stella

Remus hated small talk. But he never minded it when it was with you.

Similar to his past, the man still gets dragged into public gatherings nowadays. Though they’re a great deal tamer than the parties he’s been to when he was younger. Now, he gets dragged to team dinners—clinking pints of Guinness, sharing finger foods with colleagues, and pretending that they all make for some great company (though Remus would rather fill his mouth with dirt than admit that to anyone).

Thankfully, it only happens every once in a while. Most days at the office are mundane and repetitive. Not even the occasional elevator run-ins Remus has had with you can deny that. So, if anything, he has a love-hate relationship with attending team dinners.

It gives him the chance to see his colleagues in a different light—literally. Because the lighting at the office is cool and creepy, and the pubs that these dinners take place in have warm lighting, making one feel at ease. 

It also gives Remus a chance to drink himself dry with a perfectly reasonable excuse. That’s either to “let loose!” or “have fun!” like all his colleagues nag him about. Who was he to deny the decisions that other people make for him? He barely speaks with them, too, and he wasn’t about to start denying anything now. So—

“—bottoms up!”

Remus downs his shot glass of gin, feeling the familiar burn of alcohol running down his throat. A resounding applause goes around him. He’s just succumbed to what might be his third—or forth?—shot ever since truth-or-dare was brought up at the table. 

They’d just asked him if there was anyone special in his life right now. Remus only ever had one automatic answer for that. A namehe’d answer in a heartbeat if he were around different people, in a different setting. Of course, he could always just tell them it was Sirius the rockstar or James the athlete and make up a sob story on the spot.

But he took a shot, because he wasn’t willing to bullshit anyone right now.

Not while he was busy playing his own game of ‘Try Not to Be Triggered’ with you at the moment.

The entire point of this dinner was for a “morale boost,” or so the new guy on the team, Gale, had reasoned a while ago at the office. “Drinks on me!” he said, but even an infant could see right through his friendly facade—he was just trying to get on everybody’s good side and rise up to the top that way.

…or so Remus thinks.

It certainly doesn’t help him that you're sitting right beside him—or was it the other way around? He couldn’t tell anymore; he’s getting another drink with a bigger glass later, Remus decides then. Ever since the team came into the pub and sat at the table, you and Gale had stuck out to him like a sore thumb. 

The pair of you were giggling like high school lovebirds, whispering in each other’s ears, sharing knowing smiles and glances. It all made Remus want to hurl, respectfully speaking. It took an ounce of self-restraint not to roll his eyes and make faces.

Because Remus isn’t petty like that. He wasn’t jealous either. 

How could he be if it didn’t concern him that you have a new fling going on with some fresh upstart now? It’s not like you were his girlfriend or anything. 

But that was never really the case in the beginning, was it? It never mattered if you were his girlfriend or… anything.

All that ever mattered to Remus was that you had him, and he had you. Whether that be in the happy times, in the sad times, in times of desire neither of you could quench indefinitely—you were important to him. You still are important to him.

He turns his attention to the window, watching the people and the cars pass by like they always did. Your laughter rings in his ears like an uncomfortable pitch, but they don’t harm his eardrums. Instead, it makes his heart feel heavier than it did before while he was still downing shot after shot. 

The thing is, though, you’re not the only one laughing at the table. The whole team is. It’s just that Remus has learned over time how to become in tune with your singularity. And it’s come to the point that he knows how to pick your voice out of any background noise anywhere. 

A shame that he isn’t willing to tell that to you or anyone else, though.

…but with another drink, he might.

・・・・・

Remus is protective. 

That stretches out to a lot of things in his life: his privacy, his friends, his vulnerability, and so on. And if he was being honest, he prides himself for being protective. It gives him the peace of mind he’ll never not crave.

But he only ever becomes a different kind of protective—namely, being overprotective—when it concerns you.

An hour or so has passed since the team got settled into the pub. The table’s a mess now with empty dishes, half-drunk glasses, alcohol spillage, and pieces of chips left over for the ants to feast on. Half the team has bid their farewells and gone home in pairs and groups, but several have decided to stick behind.

Several people including Remus, you, and Gale.

Gale, who’s drunk off his arse, was clinging on to you like some desperate puppy.

You, on the other hand, were busy trying to refuse him politely 

And Remus… he sat at the bar with a glass full of cider to keep him company.

But he’s been keeping an eye on you and Gale ever since the latter had started to slur his words and sway in his seat. And, mind you, Remus has seen his fair share of instances where creeps bother innocent people. He recognizes the signs, but hasn’t exactly been presented with a reasonable chance yet to swoop in and save you from Gale the creep.

That is, until he clocks on to Gale’s hand reaching up to your face.

Remus has done that one himself before, but tenderly and gently.

Gale does it with force.

“No, stop. Please—” You tell him, now actively resisting his advances. Remus downs the rest of his glass’ contents and places it back down onto the bar. 

“Oh, c’mon,” Gale slurs, keeping a tight arm around your shoulders and stillforcing you to face him. “A little kiss won’t hurt, eh?”

The foot of a stool drags loudly against the wooden floor of the pub. It’s loud, even amidst the usual noise of a fairly full pub, and it catches yours and Gale’s attention. He lets out a frustrated sigh, his grip on your face loosening as he turns his head—

“What are you doing?” Remus asks him, his voice low and serious. He’s got a hand behind both of your chairs, ready to pull Gale’s back and take him to the floor.

Gale scoffs, sizes him up, then rises to his full height. But even in his stance, Remus is a great deal taller—has been his whole life, basically, though it doesn’t seem to bother the former. In fact, he still has the audacity to come up to him in his face, staring him in the eyes. 

Remus gets a horrid whiff of his breath—like Gale had just gargled beer a few times. Not that far off from Remus, who was just sipping on cider earlier, but at least he knows how to keep his mouth shut when talking with another person. 

“What’s it look like I’m doing, hm?” Gale shoots back, taunting. “I was jus’ tryin’ to give ‘er a kiss.”

‘Kiss my arse, more like,’ Remus comments mentally. 

But he takes a glance back at you first, still seated in your chair and looking tense. Your eyes meet his, and you shake your head resolutely. Remus takes it as a sign to go on, but he has a slight feeling that that wasn’t what you were trying to tell him.

“She says no,” He finally replies, voice still low but still keeping composure. “Actually—she’s been saying no.”

“Wow. You been watching us this whole time or somethin’? Fuckin’ nasty li’l kink you got there—”

As soon as the words had left his mouth, it was safe to say that Gale knew better than to anger Remus Lupin.

・・・・・

Remus does not consider himself a saint. 

It’s just that he doesn’t resort to violence, even with a hot head. So when he muttered a few words of “wisdom” saved just for Gale’s ears, it had surprisingly prevented the situation from escalating.

The creep had left the pub then, stumbling over his feet and rushing to pay the tab for the team dinner’s expenses. That was what he was there for, Remus had reminded him. Perhaps the guy just needed a “strong” wake-up call. One that involved bringing up the HR manager and some other well-meaning threats.

But where Gale got his much-needed slap back to reality, Remus got his from you walking out of the pub in a hurry.

“Y/N—wait!”

It all happens in a blur. Had it not been for the alcohol running through his veins since a couple hours ago, Remus would have stuck behind and returned to his cider. Instead, he had grabbed his coat, paid for his drink, and went out of the pub, rushing after you with his crossbody bag half-slung over his shoulder. 

No time like the present, Remus thought.

“Y/N, please—” He pleads again, jogging after you, nearly closing the distance. Actually, it didn't take much work considering Remus’ height. But never mind the actual, physical distance—you’re still walking away from him, and he’s still following you.

“You didn’t have to do that,” You finally spoke, shaking your head. “I had it under control.”

“‘Under control?’” Remus repeats indignantly. “That’s bollocks, and you know it.”

You scoff, sparing him a brief glance over your shoulder. “What’s bollocks is you not minding your own business.”

“Well it might not have been my own business, but you needed help. I was the only one who saw that.” At this, you stop walking, startling Remus just slightly as he almost bumps into you. 

You turn around to face him, arms crossed and face hardened. “And now what, huh? D’you want me to say ‘thank you?’”

“What? No, I—” 

“Y’know what? Forget it. I’m not having this conversation. Not while you’re like this.” There’s a certain finality in your tone that scares Remus, and the fear amplifies when you turn away from him and start walking again.

“Like what?” He asks, exasperated and admittedly, tired of this conversation. He’s not sure anymore why he’s still following you. “Will you just listen to me, please?” 

“Oh, I am very much listening. In fact, I’m so interested in whatever you have to tell me right now,” You tell him, voice heavy with sarcasm. Remus winces. “So just keep talking.”

And because he knows better than to fight against your words, Remus does talk. He starts with apologizing, otherwise known as the best way he knows how to start a conversation, or introduce himself. 

“Okay, I’m sorry I stepped in, alright?” He admits. “I know that it didn’t concern me, but had it been another girl in your place—”

You interject with a humorless chuckle, “Oh, you and your hypotheticals.”

But Remus continues to speak for himself, anyway. Yes, he knows better than to fight against you—but he won’t let the argument go without establishing common ground. Moreover, this stubbornness that Remus doesn’t realize he has is what bound him to the most important people of his life in the first place. 

With his parents, he was stubborn in the sense that he kept reassuring them that he’d be fine. That the pain of his illness didn’t hurt him as much as it hurt to see them grow wrinkles on their faces, earned from constantly worrying for their son.

With his friends, Remus was stubborn in the sense that he really tried his best to be a good influence to them amidst their troublemaking. But alas, he ended up being an unlikely accomplice to their foolishness back in high school.

With you…, it seems that Remus was stubborn in the sense that given his experiences, his observances, his knowledge of you—he knew better than to ruin what was already perfect in the first place.

So as he rambles on about where he might have gone wrong at the pub earlier, still keeping pace with you walking in front of him, Remus never dares to question the very essence of this entire conversation. 

Why were you mad at him? Why would you say you had it under control when you were clearly uncomfortable with Gale earlier? And, most importantly, why haven’t you told Remus to get out of your sight yet and just hail a cab ride home?

He’d really like to know the answers to his questions, but alas—

“Remus, stop.”

He nearly bumps into you again, having been so focused on getting his point across in the mess that is his internal dilemma and this entire situation with you. It is also now that Remus realizes that you’ve both reached a quieter part of town, a considerably far distance from the pub now. 

The warm orange emitting from the streetlights coats you and him in that sunlight sort of hue. The kind that you only get to bask in when you’re by the sea, watching the sun go down beneath the vast expanse of water. 

But even in this light, Remus feels like he should be shivering under your glare right now.  

You’ve finally turned back around to face him.

“Will you?” You picked at the polish on your nails, the neutral pink quickly peeling. You bit your cuticle.

“Of course,” Of course, he would. Because he always did. James called almost every day, even if it was a ten-minute call in the dead of night, and very rarely did you have to call first. But you did, some days when you didn’t hear anything, you’d call. 

You’d call and pace, the fidgeting moving to biting the skin of your lips. When the ringing was long, you’d start pacing, sometimes you’d even call twice. 

It was very rare that someone didn’t answer. 

Sometimes you’d hear Sirius’s teasing grin through the phone, like he knew who would be calling. He’d vaguely talk about James’s whereabouts, always adding some question you never had an answer to.

“What are your intentions with my James?”

“How do you really feel about him?”

“Do you want to marry him, hm? Only the best for him, you know.”

You’d often just hang up on the boy, with a roll of your eyes.

James would answer more often than not, with a grin that was audible through his words and a sweet “miss me?” rolling off his tongue.

But by now, it had been a day without James already, which had been harder to get through than you were willing to admit. You loved talking to him on the phone, even when he would accidentally hang up and curse at the telephone when he fell asleep, and when he asked weird common-sense questions.

You sat on the open trunk of the little red car you borrowed from a friend; the lengths you’d go to for your brother were tested daily. But you found in the end… You didn’t actually mind, the thought of how stupid it all was, how long the trip would be, and how much you did not want to do this went away as he came down the stairs of your building. Your brother’s bag wildly flew and bounced against his back as he ran down, a wide smile on his face.

It was worth it, you thought, to see him smile like that.

“Are you ready?” You pulled yourself up so he could throw the bag in the trunk, and closed it firmly.

“More than ready, I’m so excited this is insane- have I told you how much I love you?”

“Not enough, I fear,” you said with a laugh

“Well I do, this is insane! this is so exciting! Aren’t you excited!!” He rambled on, bordering on nonsensical, 

“If you are then I am” you smiled at him, sweetly, he mirrored it back. You often forgot, he was still a kid. 16 isn’t very old.

To be fair 20 wasn’t either.

You didn’t know what Quidditch was. Well, yes you knew it was a sport, and your brother spent the next hour painstakingly explaining every aspect of the sport and how exciting the whole thing was. The brooms, the snitch, the adrenaline of it all. 

You’d be lying if part of you didn’t long for it, the magic, the thrill of living in a world that was so fantastical. Even after five years, the amazement of it all hadn’t faded for your brother. He’d come running to you every summer break with stories you would have never believed had you not seen him accidentally perform magic as a child. Many dolls floated in your bedroom for years, and food would often disappear from your plate and come back into his.

But after years, the jealousy settled. The fear of being left out diminished until it was just a wee little thing that dropped to the bottom of your heart like sediment, only to come out on the worst of nights. You relished in your mundane routines, your scarce excitements, and the occasional dead-ended romance. It was better than resentment and jealousy, you knew that well. You were happy for him; at least he would live a fantastical life. Besides, one day, after he was of age, you’d get to start asking him for little magical favors.

That’s what siblings are for anyway.

-

“Be very careful do you hear me?” You held your brother's face with one hand, his eyes darted to the side where he could see his friends. You squeezed his cheeks harder, so he’d look at you. “I’m serious, I can’t get you out of a magical issue do you understand? You’d be on your own and I need you to watch your back”

“I know-”

“You always know,” you squeezed again playfully, “I’m just trying to make sure you understand.” There were various groups of people walking around the forest, clearly all leaving from the same spot; however, it worked. 

“Yeah, sure, whatever, Mom,” he replied, exaggerated and dramatic. He hugged you immediately after, tightly, almost clawing at your back. “I’ll be careful, thank you”

“Love you”

“I love you too,” he quickly left, running to his friends and the very exhausted father followed behind. You didn’t leave just yet, the curiosity getting the better of you. you strolled lightly behind, itching closer to where everyone seemed to head. They very obviously were taking advantage of the darkness created by the array of trees, everyone seemed normal, maybe a wacky hat here or there, but your brother had described most traditional wizard wear like that anyway. You could see a group of older boys approach your brother’s, excitement in their voices. You couldn’t truly discern their faces but you could almost hear their words, but regardless, they sounded more than familiar with each other, the conversation warm with affection. Pats on the back, smirks on faces, now you knew where your brother had gotten his newfound grin from. 

And then you heard it, the laugh. Loud and robust, you heard it as it bounced off the trees, as it ricocheted off the forest floor. You knew that laugh. You’d recognize it for miles. You thought of it often, its echoes resounding in your dreams. A laugh that felt like a warm summer day, even in the coldness of the forest. It struck your heart in ways you could not truly explain, and you felt the weight of it sink to the pit of your stomach. 

You heard that laugh every day through the phone. 

You’d know James Potter’s laugh even if you heard it from miles away.

tags ; @ilovejamespottersomuch @ravisinghs-wife @hidontmindtheintrovert @stella-thestars @caspiankingofnarnia @lovelyteenagebeard @starkluvrr @hisparentsgallerryy @leilani13gc @katsusayhi @auroresce @lovemiss-vale @alessiaparigim @unconventional-lawnchair @moonydoodlez @eissaaaa @ailoda @nahhhwhatthefrick @notapoetjustscar @hiireadstuff @the-rat-king1902 @n1ght-vngel @littlewhitel1es @rreporterbby @santaasi @myheroworldandanimes @whimsical-mistakes @lalalandincraz @2dloveshp @loveyouprongs @beepboopcowboy @fiowerbeds @kneelforloki @noonenuts @urblondiebaby @cherry-cin @pprettyvisitorr @laniirackssss @abhootghiihii @sodavrr @berryhobi @that-b-word-lol

permanent tag ; @laufeysvalentine @heyyyloverr

Sirius wandered into the kitchen, arms crossed as he looked down into the surrendered pot. “Was this the egg thing or the pasta thing?”

“Yes,” Remus deadpanned.

Sirius gave it a slow stir, then quickly pulled back. “Alright, yeah, that’s- don’t serve that.”

Remus sighed. “I should just cancel.”

“No, you are not bailing,” James said firmly, steering him away from the stove before he could injure himself further. “You’re just overwhelmed. You always get like this when you care.”

“Which is funny,” Sirius added, “because you clearly do. Like, a lot.”

“Out. Both of you,” Remus snapped, pointing to the living room. “You’re not helping.”

“On the contrary,” Sirius said, already backing away with a grin, “I personally think we’re doing great.”

“Just ignore, Pads, he’s being annoying,”

“Oi!”

“and just clean up and start again, yeah? Come on Remus, you know how to make pasta. Just try one more time.”

Remus took a look at the sauce-covered blender, the trail of breadcrumbs across the counter, the smoking pan, and the slightly crooked stack of plates he’d meant to set. The whole scene seemed beyond repair.

And his defeat must have shown on his face because Sirius sighed and rested his hand on his friend’s back. “Listen Moons, think about who you’re seeing, yeah?”

“What do you mean by that?” Remus asked, a tad too defensive. He was less careful with hiding how he felt about you these days.

“I mean, do you really think she’s going to care about any of this? You could go put on your Gandalf costume and she wouldn’t care-”

“I don’t still have that.” Remus said, stiffly and both James and Remus gave him matching looks that they weren’t buying it.

“Yes you do. But, she wouldn’t care, hell, she’d probably prefer it, yeah? She’s fun like that!”

“Exactly Rem, you’ve finally got what you wanted, just have fun with it, okay?” James added.

“Yeah,” he sighed, and then again, with less doom and more determination, “yeah, yeah, you’re right. She’ll be here soon. And that’s enough.”

Sirius grinned. “That’s the spirit! Now go wash your face, and you have to change your clothes, you look like a butcher just back from the slaughter, dear GOD!”

“Alright, just get out!”

“Let us know when we can come back, if at all,” James quipped as he put on his jacket, waggling his eyebrows.

“Bye!”

Remus stepped out of the shower, freshly scrubbed and finally free of tomato splatter, breadcrumbs, and shame. A clean pair of trousers and a soft jumper were laid out for him on the couch, and the ingredients he hadn’t ruined were now neatly lined up on the kitchen counter, like little soldiers ready for round two.

He’d just begun to chop the tomatoes when there was a rhythmic knock on his front door.

Remus froze. His eyes darted to the clock on the wall. Eight o’clock. On the dot.

“This can’t be happening.”

He scrambled, hopping on one foot as he yanked on his jumper and fumbled to pull up his slacks. “Um! One second!” he called out, voice slightly strangled as he tripped over his own trainers on the floor.

“Remmy! It’s me!” You sang through the door.

“I- I know, love, I’m, oh damnit,” he swore under his breath, trying to not fall flat on his face as his long legs got tangled in his pants.

His hair was still damp and sticking up at odd angles, but he made it to the door in one piece.

He swung it open, slightly out of breath.

And there you were.

Remus looked down at you as the hall light tinged you in an orange glow. You donned a faded orange flowy dress, decorated in lavender stalks. A long necklace trailed between your torso, golden charms of shamrocks, berries, and stars hung off it. You looked like a comet that dropped from the sky and right there on his doorstep.

He blinked at you, a little dazed. “You’re early,” he said, though it wasn’t true. You were right on time. He was just very, very not ready.

You tilted your head with a smile, taking in the man before you. His sweater looked so soft you wanted to forgo dinner all together and just rest your head on his chest, and his sandy hair fell just before his rich eyes, and his neck was flushed from his soft, panthing breaths.

“You okay?” You asked softly.

“Me? Yes! Yes, totally,” he said, stepping aside to let you in. “Please, come in! Sorry.”

You giggled lightly, biting your lip at how nervous he was. Even though these past two weeks had been filled with the two of you kissing in corners, and whispering jokes and stories to each other over the phone late at night, he still reminded you of the first time you met, and how you thought you couldn’t wait to ruin him.

You walked past him, slipping off your shoes and taking in the scene with bright eyes. The apartment was tidy enough, candles flickering on the coffee table, the stack of plates now somewhat centered—but the dining table was bare, and there was a conspicuous lack of food.

Your eyes landed on the counter, where ingredients sat untouched beside a suspiciously shiny blender that looked like it had recently been hosed down.

“Oh,” you said, blinking. “Nothing’s cooking yet?”

Remus ran a hand through his still-damp hair, only making it worse. “Right, about that—”

You gasped.

“What, what, what?” Remus asked, panicked.

“Oh my god! Are we going to cook together!”

Remus hesitated. “Is… is that something that sounds fun to y-”

“YES!” You exclaimed, cutting him off and throwing your arms around him.

An oomf escaped him as your bodies collided. “Well then, good thing that was my plan all along, isn’t it.”

“What?”

“Nothing! Let’s get started, shall we?”

You clapped your hands and Remus swore he saw your shoulders vibrate a little.

“Remus, this is adorable!”

He blinked again. “It is?”

“Obviously,” you said, already heading toward the kitchen and rolling up your sleeves. “You get to show off your domestic skills and I get to boss you around. It’s perfect.”

Remus laughed, a wave of happiness all day washing over him for the first time all day. “My domestic skills?”

“Well yeah! I have to see how much your dowry should be. Cooking is worth at least ten goats!.”

“Ten?” Remus repeated, reaching for a chopping board. “That’s steep.”

“Well, I’d say five for personality alone, but you haven’t even chopped an onion yet.”

“I’m being bartered for livestock and you haven’t even seen my knife skills,” he said, sliding her a look.

“Go on then, show me,” you challenged, nudging the onion toward him.

Remus smirked and began to peel. “You know,” he said as he worked, “in some medieval Welsh traditions, dowries included things like wool cloaks and cows, not goats.”

“Wool cloaks? That’s so strange! Like, here’s my child and also a cape.”

Remus laughed, and decided not to comment on the fact that you were so excited about cooking with him, yet now you sat on the counter, a glass of fizzy strawberry wine in your hand. “Essentially, yes. The cloaks were a sign of status. And cows, obviously, meant wealth. Milk, meat, land labor and the like.”

“That’s so interesting that you know that, Remmy. What else?” You asked, popping a cube of cheese in your mouth. Watching him move around his kitchen, 

Remus brightened, clearly thrilled by the interest. “Well, it depended on the region, but there were all sorts of specifics. Like, in some cases, the number of cows a woman brought into the marriage could determine how much legal say she had in household disputes. And the cloaks—those weren’t just practical, they were dyed specific colors to represent family status. Deep blue was especially prized, because the dye was expensive to make.”

“Wow,” you said, genuinely. “So she’d walk in like, ‘I brought you my finest cow and also I’m wearing blue, so you better listen to me’?”

He laughed. “In a way, yes. Oh! And there was something called the amber, stir this for me, love? A kind of fee paid to the lord when a woman married. It was meant to symbolize her transition from one household to another, but in practice it was basically just a tax.”

You nodded, stirring the sauce absentmindedly. “Fascinating. Do you think anyone ever said no to the girl but kept the cow?”

Remus blinked. “What?”

“I’m just saying, if she brought a really nice cow—like top-tier, shiny coat, good attitude—I feel like someone might’ve gone, ‘No thank you to the marriage, but I’ll be keeping the cow.”

“Wh—no, that’s—what are you talking about?”

“I’m just curious about the logistics. Would there be a court for that? Like ‘Your Honor, I already emotionally bonded with the cow. I named her. She knows my scent!”

Remus dropped the spoon on the counter. “I’m trying to tell you about medieval economics and you’re running off with some custody battle over a cow!”

You beamed. “You love it, Mr. Lupin”

He narrowed his eyes at you, trying not to smile. “You’re insufferable.”

“Yeah, but now you’re picturing the cow in a little witness box, aren’t you?”

Remus shook his head, reaching for the pasta. “Absolutely not. And she’s wearing blue, too, isn’t she?”

You gasped. “You are picturing it!”

He sighed through a grin. “We are never getting through this dinner.”

Before he could say anything else, you hopped down from the counter, your bare feet making a soft sound against the tile as you stepped toward him, tilting your head like you were studying something behind his eyes.

“I don’t really care if we do,” you said airily, blinking up at him. “Your eyes look like tea left out in the sun. Did you know that?”

Remus blinked, ignoring your question. “What? What do you mean you don’t care? We’ve already started cooking! I planned this!”

You couldn’t help but laugh, he got hung up so easily. 

You reached out and ran your fingers lightly over the edge of his sleeve, grounding him and also entirely ungrounding him. “I mean, I’d still be happy even if all we had was… I don’t know, burnt toast or something.” How much longer would you two have to talk before he kissed you?!

Remus stared at you like you’d spoken in Parseltongue. “Why would we have burnt toast?”

“You’re missing the point.”

“I made a whole menu!”

You smiled, stepping a little closer. “And I think you’re lovely. With or without your timeline.”

Remus let out a breath that hitched somewhere halfway between exasperation and surrender. “Are you trying to kill me?”

“No,” you said sweetly, “I’m trying to kiss you.”

“Oh,” he breathed, very intelligently. “Well. In that case—”

And you were finally kissing again, smiling against his mouth as he pulled you in with more confidence this time. Your hands wound into his shirt and his fingers found the small of your back, gripping you in a way that made electricity shoot up your legs.

Lost in each other, and Remus growing rapidly fond of the honey lipgloss you wore, neither of you noticed the slow creep of smoke of the dish towel beginning to curl on the burner.

Remus leaned into you, his hips slowly pushing yours against the counter, with all the intention of pushing you back atop it, his mind clear of anything else but your warm body under his. His hands fumbled at your waist—warm, careful—before one reached out to steady himself on the counter behind you.

Clink.

His fingers knocked into the half-full bottle of white wine, sending it teetering, then tipping.

You both barely had time to react before it spilled, the liquid splashing across the burner where the dishtowel had already begun to smoke.

WHOOSH.

A sudden rush of flame flared to life, licking up the side of the stovetop and devouring the corner of the towel in seconds.

“Shit-!” Remus jumped back.

“Oh my god!” you gasped, scrambling for the dishcloth, but it was already half blackened.

“No, don’t touch it!” He grabbed a nearby pot lid and tried to smother the flame. It only made the fire sputter angrily, then grow.

“Why is it doing that?!”

“I don’t know!” Remus yelled, waving a wooden spoon helplessly.

Remus darted for the nearest pan, fumbling to get it under the tap.

But the second his fingers wrapped around the metal handle, 

“Shit!” he yelped, yanking his hand back like it had stung him. Which, to be fair, it had.

Right then, the smoke detector let out a piercing shriek overhead. From outside the door, a rising murmur began, footsteps, voices, the slam of a door. Then another. Then another. The boys’ building was quite small, only 30 flats or so, so the smoke quickly alerted everyone.

“Remus…” you said carefully, watching the smoke coil toward the ceiling. “I think we have to go.”

He whipped around to face you, a little wild-eyed. “Just wait- wait, one second-!”

Before you could argue, he bolted into the hallway, nearly tripping, as he disappeared around the corner. You stood frozen, blinking against the sting in your eyes and nose, until he reappeared, clutching a bright red fire extinguisher.

With a hiss and a pathetic wheeze, the flames gave up. The pan was scorched, the towel was history, and the alcohol bottle had rolled somewhere under the fridge—but the kitchen was, technically, no longer on fire.

You stared.

Remus coughed once, setting the extinguisher on the ground with a wheeze of his own.

“Alright,” he said, blinking through the fog. “Crisis managed.”

But the alarm was still blaring overhead, and out the window, you heard the low, ominous wail of a fire truck approaching.

You gave him a flat look. “Remus.”

“I know,” he groaned. “We still have to evacuate.”

He reached for your hand without thinking, lacing your fingers together as the two of you made your way toward the door. The hall outside was already filled with neighbors filing out, most of them in pajamas, one in a towel, and someone else carrying what looked like a fish tank.

“Lovely,” Remus muttered.

You studied the side of his face as he led you both down the stairs and through his neighbors. The carefree smile that had graced his face all evening had now morphed into a disgruntled frown, his eyebrows furrowed harshly and his shoulders drooped. Your heart ached in your chest, having gotten so used to loved-up Remus, who would giggle when your fingers trailed under his shirt, just above his waistband. You hated seeing him so put out.

When you stepped outside, blinking in the flashing red lights, the usual crew was already gathered—Mrs. Ellison from 3A with her twin chihuahuas, the very stressed man from 1C holding two laptops and a half-eaten bowl of cereal, and a mom with her son who was crying his eyes out over clearly being woken up. 

Remus stared at everyone, his face looking like a puppy that’s just been kicked. And that just wouldn’t do.

“Come on, Rem!” you said, tugging gently on his hand.

He blinked as you guided him away from the cluster of blinking lights and confused neighbors and over to the brick wall lining the front of the building. You dropped down first, tugging him down beside you, and he followed with a tired sigh, knees folding up as he leaned back against the cool stone.

For a moment, he didn’t say anything. Just stared straight ahead at the firetruck with a dazed look on his face, like he wasn’t entirely convinced this wasn’t still part of some stress dream.

Then he let out a long breath. “I’m so sorry.”

You turned to him, frowning. “What? Why?”

“Oh, come on,” he muttered, tipping his head back against the wall and closing his eyes. “This was a disaster. I wanted tonight to be nice.” His arms rested on his knees, his eyes focused on the dirty sidewalk.

“It was nice!”

Remus snorted, but it was a quiet, sad sound. “You deserved better than this.”

You shifted to face him more fully, your knee knocking gently against his. “Hey. Look at me.”

He hesitated before opening his eyes.

“I had fun,” you said simply, voice soft but certain. “You opened the door looking like you just survived a food fight. We made a mess, you gave me a very passionate speech about Celtic cattle cloaks, we almost died kissing! Do you know how romantic that is?”

Remus gave a choked laugh.

“And, I haven’t stopped smiling since I got here. I like you, Remus.”

His eyes searched your face for a long moment. And then, finally, that sweet, lopsided smile returned.

“You like me even though I set things on fire?”

“I especially like you because you set things on fire!”

That earned a real laugh, one that shook his shoulders and softened every sharp line on his face. He leaned his head against yours and squeezed your hand.

“You’re the weirdest person I’ve ever met,” he murmured.

Before you could respond, a loud, “REMUS!” echoed from down the block.

You both turned to see James sprinting toward you, hair flying, eyes wild.

“Oh no,” Remus muttered.

“REMUS ARE YOU OKAY!?” James shouted again, skidding to his knees dramatically in front of him and throwing his arms around his shoulders. “I swear to God, if you died, I would never forgive you!”

“I’m fine, James, bloody hell,” Remus groaned, patting him stiffly on the back. “Please don’t cry.”

“I’m not crying,” James sniffled. “You scared me! What happened?”

Sirius strolled up a few moments later, hands in his pockets, eyes flicking to the flashing lights behind you. “You okay, doll?” he asked you casually, like this was any ordinary evening.

You grinned. “I’m great! Who knew Rem was such a bad boy?”

“Ha! You’re responsible for this, Moony? No fucking way.”

“It was just a kitchen fire. And we put it out before the fire truck got here.”

“With what? The fire extinguisher?” James asked, still breathing heavily.

“Of course,” Remus rolled his eyes.

“Good! Good! And you didn’t have any trouble with it like last time?”

“Prongs!” Remus hissed under his breath.

“What happened last time?” You asked.

“Nothing-” Remus started.

“I made us all practice using it during one of our roommate meetings, and Remus had the nozzle facing himself by accident,” James said, cupping Remus’ head.

Remus just buried his face in his hands. “I hate all of you.”

“I’ve been so scared ever since!”

“James,” Sirius winced, this was getting too embarrassing for Remus, even for him.

“But look at how he held his own!!” James cried, shaking Remus by the shoulders.

“He had a lot to drink at the pub,” Sirius added dryly.

James threw his hands up. “Let’s go back! All four of us!”

You jumped up, “I would love that! Remus and I still haven’t had dinner!”

“This is perfect!” James grinned. “I can get more Sangrias!”

Sirius turned, already walking. “If we’re not ordering cheesy chips, I’m not coming.”

The four of you began heading down the street, still lit red from the lights behind you.

“I never thought our first date would be a pub dinner,” Remus murmured beside you, leaning in close enough that your arms brushed.

You looked up at him with a mischievous smile, “Let’s make a scene there too!”

<- part four

“There,” he said, giving you a once-over, matching grins on your faces. “I hope Mr. Lupin is all right. He seemed rather sore this morning. Awfully creaky.”

You perked up a little. “He’s okay, I think. I actually gave him something. Just a little healing tincture I made. For his joints.”

But your father was already settling back into his chair, a fond but wary look passing over his face. “You really shouldn’t trouble Mr. Lupin too much, my dear.”

You tilted your head, caught off guard. “I wasn’t troubling him.”

He softened further, leaning forward a bit. “Mr. Lupin’s a quiet sort. Focused. Steady. I imagine it takes him quite a bit of energy to keep things just so. He’s doing such careful work right now, and I’d hate for him to lose track of it.”

“But I wasn’t distracting him,” you said, not quite able to hide the defensive edge in your voice. “I help. I’ve been helping.”

Your father nodded, already sounding like he regretted the direction the conversation had taken. “Of course you do, sweetheart. I know you mean well. You always do.”

He glanced back at his notes, then added gently, “Just… not everyone runs at your speed. That’s all I meant.”

You looked down at your shoes and gave a noncommittal hum. Something in your chest tightened enough to wrinkle the shine of the afternoon a little.

“Yeah,” you said after a beat, voice smaller than before. “You’re probably right.”

Your father watched you for a moment, something unreadable behind his spectacles. Then he set his quill down with a soft clink and said, “Well, let’s stop by the bakery on our way home, sound like a plan?”

You managed a smile. “Sure.”

But your nod was quiet. And even as he went back to jotting down some forgotten note and muttering cheerfully cinnamon twists, your thoughts started folding in on themselves.

You shouldn’t have dragged him down on the grass like that. He’d been in pain. What were you even thinking, sprinting off like that.He had work, actual responsibilities. He was serious and thoughtful and smart, and you were… what?

Maybe he just felt bad.

Maybe you’d misread the whole thing, the smile, the softness, the way he’d held you. Maybe he was just that nice. Maybe that’s all it was.

Who would he be to let his boss’ daughter be stranded in a pond?

You were beginning to think you were ridiculous for thinking it might be more.

The magic had faded from the day, and all you could think about now was whether you’d ruined something you didn’t even fully have.

You hadn’t spent more than three minutes with Remus in almost two weeks. And it was killing you.

This wasn’t like you. To intentionally make yourself smaller. You were always the biggest personality in the room, without even trying. And you loved it, and your outfits, and your thoughts, and your voice. And Remus had quickly become your favorite person to share this all with.

But every time you thought of seeking him out, your fathers words would ring in your head, and memories of Remus’ startled and annoyed face from your first meeting flashed in your mind.

You ran into him in the halls once, where he stood holding a stack of books so tall it nearly eclipsed his face. “Hi, stranger,” he said, and you watched his eyes land on you over the covers, the smile spreading before you even answered. “You’re real,” he teased, “I was beginning to think I’d imagined you.” You laughed, cringing at the awkward sound, and told him you were late for a meeting that didn’t exist. You walked off without any direction right towards the stairs and ended up walking all five flights. Your legs hated you for it.

The next time was outside the archives building, where he spotted you sitting cross-legged on the lawn, sketching something vaguely winged in the margins of your notebook. You didn’t even notice him until his shadow fell across the page. “Lose another ring?” he asked, one brow lifted. You blinked up at him, heart thudding, and tried to smile like you were fine. But it was impossible when he was smiling down at you with a look on his face like one would have when watching a baby animal program.

But as soon as you spoke, the air tensed around you both. “Oh! No, no, not this time.”

“Hmm, well what’re y-”

“I’ll have to see you around, Remus! Bye!” You scrambled to your feet, sprinting in the other direction.

And then there was the truly tragic run-in at the tea cart.

You were second in line when you heard it — your name, said softly but unmistakably, floating just above the quiet clatter of mugs and spoons. You stiffened. Didn’t turn right away. Maybe if you stood perfectly still, he’d be calling someone else. Another you. One who didn’t feel like her brain had turned to pudding every time she saw him lately.

But the air shifted. You could feel it. That Remus-shaped gravity pulling closer.

You turned.

There he was, just a few steps away, weaving through the lunch crowd with that familiar slope to his shoulders and cardigan sleeves pushed up his forearms like he was always about to get to work. His hair was rumpled, like he’d been running his hands through it all morning, and his face lit up when he spotted you. Lit up.

You cursed every romantic impulse you’d ever had.

He looked good. Stupidly good. And somehow softer than usual, like he'd just walked out of a dream where people touched each other’s faces and said kind things and meant them.

Your heart was pounding loud enough to drown out the barista.

He called your name again, gentler this time. “Hey. I was just thinking about you, I- I feel like we haven’t seen each other in ages. I actually wanted to-”

But then it was your turn to order.

Your mouth moved before your brain caught up. The second the words left your lips, your elbow clipped a stack of honey jars. Two went rolling, spilling all over the floor. You apologized too many times and rushed off with no drink and a napkin stuck to your shoe.

You didn’t know what you were doing, exactly. Only that the second you got close enough to try and figure it out, it felt easier to run.

Walking around the grocery store felt like a rare pocket of peace. The air smelled like lemon cleaner and pre-sliced fruit, the lighting buzzed in a sterile but comforting way, and best of all, you hadn’t run into Remus once. Not in the pasta aisle. Not by the produce. Not even by the tiny shelf that sold his favorite licorice chews, something you found out when digging through his jacket pocket once.

You let yourself relax for the first time all week, humming along to the tinny music as you finally found your favorite box of biscuits shaped like cats.

“Stop right there!”

You yelped, spinning around so fast your basket nearly swung out of your hand.

Sirius Black stood at the end of the aisle, pointing dramatically in your direction like he was about to declare you a criminal. James Potter was beside him, holding a bag of grapes and looking vaguely apologetic.

“Oh,” you said, recovering. “It’s you two.”

Sirius grinned. “The very same. Caught in the act. What’s in the basket, doll?”

“Just biscuits,” you mumbled, suddenly feeling very seen.

James peered in with interest. “Are those… cats?”

“They’re for tea, you dunk their little heads!”

James leaned closer, very interested “Where did you find them?”

“Two aisles over. By the off-brand digestives.”

“Awh yes, thanks, love,” James immediately turned on his heel, ready to retrieve a box for himself — only to be yanked back by the sleeve by Sirius, who didn’t even look away from you.

To be stared at by Sirius Black was unnerving, you willed yourself to have any sense of control.

“So,” he said, drawing the word out, “do you know why Moony’s been moping around all week?”

You stiffened. “No,” you said too quickly. “I wouldn’t know anything about that. I haven’t… I mean, I haven’t really seen him much lately.”

It was a valiant attempt at sounding breezy and unbothered. It failed spectacularly.

Sirius raised an eyebrow. “Hmm,” he said, deeply unconvinced. “Well. I think we’ve found our answer.”

James gave you a look. “You’ve been avoiding him.”

You blinked. “I didn’t mean to. I just-” The words tangled somewhere behind your teeth.

You stared down at your basket like it held a lifeline, willing it to come up with a better explanation or to just spill your guts to his two best friends right here in the shops.

James only smiled sympathetically, “Don’t worry, I get it,” he said, with an easy shrug. “You and Remus are more alike than I thought, is all.”

That startled you. “What do you mean?”

James looked at you properly. “I mean… it just seems like you both pull away when you think… you could go somewhere. It’s scary to look over the cliff, I get that.”

You opened your mouth to protest, feeling awfully uncomfortable at the fact that this friend of a friend of yours read you so well.

“Just, don’t avoid him too long, don’t know how many more chocolate pancakes I can make him! I need the pan for my fried egg!” James added, attempting to lighten the bubble the three of you found yourselves in.

Sirius, sensing his moment, leaned in. “Which is why you should come to the party.”

You squinted. “Party?”

“Remus’s birthday,” he said breezily. “Tomorrow night. Our flat. It’ll be low-key. Some cake, some drinks, a few people. Bring your glitter biscuits.”

“They’re cats.”

“Whatever.”

James gave you a reassuring smile. “It’d mean a lot to him.”

“Wear something cute,” Sirius added, grinning, “Moons’d like that.”

“Sirius,” James groaned, again.

“What? She’s cute! Let her be cute!”

“Yeah,” you said finally, a little breathless. “Okay.”

Sirius’s eyes widened, “Really? Excellent!” He grabbed your wrist with no delicacy at all and scribbled an address across your hand in what appeared to be eyeliner. “Be there, ‘round 7.”

James gave you a cheerful nod. “And don’t worry about getting him anything-”

“You’ll be present enough,” Sirius finished, leaving heat to rise to your cheeks once more before they said goodbye, turning down the next aisle, already halfway into an argument.

“Oh no,” James said, gasping dramatically. “They’re all gone!”

“Don’t panic,” Sirius replied. “They’ll restock. And no, you are not bartering with that child for the last box.”

You smiled to yourself as their voices trailed off, echoing through the cereal section. Then you turned toward the registers, warmth creeping into your cheeks.

It would be good to see Remus again. The version of yourself that was hopelessly enamored of him and had been buried deep within you, could finally breathe again. And for the first time in weeks, the nerves in your stomach didn’t churn with embarrassment, but fluttered like a charm catching midair: delicate, a little sparkly, and maybe even lucky.

And that’s the feeling that carried you out of your flat, onto the tube, and finally here, standing outside the address still smudged across your hand, no matter how hard you’d tried to scrub it off (you’d have to ask Sirius what brand it was). You wore your best party dress, a silky blue and gold thing you’d bought on a whim because it reminded you of the night sky, the way constellations were stitched across.

There’d be people there. You were good with people, good at parties. Drifting from group to group with a drink in hand and a charming fact about frogs or comets ready in your back pocket. And it was Remus’s birthday. Surely, he’d be in a good mood. Maybe even happy to see you.

You paused outside the door. The hallway was suspiciously quiet for a birthday party. No laughter. No music. Just the soft creak of old floorboards and the faint hum of plumbing.

Still, you knocked, to no answer.

You knocked again, a little louder this time.

Then a familiar, mildly exasperated voice: “Prongs, did you forget your keys again?” and the door swung open.

Before you stood Remus Lupin in a pair of grey pajama pants and a David Bowie t-shirt that looked like it’s seen better days and the wash a few too many times as it rested just above his navel. Your lips parted in surprise, a tiny sputtering breath escaping you.

Consequently, at the same time a high-pitched startled squeak left him, and suddenly the door slammed shut.

There was a beat of silence.

Then, muffled through the wood: “…Sorry. That wasn’t… I didn’t mean to do that.” Remus opened the door once more and you resisted the urge to reach out and hold it open, lest he close it again.

The space between you both felt like lightning and thunder, finally taking each other in properly for the first time in days. Remus was blinking hard, like you might vanish if you were even there at all.

Finally, you cleared your throat. “…Is that what you’re wearing tonight?”

He looked down, taken off guard. “Um. That was the plan, yeah?”

“Oh my god.” You blinked again, somewhere between baffled and horrified. “Don’t you have anything nicer? I mean, really, Mr. Lupin!”

He squinted at you. “What? What on ear- did you show up at my door after not speaking to me for nearly two weeks just to give me fashion advice?”

“No!” you snapped, color rushing to your cheeks. “I came for the party!”

“What party?”

You gave a small laugh, like he was joking, except he wasn’t laughing. “Your birthday party,” you said, slower this time. “James and Sirius said it was tonight.”

Remus just blinked again. “It’s not my birthday.”

Your heart stuttered, rapidly feeling like cold water was about to be dunked on you. “But- but I saw James and Sirius at the shops yesterday… they told me to come tonight for your birthday party…” Remus felt himself soften a tad, hating how you got all quiet like you did when Evan showed up and started spouting his nonsense, but that feeling was quickly overtaken when he registered what you were saying to him.

Realization passed over his face like a cloud blotting out the sun. He exhaled sharply and leaned back against the doorframe with a groan, dragging both hands down his face. “Oh my god.”

You took a tiny step back. “What?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just stood there, pressing his head against the wood. Then, finally:

“I’m going to kill them.”

“What?” You whispered. You were smart enough to realize there was obviously no party, as today was obviously not his birthday. A large part of you urged you to turn around and not look back until you were home, in the castle of your comforter. A smaller, yet much stronger part, kept your feet planted to the floor, not wanting to tear your gaze away from the figure that you've kept yourself from for so long.

Remus looked down at you and his heart did a funny dance in his chest. These past two weeks had been tough to say the least. That night after Remus had come home, with a vial of joint medication and a promise to get James’ car cleaned, he had a big conversation with himself.

His hands still tingled with the feel of your sun warmed skin pressed into them. The shape of his mouth when he said he was yours and you were his was making his jaw ache. The electricity that rose within him when he saw you and your smiling face running up to him, to envelop him in a hug, was unlike anything he’d felt before, and god did he want to feel it again.

He rolled around what Sirius and James had been saying to him these past few weeks and, although it took a lot of work, tried to look at his situation without any self-hate clouding the memories. You were always nice to him, a distracting little thing, yes, but a welcome reprieve to when he felt utterly defeated by his work. Sure, you rummaged through his things and rolled your eyes at him, but he could feel how your stare lingered on him, and you were both guilty of trying to drag your afternoons with each other out as long as possible.

And earlier today, were you… disappointed when he said he was lying to Evan about your relationship? He knew he wished it were true, but did you as well?

With a sigh, Remus knew he had to ask you to find out.

But then, you were gone. After he had bucked up his courage and steadied his racing heart. Every time he saw you, you were running off every which way.

At first, he chalked it up to your… peculiarities. You were always on some sort of quest, but after he saw you scurrying away like a rabbit from a wolf for the fifth time, he faced the fact: you were avoiding him.

Which is why, the night before, he’d thrown in the towel and said as much to Sirius and James over lukewarm curry and a half-finished bottle of wine.

“She obviously doesn’t feel the same,” he’d said, stabbing at a chickpea. “She’s been running in the opposite direction every time I get within ten feet.”

James snorted into his glass. “You can’t hold that against her, Moons. That’s straight out of your playbook.”

“I don’t run away,” Remus muttered, extremely unconvincing.

“Oh, please, you are the king of emotional repression,” Sirius scoffed.

Remus just shook his head, dragging a hand through his hair. “It doesn’t matter. I’m done embarrassing myself.”

James frowned. “You’re not embarrassing yourself.”

“I’m the only one who seems to know when to quit,” Remus said quietly, pushing his mostly untouched plate away.

Sirius tilted his head. “Or maybe you’re the only one who thinks this is already over.”

Remus didn’t respond. Just stood, collected his drink, and muttered, “I’ve got a headache,” before disappearing down the hall to his room.

Remus cleared his throat. “D’you… want to come in?”

You nodded and took a step forward, looking around his shared apartment. “It’s very you, Rem,” you said softly. The coffee table had a few video game controllers on top of it, while the little table by the couch was piled high with well-worn books.

“Thanks,” He exhaled, “here, you can sit, do you want something to drink? Are you… hungry?” Remus asked and you looked up at him as he hovered between the small living room and the kitchen, clearly trying to keep the panic in. You weren’t hungry or thirsty, but asked for water anyway, so Remus could have a few minutes to collect himself.

His visible relaxation at your request confirmed that you made the right choice.

“Here ya go,” he said softly. Setting the water on the table, now sitting across from you on the couch.

“So… just to confirm, not your birthday?”

Remus let out a laugh, running his hand through his hair.

“No, no, not my birthday.”

“That’s very strange of your self-proclaimed two best friends to not know your birthday. You should hold that over their heads, you could probably get them to do your laundry or something for you.”

Remus only smirked, his eyes trained on the powered off tv in front of you, “You’d think, right, but unfortunately, I believe this is exactly what they wanted to happen,”

You raised an eyebrow. “Them forgetting your birthday?”

He turned to look at you, properly, this time. He knew you knew, and you knew he knew, but this veil of naiveté was giving you both time to think, time to breathe. “Them… orchestrating a scenario in which you’d be here. With me.”

You blinked, lips parting just slightly. “Why would they do that?”

Remus hesitated. His gaze flicked down to his hands, which were now nervously twisting the hem of his shirt.

“Because I’ve been… pretty miserable these past few days.”

Your breath caught.

“I didn’t expect that,” he said. “I didn’t expect how much I’d miss you. Or how bloody much it’d hurt when you stopped showing up. Even if you were just sitting there reading some book you clearly weren’t even interested in, or reorganizing my filing system and calling me boring.”

“I never called you boring,” you whispered.

“Semantics, love.” He smiled faintly. “But I liked it. I liked all of it. You being there. Being around you.”

“And then you stopped,” he turned away again, “and every time I saw you, you ran.”

You felt your eyes begin to sting.

“Remus, I…”

Remus leaned forward slightly. “It’s okay,” he said gently. “You don’t have to say anything. I know I’m not easy.”

It hit you like a train, right here as you sat on his beat up couch in your fancy dress. The realization that you and Remus had been harboring the same insecurities this entire time. And somehow, without meaning to, you’d made him feel just as awful as you’d been feeling. Like he was too much. Like you didn’t want him. Like he was hard to love.

“That’s not true,” you said, voice shaking slightly, but firm. “You’re not difficult, Remus, not even a little. You’re thoughtful, and gentle, and just… impossibly sincere. And and you never get mad at me when I mess with your filing system or spoil the ends of books you haven’t read yet, even though that was just one time and it was an accident, but if I were you I’d still be upset, but you’re not! And”

Remus’ eyes widened as you went on your spiel, your chest increasingly heaving faster, “It’s okay, love, just breathe”

“No! Because, because these past two weeks I’ve been feeling terrible about myself because I thought that I was too annoying and loud which I am and that you couldn’t keep up with me and that it was my fault you got your friends car all wet and I’m sorry. I’m sorry for all of that! For- for running you into the lake, and for calling your sweaters old-manish-” you went on.

Remus could only sit there with his lips parted in surprise as you unraveled, “I-it’s okay, let me say-”

“You’re not hard to be with at all, and I’m most sorry that I made you feel that way, you have to believe me!” You said, not even registering the tears that began to fall down your cheeks.

“Really, Remus, you have to believe me, I didn’t mean to ruin this,” you wanted to continue on but Remus’ lips were pressed to yours.

Remus was kissing you, and he was kissing you like he’d been waiting forever. His hands came up to cradle your face, thumbs brushing away any tears. You let out a small, surprised sound, somewhere between a gasp and a sigh that he greedily swallowed with his lips.

The world went quiet. Not just around you, but inside you. No more thudding nerves or spiraling thoughts, just the warmth of his palms and the press of his chest and the overwhelming truth of his lips on yours.

He tasted like spearmint and something sweeter and you couldn’t help but smile into the kiss. He felt it and pulled back just far enough to whisper, “Can I say something now?” Like you hadn’t just broken open your whole heart in front of him.

“Yes,” you whispered back.

“You didn’t ruin anything,” Remus said softly. Then, after a pause: “Quite the opposite, really. Because I’m obsessed with you. You’ve got me wrapped around your finger, I’m afraid.”

“Really?” you asked, eyes hazy as you stared at his mouth, as if you could actually see the words of his declaration written out as they escaped his lips.

Remus gave a tiny laugh, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe himself. “Yeah. Really. It’s… embarrassingly bad, actually. You’ve completely wrecked my focus.”

“My father said that would happen.”

“Did he?”

“Yeah, it’s, it’s kind of why I’ve kept my distance.”

Understanding passed through Remus’ face before he felt the pads of your fingers brush against his exposed torso.

“What does he know anyway, hm?” He quipped back, leaning in for another kiss. A hard press of his lips against yours, leaving with a smack.

You giggled at the feeling and he leaned in again, and again, and again until you were nothing but jelly in his arms.

“Re-e-emus!” You laughed, pushing him back.

“Is this how it’s going to be now? You just kiss me to get me to stop talking to you?” You asked, sarcastically, but the look in your eyes proved that you wouldn’t mind him kissing you one bit.

“I never want you to stop talking to me.”

Remus kissed you again and again until you were breathless and laughing into his mouth, until it felt like time had folded in on itself and there was nothing but the two of you, pressed close and finally, finally on the same page. Then he paused and licked his lips. Then again, slower this time.

“What’s wrong?” you breathed out.

“Darling, why do you taste like saltwater?”

You blinked, then lit up. “Oh! My lip gloss! It’s lemon sugar and seafoam!”

Remus gave you that deadpan look you’d become so familiar with, one you hoped he’d always give you even now “Why on earth would you want to taste like the ocean?”

You shrugged, grinning. “Well, the mermaids get such good luck, I just figured…”

He stared at you for a long second, clearly questioning every life choice that had led him to this moment. Then he exhaled a half-laugh, half-sigh, and said, “You are… completely ridiculous.”

“I’m ridiculous, yet you, Mr. Lupin, were the one who gave me a great big smooch!”

“Shut up,” he muttered against your lips.

Muffled you murmured back, “Clearly it works!”

<- part three

You were a sightly thing— you in your average clothing, hair a little messy with your headphones on. Remus didn’t even entertain the thought of approaching you, because who was he to do such a thing, anyway? Imagine his surprise, though, when he gets a tap on the shoulder—only to turn around and see you.

“Hi, sorry for the trouble. Do you know where I could find a restroom?” You asked him, eyes wide with hope. Hope—you were hoping that he knew the way to the girls’ restroom, duh. Remus had to remind himself that. It wasn’t like you were asking for his number or anything—

“Er,” He heard you chuckle awkwardly, your eyes flittering all over his face. “Excuse me? I was asking if you—”

“The restroom. Right,” Remus heard himself say. How foolish of him to just blatantly stare at you like some creep. “I can show you where that is.”

Truth is, he didn’t know where the restroom was either. It was his first time on campus, for Pete’s sake. But you had looked at him like he was the last resort, your savior in a grandpa jumper and corduroy trousers. So, naturally, he lent a hand where it was due.

He should’ve known—or perhaps, you both should’ve known that that would be the start of your many different encounters with each other. Not just on campus, but outside of university, too. But neither of you had predicted that the first time you had ever spoken to each other—would also be the seed that would plant the tree that is Remus’ relationship with you, branching out into missed opportunities, misunderstandings, miscommunications, and missing each other. 

・・・・・

Remus wakes up to another day in bed.

A deep sigh leaves his nose before he opens his eyes to the ceiling. The same darned ceiling he’s been waking up to since he moved out of home indefinitely. It’s creamy white when it’s sunny, but a sad blue when it’s gloomy.

This morning, it’s gloomy. So Remus stays in bed for a little while longer than usual. It’s not like he’s running late for work, and no one’s probably anticipating his arrival in the office today. Just the same routines, but a different day. 

He turns his head to his right, but he doesn’t even know why he does it. The bedside table’s on his left, where his phone and a glass of water laid waiting for him. But he’s doing it anyway, because it’s a reflex at this point. An instinct. Muscle memory, maybe. You used to be the first thing he woke up to—you in your bedhead, parted lips, a bit of dried drool on the corner of your mouth. What a sight you were to him. Remus has taken care to cherish it as a memory and discard it at the same time.

Back in university, after that first encounter he had with you, it was like you were suddenly everywhere he was. Remus might have thought that you were deliberately following him at some point, but he knew that that was too good to be true. So he concluded that it wasn’t.

All of a sudden, chance encounters at cafes turned into study sessions at the library. Then, study sessions turned into party invites and the occasional night out at the pub. One drunken game of spin-the-bottle turned into an alleyway make-out session, which led to regular hookups spent in neither Remus’ or your place. But in between so many shared experiences with each other, so many firsts and milestones shared, neither you nor Remus ever got brave enough to ask what it all meant.

But perhaps that was the thrill of it all—in not knowing what it all meant. Maybe there shouldn’t be anything to fear in the unknown, after all. 

Still, regrets will always await you at the end of your mistakes.

・・・・・

Remus likes to think that he has considerably matured ever since finishing his studies.

He was sorely mistaken, though. Old habits do die hard after all.

He was just going about his day at the office breakroom, minding his own business as he waited for his coffee to brew in the coffee pod machine. The thing about Remus is that when he thinks about something, he thinks hard. A particularly riveting post about a service dog who had valiantly saved his owner from a seizure by doing its job well had passed by on his screen. He taps on the video, expecting the drawn-out intro for suspense, and watches it. 

The machine beeps, making Remus straighten up from where he was leaning against the counter. Without taking his eyes off the screen—the dog’s running around his owner now, probably looking for medicine—he turns to grab his mug, only to crash shoulders with an unassuming colleague of his—

“Sorry! Sorry.”

Remus could identify that voice in a crowd. It’s you he bumped into.

“No, sorry. I– I wasn’t looking,” He tells you, eyes now away from the screen as he tucks his phone into his back pocket. 

You make eye contact with him for the briefest of moments, but Remus is abruptly shot with a vivid image of you beneath him just several nights ago. Your head on the pillow, hair splaying around it like a halo—like the goddess he believes you are. The softness of your skin pressed to his lips, the sounds he heard you make. 

Remus is on the job. He shouldn’t be thinking of his coworkers that way.

“You alright?” He asks you.

You clear your throat, stepping back like you were trying to put some distance between you both. “Yeah. Fine.”

Yep. Definitely putting some distance between you both.

“And you?” You ask him.

Remus pokes his tongue to the side of his cheek, nodding his head. “Yeah, m’good.”

“Good,” You reply, also nodding. “That’s… that’s good, then.”

“Yeah,” Remus smiles awkwardly, but it’s too small to consider that he was happy. “Good.”

It’s awkward. It’s painful. It’s painfully awkward. 

But it stings the man all the same when he finally musters up the courage to at least ask about your day, but you turn away from him with a muttered farewell, leaving the break room. 

So much for maturing.