James has liked Remus since they were thirteen, but he didn’t realise it until they were seventeen. James realised he had fallen in love with Remus when he was eighteen, but it didn’t change anything. Remus was James’ best friend, and he’ll always be his best friend, and he knows he’ll never stop loving him more than just a friend.
It first happened when they were both a little tipsy after a night out. They were sitting alone, waiting in the car for their other friends. James was the one who looked at Remus first, but Remus was the one who got closer; it was fast and short, as James thought he imagined it. The next day, they both forgot it and pretended it didn’t happen at all. James knows it happened, though; he knows how it felt to have his lips touch Remus’ lips; he liked it even though he shouldn’t.
The second time it happened, it was James who did it. It wasn’t a good day for James, and he felt the need to isolate himself for a bit. He stayed in his bedroom, doing nothing but staring at the ceiling. The door knocked twice, then stopped, then knocked twice again. It was Remus—his Remus—the only one he let in. They sat in silence; Remus didn’t ask, and James didn’t speak, but his presence was enough to comfort James. It was a vivid memory. James doesn’t remember how they ended up laying side by side; he doesn’t remember how he ended up on top of Remus, but he remembers how it felt to kiss Remus; he remembers very well how it was. James also remembers how Remus gently, very gently, pushed him and got up and left. They didn’t speak for five days; they didn’t even look at each other. Their friends thought they had a fight, but it was very rare for them to fight. Remus started speaking to him again later that week, and James was happy and glad, but he was also a little disappointed because, just like last time, they didn’t talk about it; they pretended it never happened, but it was okay; it was fine. James was content and grateful to have Remus close to him; even if it was just a friendship, he’s glad to have him.
On James’ nineteenth birthday, he cried over Remus for the first time. He wanted more for the first time, but it wasn’t enough anymore, and it hurt him. His birthday morning was lovely; he was genuinely happy and enjoying his day; all his friends were around; his parents were with him; why wouldn’t he be happy? He had a blast at his birthday party with all his friends and even his friends’ friends. James was completely pissed by the end of the party; he kept drinking with every single person he saw. Then it was Remus and him alone again. James moved closer, but Remus moved further away. James got up and went to his room. He closed the door and sat down and cried. James didn’t say goodbye to any of his friends; he spent the night locked inside his room, crying for the first time over his unrequited love.
A month later, it was fine again; James was okay; it was alright; it was fine. Remus was cruel though; he did it again; they were both in the car alone, but this time it wasn’t short, it wasn’t fast, it was a real kiss. James thought it was a dream, because why is Remus kissing him again? But as suddenly as it started, it also ended suddenly. Remus pulled away, and before James could speak, Sirius was getting into the car and starting a conversation that James wasn’t even listening to. James was waiting for Remus to speak; he didn’t want to pretend nothing happened again. Remus didn’t speak, but James did. He wanted to know if his feelings were really one-sided. Remus shut down the conversation; Remus ignored him for two weeks, and James was honestly done with him.
Three months later, they were back again, as best friends, good friends, friends, and no more. James gave up trying to speak to Remus. Nothing happened again; they never kissed again. They were just friends, and friends don’t kiss.