Knots
Dorcas had always had a strange sense of rhythm. As absurd as it might seem to her Latin relatives, it wasn't the kind of rhythm that boils in your blood and helps you dance. Dorcas couldn't dance, couldn't coordinate her feet to the melody or her hips to the beat. Maybe she had never learned because when she tried, her aunt would always tell her it was a lost cause, and her cousins found it very amusing. Thinking about it now, at the age of 21, it seemed almost ridiculous, but when she was little, she took it so seriously that she had given up trying to learn any dance steps. It was a strange world for her. But in the end, rhythm always followed her with her fingers, with her arms, she could feel it. She felt it when there was that thump within the music that pulled her along in time. She had never learned to follow it properly; it was difficult, but she knew it was there. It was there because when she was anxious, she could feel it trembling in her fingers, and she could only release it by tapping her fingertips on any surface around her in her own unique rhythm. It was like an instinct, an impulse, of which she would never know what to do.
At least, not until she learned how to play drums. There was a music course near her school, and she needed a hobby, a distraction, anything. Starting to play didn't seem so absurd. Unfortunately, unlike many, Dorcas didn't have a tear-jerking story for which playing was her life, where she started playing at the age of 3 and was a little genius. Instead, she started when she was already 18, and she was terrible at first. But the drums were the right instrument. She felt it, she knew it. And it was okay that way; she didn't have to be extraordinary or phenomenal. For now, the competitive atmosphere at school was already too suffocating, and she needed to detach from it, not dive back into it. And come to think of it, it was here that she had met Marlene for the second time. Apparently, she wasn't the only one taking lessons there.
When they saw each other again, Dorcas didn't even know if Marlene remembered her. Besides, she had practically interrupted her lesson by arriving too early. But Dorcas had a problem with always being politely five minutes early, and she would have waited outside if the teacher hadn't told her to take a seat. And then she saw her play. She saw the blonde hair pulled back and the forehead slightly beaded with concentration; she didn't even raise her head to look at her, she didn't stop playing. So Dorcas had analyzed her, and she had done it because she genuinely didn't know what else to do. She was better than her, more experienced; you could tell by how she wielded the drumsticks and the confidence with which she went with the song. But Dorcas also realized that it was her technique that was different. For her, the drums were rhythm and therefore order; they made sense of the song, organized it, divided it, gave time, direction, it was calculated, precise. But for the one playing in front of her now, the drums were almost liberatingly aggressive, as if she was fighting with the song hand in hand, like an elegant clash between lovers; it was an almost fierce passion that she expressed with the drums.
Only after the music had ended did she raise her head, and the two of them locked eyes. It had been strange; Dorcas felt a jolt, as if she was interrupting something with her presence. Not something personal, but something she shouldn't see. After all, they didn't know each other that well. But of course, the other had immediately thought the opposite.
<<Whitney?>> Dorcas found herself facing a drumstick pointed at her and a mischievous little smile.
<<Hello, Debbie.>>
<<I didn't know you played the drums.>>
<<Well, you never asked.>>
The look she received in response sent a part of her poor brain into a whirl because the more time passed, the more she felt like she was in the presence of the most incredible person Mary could introduce her to, and it made her nervous. Too nervous.
The teacher returned shortly after with a couple of sheets of music in hand.
<<Alright, Marlene, I'd say we're good for today. Dorcas, get ready.>>
The two of them looked at each other curiously while the teacher, adjusting his glasses on his head, absentmindedly flipped through the sheet music. It took a while for him to notice that neither of them had moved a centimeter since they had arrived and had been staring at each other as if nothing had happened. A string of questions was passing through Dorcas's mind, half of which weren't even clear to her. They were just there because Marlene was Marlene, and now that she had a definite name to associate with her face, she felt obligated to clear up all the other doubts she had about her. It was like being in front of a painting and not being able to see it distinctly without a pair of glasses: that could be the most beautiful painting in the world, or it could be one of those abstract and geometric works that lost their meaning in the long run. To wake them up, the teacher had to clear his throat insistently.
<<I'm sorry to interrupt this moment, but we should have a lesson.>>
And so their second interaction ended, and the one with blonde hair, whom Dorcas had now recognized as Marlene, walked out of the door, not before giving her a nod of greeting, leaving her alone with the drums and her teacher, who seemed almost amused by their interaction.
Both of their encounters had been almost accidental, two people who had met almost by mistake at a party and for some strange reason had come across each other again. When would be the next time? They hadn't really talked properly, and the atmosphere between them was strange. They didn't have many opportunities where relying on chance would be enough to make them meet again. And perhaps guided by curiosity, Marlene had decided that the phone and social media weren't such a big disaster for humanity after all. And once they knew the girl's name, it didn't take much to track her down from Mary's profile. Blessed be her friend for sharing her life with the rest of the world. And once the friend request was sent, there was little else she could do but wait and hope to have aroused in Dorcas the same curiosity that had invaded Marlene's thoughts. It didn't take more than a few hours for her to discover the answer, because when she picked up her phone, Marlene saw a notification that brought a satisfied smile to her face.
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<<Hello?>>
<<Mary?>>
<<Marlene?>> The girl sighed with relief as she paced back and forth in the room, one hand on her blonde hair and the other on her phone, grateful that despite two years having passed since they last spoke, Mary had decided to answer the call. Or maybe she did it because her number had been deleted, and she had no idea who was calling her. In both cases, it didn't make much difference; the important thing was that she had answered.
<<I just picked up Dorcas from a pub.>>
<<Are you telling me she's with you?>> As much as Mary wanted to sound annoyed, her tone came across as more concerned than anything, and Marlene wasn't surprised.
<<Yes. She lives with you, right? Please tell me I didn't get it wrong.>>
From the other end of the phone came a heartfelt sigh, and Marlene could almost swear she heard Mary massaging the bridge of her nose.
<<Yes, Marlene. I'm coming to pick her up. Wait->>
<<It's practically two in the morning, I'm not letting you leave your house at this hour. Dorcas is safe; you can come and get her tomorrow morning. Or I can take her home->>
<<Please, Marls. The less time she spends with you, the better. Let it go.>>
To that, Marlene didn't know what to respond. Perhaps because she knew Mary was right, or perhaps because she wished it weren't true. She shifted her gaze to Dorcas, lying on her bed with a furrowed brow, asleep, and felt a knot in her stomach that made her want to retreat into some hole in the world and never come out. The same knot in her throat told her that keeping Dorcas away would make things easier and hurt less for both of them. At least the knot would go away; it would loosen, and she would be able to breathe normally. Mary's words were what woke her from her thoughts.
<<Marlene? If you give me the address, I'll take a taxi and come over.>>
<<Mary, if you don't even have a car to take, you can come tomorrow morning. I promise not to cause any more trouble... I'll text you tomorrow.>>
Before she could hear any other response, she ended the call because another lecture from Mary would have given her a terrible, horrible, and atrocious headache. Worse than the one she already had. Only after calling did she allow herself to take off her jacket and hang it in the hallway. It felt like she was inside a strange dream, and even washing her face hadn't shaken this feeling off. Once she gave up, she tied her hair back to keep it away from her face and prepare to go into her room to sleep on the couch. For that evening, she would stop doing stupid things. There wasn't much to go wrong, right?
But of course, it was Marlene who was taking action, and if she was involved, there was also the possibility of ruining any plan they could make. While she was taking off Dorcas' shoes, the girl seemed insistent on tossing and turning. She was driving her crazy and wasting her time, and they were in the same room while she was waking up. Marlene would have wanted to run away. All the courage she pretended to have kept crumbling to pieces every time things like this happened, and it frustrated her.
<<God, can you just stay still?>> She didn't say it with ill intentions. On the contrary, she whispered it through clenched teeth, a complaint that only she was destined to hear. But, of course, it didn't go that way.
<<Don't tell me what to do.>>
<<Let me take off your shoes so you can rest under the covers.>>
There was an indistinct sound coming from the girl's lips. What a terrible, terrible night.
<<I don't want to go under your covers.>>
<<Do you want to go back on the street?>>
There was a moment of silence. During their brief conversation, she hadn't even opened her eyes and was bringing an arm to her face, as if to hide.
<<I hate you.>>
It had been a pained whisper that had triggered Marlene's expression, as if she had just snapped. Because for some strange reason, it hurt her, even though she knew that the girl had every reason in the world to hate her. In fact, Marlene struggled to find a reason why she shouldn't hate her. There were none. She wasn't even convinced that she was so attractive that it could make her forget all the nonsense she kept doing. No beautiful face could erase the bullshit she had done, after all. But Dorcas always came back, and Marlene wasn't happy until she managed to completely ruin things. When they finally managed to take off her shoes, they leaned over to help her get under the covers. It was then that Dorcas leaned over and planted a kiss on their forehead. A silly, utterly silly kiss on the forehead that left them looking at her surprised and open-mouthed. It took only the time to turn around, and Dorcas had already fallen back asleep, but Marlene remained there staring at her for an indefinite amount of time. She couldn't move, couldn't breathe, the knot was still in her stomach and tightening, and the person lying in her bed was driving her crazy. Or maybe it was she who was driving Dorcas crazy. Did it matter?
When she finally managed to get up, Marlene had to pass her hand over her face a couple of times. Fortunately, at least her roommate hadn't woken up. It would have been a drama, and she preferred to deal with him the next morning. She headed towards the living room slowly, turning off the lights behind her. She had refrained from turning back to her room and had continued straight to the couch, throwing herself on it as if she wanted to sink into it. Marlene hated worrying: he preferred to do anything rather than being alone with his thoughts. Given this peculiar habit, sitting on the couch in the dark, staring at the ceiling, was not exactly the best scenario. He could turn on the TV and watch something or put on his headphones and listen to some music. Going out and wandering aimlessly, it wouldn't be the first time. But she didn't know what to watch, what to listen to, where to go. The truth was that she felt guilty, and guilt seemed to be eating her alive. She felt she deserved to hear her hated thoughts. Perhaps she would learn to listen to them like normal people rather than acting on what her gut told her.
It seemed so unfair to have to choose between that annoying and incomprehensible knot that made her feel twisted and told her to leave before finding out what would happen when the knot became too tight or a dirty and guilty conscience that whispered in her ear what normal people would do in her place. But she wasn't normal people, and this wasn't anyone's fault but hers. The truth was that she was a coward, a big, stupid coward, and if she weren't one now, she would be in Dorcas' arms and wouldn't have to think; she could run her hands through her braids or trace the features coming to life on her dark skin. Her hands would have something, someone, to hold onto; she would be surrounded by her scent, by her presence. It would be just the two of them, and she wouldn't be staring at the ceiling.
And that thought was so stupid because she wasn't even trying to call her when she received that call. Dorcas was trying to call someone else she could really trust, and that person wasn't Marlene because she hadn't done anything to earn that trust. On the contrary, she had wasted it more than once, countless times, and a part of her knew that she wouldn't be able to stop doing it even if she wanted to. She brought her hands to her face and started pressing her palms against her eyes, as if it would help her to turn off her brain. It didn't, and she found herself sighing.
How much sleep would they be able to get before Dorcas woke up?
They had no idea, but they sensed that they wouldn't be able to sleep well anyway. Marlene thought about this Remus that Dorcas had tried to call and wondered if they had perhaps made a mistake by calling Mary before him. But they didn't have their number, and they didn't want to touch Dorcas' phone. She wondered who Remus was to Dorcas, even though they had agreed that the less they knew about each other, the better it would be to keep things as they were. But she couldn't help but let her mind wander among the many options, not only about the mysterious character who was supposed to be in her place at that moment, but also about what she should do next, what she should try to fix first, what she could actually do. And between one apocalyptic scenario and another, the evening passed, and she closed her eyes once every three-quarters of an hour, keeping them shut for only twenty minutes each time. Meanwhile, the evening went by, and she felt as if the couch was fulfilling her wish to swallow her because if it could, she would've never got up.
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Even after receiving Mary's message about Dorcas being fine, Remus couldn't close his eyes. He had stayed out late and lost track of time. When he returned home, he found Lily asleep on the couch, as if she had been waiting for him. He didn't even tell her that they had lost Dorcas, and he didn't want to wake her just to make her worry, especially knowing that Dorcas was safe now and he was the only one unsure because he tended to overanalyze people's tones, and Mary didn't seem convinced of what she was saying. But it could have been all in his head, and it would be foolish to insist just because he needed to make sure everything was okay, continuing to disturb Mary and, consequently, Lily. So he resigned himself to wander around the apartment in silence, aware that sleep was not an option for him.
The funny thing was that it wasn't even that strange for Remus's night to go this way. It wasn't uncommon for him to be unable to sleep until late or not sleep at all. Sometimes, he was the first one to not want to succumb to the comfort of his bed when he knew that only troubled nights and nightmares awaited him. Lily had always been particularly against this peculiar habit of his, plying him with chamomile and buying melatonin candies to convince him to sleep, even though he often refused both. Remus, on his part, often remained particularly quiet and never bothered his friend with his sleep problems.
Rather than sitting idly, he preferred to get to work, hoping that his thoughts wouldn't be too overwhelming to hinder him from accomplishing something. After making sure Lily on the couch had a blanket and moved her red hair from her face, he retreated to his room and turned on the desk lamp. He did indeed have work to catch up on, and the desk was a mess of scattered notes and books he needed to finish reading for his literature classes. Once seated at the chair, he stretched himself and heard at least three vertebrae produce an alarming sound. He had the feeling that sooner or later, he would have to see an osteopath to have all the bones in his body realigned, and if he had the right money, he would probably discover that he had some strange permanent injury, one of those that theoretically only old people should have, like arthritis or something like that.
But Remus was a broke university student, living off his scholarship and the money he earned tutoring bratty kids or those with unpleasant personalities nearly five times a week. All of this, combined with his attempts to lead a somewhat normal life for a twenty-year-old, meant going out occasionally. His ability to do so wasn't due to a meticulously organized schedule or intricate agendas like Lily's, who never went anywhere without a notebook to diligently record all her appointments. Remus went with the flow as much as possible, living with the awareness that the only thing preventing him from being late for everything was his personal anxiety and the simple fact that he couldn't afford to miss any of his commitments.
Among his commitments was his upcoming exam, on which Remus would have to focus all his attention for the next month. So he spent the night reading and sifting through pages of analysis and notes. Not sleeping could be a great advantage in such cases, especially when the daylight hours weren't enough to get everything done, with the only major side effect being the depletion of energy needed to attend classes the next morning. But, you see, convincing himself that this method worked was enough, at least for Remus, it had always more or less worked. A cup of coffee, and the game was on; he could go another 12 hours without collapsing from exhaustion.
When he looked up at the clock on his desk, his hand still busy writing in the margin of the book's pages, it was something like 6 in the morning. Maybe 6:30 to be precise. He was sure he had sat down when the screen still read 2. As satisfied as he was with his work, trying to close his eyes would be pointless, and it didn't take long for Lily to wake up and enter the room.
<<What are you doing?>> Remus turned in his chair, while Lily observed him, leaning against the door frame, raised eyebrows, significantly disheveled fiery red hair, and a stern look that assessed Remus from head to toe.
<<I was…>> The boy gestured vaguely towards the desk, and seeing in his friend's expression that it wasn't improving the situation, he added, <<I was about to take a shower.>>
His failed attempt at an excuse only made his friend snort, and she approached him, hands on her hips, keeping an eye on the desk and all the clutter that had taken over the wooden surface. <<Did you get any sleep at all?>>
<<If I told you I did, you wouldn't believe me anyway.>>
Lily could only let out an audible sigh and closed Remus's book. <<Go take a shower. How long were you out last night?>>
<<You don't want to know.>> Remus gave her a peck on the cheek before heading to the shower, and he could swear he heard the girl muttering something to herself even from beyond the door. He was convinced she was also tidying up his things, just to have the room in better condition than when she found it.
It was in the shower that Remus realized Lily would interrogate him about what had happened, and he had no desire to talk about it. He preferred to hint at everything when he was sure the damage had been minimal. And before he saw or heard from Dorcas and Mary again, he couldn't have that certainty. He was stressed and tired, and he probably needed to go out for a walk again before having any conversation about what had happened that evening. That's why, once out of the shower, with Lily already in the kitchen sipping her tea, still in her pajamas, waiting for him to spill the beans, he decided to voice his epiphany.
<<I was thinking of going out for breakfast.>>
<<What do you mean exactly? You ditched me last night.>> Lily's voice was stern, and she genuinely seemed offended that Remus was going out again. He knew the issue wasn't so much that he was going out, but that he was avoiding her, and she knew him too well not to have noticed.
<<Come on, Lils, I promise I'll be back for lunch and tell you everything you want to know.>>
As Remus spoke these words, he leaned towards the kitchen, where a disgruntled Lily Evans watched her tea, thoughtful, playing with the spoon in the cup.
<<Mh.>> She didn't believe him, but Remus promised to her and to himself mentally that he would make it up to her. Besides, as long as the girl continued to use the silly mug that Remus had given her, he could rest assured that he wouldn't be kicked out of their apartment. Moreover, it was hard to take her seriously when she had her fiery red hair pulled back in a disheveled manner by her standards and a green mug with "FAVOURITE GINGER" written on it at her lips, no matter how angry she might seem at the moment.
<<I'll cook.>> Remus promised as he leaned in to hug her with a smile on his lips.
<<Okay, okay, where are you going?>>
<<I was thinking of going to see Alice. Have some coffee, I don't know.>>
<<Mh. Do you have class today?>>
<<Not really, but I can come pick you up, so we can walk together.>>
The girl was forced to sigh and shoo him away with a vague wave of her hand. <<Okay, okay, stop being a brown-noser and go to the café. Just make sure you're back to normal when you come to pick me up. Now, go before I change my mind.>>
And so Remus did just that. He left the house with a book in hand and the essentials to buy something for himself, allowing himself not to dwell too much on what to wear. When he arrived at the café, he realized that the peace of the place was probably limited to a couple of hours in the early morning because it was only 8:30 when he arrived, meandering through alleyways, just for a walk, and the place was already packed. As he opened the door, he was overwhelmed by the smell of coffee and pastries, the chatter of people at the tables, and the noise of the cash register. Everything smelled of the morning rush, and there was something familiar in the atmosphere that Remus appreciated a lot. Seeing people in a hurry made him feel better about his own haste in life; it was reassuring to know he wasn't alone and, instead, was one of the few people who would be able to take things slowly that morning. It didn't happen often, but he certainly didn't mind. He wondered when he would have a day like this while he sat at the counter, unable to find a completely empty table, and opened the book from where he had left off the last time he read it, waiting for someone to take his order. It felt like an eternity since he had the opportunity to do something like this, go out early and read on his own without having to rush to class. He would have preferred not to have his head filled with other worries and thoughts in the meantime, so he could enjoy it without nagging guilt and the relentless anxious hum that infested his brain.
<<I can't believe you're really back.>> When Remus looked up from his book, a familiar face on the other side of the counter was looking at him with a smile on his face. It wasn't Alice, but what he recognized as his coworker, the guy with black hair he had also seen at the university. He found himself almost speechless to see him in front of him as if nothing had happened. He cursed part of his brain for not storing earlier that he would probably run into him when he came back, because this guy insisted on talking to him, and at the moment, he didn't know what to say to avoid revealing his tiredness or all the other things on his mind.
<<What are you doing here?>>
<<Breakfast?>> He raised an eyebrow. Wasn't it obvious? Should he have said something else? He had the strange feeling that he was missing important details of that conversation that he was too exhausted to recognize with the same agility as he would normally.
<<What a shame, I thought you came to see me.>> Ah. To that, Remus didn't know how to respond and simply shook his head. Somehow, he was certain that he would have to forget about a completely quiet and peaceful breakfast.
<<What can I get you?>>
<<A coffee and a chocolate muffin.>>
A little smile, indecipherable for him, had formed on the guy's face in front of him. Remus couldn't dwell on it for long, though, because in the blink of an eye, he had turned to the coffee machine.
<<You know, thanks to you, I discovered that 'Rem,' besides being something related to computers and sleep, was the name of an '80s band. I knew some of their songs, but I had no idea they were called that.>>
The guy furrowed his brows, confused. <<Sorry, what?>>
<< 'Rem.' That's what your friend called you at university, right>>
<<Oh.>>
<<I didn't give up on finding out what the fascinating detective with rough manners is called; it would go against my morals.>> The barista placed a cup of coffee and the muffin on the counter with a satisfied little smile, making Remus think he was dealing with someone who was either very strange or messing with him. Before responding, Remus took a calm sip of the coffee in front of him.
<<Despite all that, your research hasn't taken you that far, it seems.>>
When he raised his eyes with curiosity, he saw the guy blink a couple of times, as if he had suddenly awakened him, and Remus had to convince himself to eliminate from his brain the option that he was being stared at.
<<Is everything okay?>> Sirius seemed to struggle to find the right words to use, but Remus saw him point to his face while trying to find the right words.
<<Do I have something on my face?>> For a few seconds, he prayed they weren’t referring to his scar. By now, he had figured that he was dealing with someone quite straightforward, but it wasn't a day to have that kind of conversation; he wasn't in the mood, and it would only make things worse.
<<Piercings.>> The answer was so sudden and unexpected that Remus had to stop for a couple of seconds to process. That was enough for the other guy to come up with a better phrase. <<I didn't know you had them. Last time you didn't, and neither did you the time before. They suit you.>>
<<Thank you, I suppose. I usually take them off to go to university. Not all professors appreciate them.>>
<<They look good on you. I like them.>>
Remus had to mentally register that conversation and the face to which to attribute it. In his mind, it was simply absurd to talk to a person like this, especially if that person was a barista he had met three times, who was subjectively much more interesting and physically more attractive than him. The feeling of being made fun of continued to echo in his head, but the bright and genuine smile that was resolving it made it difficult to believe, and it confused Remus enough about the matter to make him give up any sharp response he could have prepared. Instead of speaking, he decided to focus on his coffee again and take a bite of the muffin, ignoring how the barista's gaze was still on him. If he hadn't been used to worse looks than that, Remus would probably have felt uncomfortable.
After a pause that implied how much thought had gone into those words, Sirius spoke again. <<I also like your T-shirt.>>
And that's when Remus was sure something was amiss because he was wearing a wrinkled T-shirt from some band that he didn't even remember at the moment, and he couldn't be bothered to check.
<<Why am I getting all these compliments so early in the morning?>> This caught the other guy quite off guard, making him pause to find the right words, once again. Sirius squinted his eyes, looking at an indefinite spot on the ceiling.
<<I'm trying to persuade you to at least tell me your name with flattery, I suppose?>>
The only response he received was a genuinely laughter that made him relax his shoulders a bit.
<<Okay, I guess this means it's not working properly.>>
<<Mh.>> After that, Remus took another sip of his coffee. Unfortunately, he wasn't in the mood for small talk, but that guy was entertaining enough that maybe the next time he came back would be to see him. Just for fun, because he was amusing and because, if the first time he hadn't really captured his attention, now he was intrigued.
But before he could add anything to the conversation, Sirius was brought back to the real world where he was still working, and his shift wasn't over yet. There were other customers waiting for him. He gave Remus one last smile before turning to the next customer. Remus watched him from a distance; he had an interesting way of behaving. He was just informal enough to make people feel at home, but he often added a touch of extra confidence that seemed to distract any customer he had in front of him. Maybe Remus was getting a bit carried away in thinking that certain types of comments were reserved for him. Perhaps he should stop fueling an undeserved curiosity about him. He would just say his name, and the matter would end there, the barista would be satisfied with his victory, and there would be nothing more to it.
Remus took refuge in his book, read a few more pages, and finished his breakfast leisurely, while people around him came and went, some in a hurry, some at ease, just like him. It was pleasant, even though he had the feeling that a pair of gray eyes occasionally turned to check that he was still there. When he finally had to get up, it seemed like he had spent an infinite amount of time inside the building. He stretched with a pained expression on his face, getting ready to pay and leave. This time, he didn't find Alice at the cash register, so he assumed that if it wasn't the conversation with Sirius that had kept him entertained, he could have gone to any other café, and his morning wouldn't have been much different.
Once he had paid, Remus decided to approach the counter with one arm resting on the cold surface, waiting. It didn't take long for him to lock eyes with the barista; there was no need to call him, he approached without too many questions.
<<I'm sorry to inform you that I have to go. I suppose this will be a great source of sadness…>> Remus tried unsuccessfully to make a joke because nothing else came to his mind.
<<I'm delighted that you realize you're leaving me to my boredom.>> He said it as if the conversation with Remus had truly been the most enjoyable thing he'd had in his day. Yet Remus could swear he had seen him chat much more willingly and less forced with many other customers.
<<It's Remus.>>
<<Mh?>>
<<My name, it's Remus.>>
<<Remus? Like Romulus and Remus?>>
Remus found himself sighing defeated by the amused look that the other had just given him.
<<Yes, the unsuccessful founder of Rome, ahah.>>
<<Nono, I actually like it.>>
As much as that was supposed to sound like an insult or teasing, Sirius's tone showed how genuinely he meant it, which left Remus slightly puzzled. The fact that their conversation was simply based on this poor barista who kept giving him compliments he didn't deserve and how he kept avoiding them like the plague was so ridiculous that Remus regretted realizing it only now.
<<I should really go now.>>
<<Well, let's hope to see you again soon then.>>
At that moment, Remus could do nothing but nod before heading to the door. Who knows, he could always consider coming back for real, maybe preparing a more pleasant conversation than any disaster he had caused today. Whatever he decided to do, he would think about it later, once he had cleared his mind of all the worries that were pressing on him that morning.