to continue. Philosophy is Remus' area of expertise, and he doesn't want to make a fool of himself by attempting it. However, Remus is regarding him earnestly and he loves his companion's attention too much to not go on. "The best apples seem so out of reach that people are afraid that if they try to get them they'll wind up falling and getting hurt, so they settle for the slightly rotten, easier apples on the bottom branches. Because no one tries to pick them, the apples at the top think that there's something wrong with them when they're actually the greatest apples. The best apples have to wait longer than the rotten ones to be picked 'cause they have to wait for someone brave enough and smart enough to come along who can find a way to the top to reach them."

"Thanks, Sirius." Remus smiles his real smile. It's not the polite smile that he keeps on his face all day to reassure the concerned professors and to keep the younger students calm. It's his real smile that makes Sirius' head dizzy, stomach twist, and heart swell. "I'm not sure if I agree since half of the school would like to bake you into their apple pie, but I appreciate the sentiment all the same."

Sirius rolls his eyes, effectively expressing how irritating he finds the flirtatious attention. "They just fancy me 'cause I'm the shiniest apple. Only a few people know about the bruises underneath my skin and still care about me anyway."

For the first time since the conversation had begun, Remus puts his arms around Sirius, finally making it a mutual hug. "You're not too bruised of an apple; you've got thick, Gryffindor red skin to protect you."

The Prefect is correct as usual; Sirius is a Gryffindor. As such, Sirius ought to be able to muster up the courage to climb to the top of the tree to pick the only forbidden fruit that he's ever wanted. Bearing this in mind, he answers, "I don't think you're a red apple."

"Then, what kind am I?" Remus raises his eyebrows in mild amusement. Sirius invariably manages to amuse him no matter how depressed or preoccupied he is. "Surely, not a sour Slytherin green?"

"No, not green." His voice is shaking, though his motions are steady as leans down to make their noses brush. "You're Golden Delicious." He moves slowly to provide his comrade with ample opportunity to step back, but when he doesn't Sirius kisses him on the mouth. The buss is decidedly firm. A tentative or passionate snog could be explained as being caught up in the moment, however, there is no mistaking the meaning behind Sirius' kiss, and it results in Remus returning the pressure against his lips.

Remus' knees quake and he grips the back of Sirius' shirt tightly to keep himself upright. There are no tongues involved, though that does not prevent both of them from being breathless and flushed when they their faces break apart after what feels like – and certainly could be – several minutes.

Unsurprisingly, Remus is the first to recover his rational coherency. "Merlin, I wish you'd done that sooner."

The digits on the werewolf's back move in relaxing circles. Who precisely the gesture is meant to relax neither boy is quite sure. "I tried, but my courage turned to apple sauce every time."

"There was no reason for you to feel nervous, Padfoot. You've always been the apple of my eye." Somewhere in the recesses of his mind, Remus perceives that this is a corny proclamation to utter, though due to the fact that he can taste Sirius when he licks his lips he can't bring himself to feel sheepish.

Sirius laughs more in relief than in response to Remus' comment. "Good 'cause I don't know what I'd've done if someone else got to drink your apple juice."

Under typical circumstances, Remus would reprimand Sirius for a remark semi-sexual in nature, however, everything about this situation is blissfully unusual, and instead he smiles another real smile and pulls Sirius in for a second kiss.

The freezing air still rushes into the castle, but Remus isn't cold anymore.

Minerva's Note: What was I thinking? I never write fluff unless it's mixed with comedy and/or smut! I guess I simply got inspired because I thought the apple metaphor was sweet and that we could all relate to wishing that someone wanted us and-and…Gah, I can't believe I posted something so un-Minerva-ish! Please, review to let me know what you thought. I hope not all of you choked on the fluffiness when you read it.