Sirius was half in his lap, snoring, with their nose buried in his neck. Regulus was curled up on his other side, tucked under Remus’ arm and speaking nonstop about how Remus was his best friend and how Sirius was so lucky to find someone that wasn’t a disc jockey and who smelled—he sniffed him hard, right in his armpit—like "chamomile, lemongrass, and clean boy."