CPR & Coffee
The station was unusually quiet.
Which, in their line of work, was either a blessing or a curse waiting to drop. But for now? It was a blessing. No blaring tones, no adrenaline-pumping chaos. Just the soft hum of fluorescent lights and the rhythmic tapping of Mary Macdonald’s fingernails against her coffee mug.
Remus leaned against the break room counter, cradling a cup of tea. Steam curled up from the rim, fogging the lenses of his glasses slightly. He didn’t mind. It gave him an excuse to stay quiet, to observe.
Lily Evans sat perched on a rolling chair across from Mary, hair tied up, legs tucked under her. She looked too alert for the hour—like her shift had started five minutes ago instead of dragging on past midnight.
Mary smirked over her mug. “You’re doing it again.”
Lily blinked. “Doing what?”
“Mooning over Potter.”
Remus hid his smile behind the rim of his cup.
“I am not mooning,” Lily said, her voice high and sharp like it’d tripped over itself in indignation. “I don’t even—why would I—he’s annoying.”
“Hot,” Mary countered, spinning slightly in her chair. “Annoying, yes. But hot.”
Lily opened her mouth to argue, then closed it. “He’s… tall.”
“Oh no,” Mary said with mock horror. “Not tall. Anything but tall.”
Remus snorted into his tea.
Lily turned to glare at him. “You’re not helping.”
“I’m not doing anything,” Remus said, holding up a hand. “Just enjoying the show.”
She rolled her eyes but didn’t look entirely displeased. Her cheeks were a bit pinker than usual.
Outside the glass wall of the break room, the hospital wing connected to Station 81 glowed in soft amber. A couple of nurses moved quietly down the hallway. Someone paged over the intercom. But in here, in their little pocket of stillness, everything felt suspended.
Mary stood and stretched with a groan. “God, I need sugar. Anyone want something from the vending machine before I go rob it?”
“Tea,” Remus said automatically.
“You have tea,” she pointed out.
He nodded. “Backup tea.”
“Evans?”
“I’m fine. Thanks though.”
Mary gave them both a suspicious look, like she was trying to decide if she trusted them alone together, then wandered off in the direction of the machines, muttering about chocolate-covered almonds and the betrayal of expired crisps.
Lily sighed once she was gone. “Is it really that obvious?”
Remus raised an eyebrow. “That you fancy him?”
She groaned and dropped her head onto the table.
“I didn’t say yes.”
“You didn’t say no.”
Lily lifted her head just enough to give him a half-hearted glare. “It’s not like I asked for this. He’s loud. He’s messy. He quotes action movies like they’re scripture.”
“But he makes you laugh.”
She didn’t respond for a beat. Just stared at the table like it held answers.
“He does,” she admitted softly. “He makes me feel like I’m… not alone.”
Remus’s chest pinched at that.
He knew that feeling. He’d been carrying it around his whole life, letting it weigh him down in different shapes. First grief. Then shame. Then confusion. And lately? It had settled into something quieter. Something like want.
He thought of Grant. Of how easy it had been to fall into step with him. And yet how impossible it still felt to share that truth out loud.
“You’re allowed to want that,” he said gently. “You deserve it.”
Lily looked up at him, her eyes a little glossy in the low light. “So do you.”
Remus blinked.
She didn’t say more. Didn’t press. Just gave him a small smile, the kind that said I see you, and that was enough.
The vending machine clattered in the distance.
Mary returned a moment later, arms full of sugary loot. “Right, what’s the gossip? Did you confess your undying love, Evans? Did Remus make a face? Did I miss a moment?”
“No undying love,” Lily said primly.
“No moment,” Remus echoed, sipping his tea.
Mary narrowed her eyes. “Lies. You’re both terrible liars.”
“Can I just have my backup tea?” Remus asked.
She chucked a small bottle of lemon iced tea at him. He caught it one-handed.
They settled in again—Mary unwrapping sweets, Lily pretending to scroll her phone, and Remus letting himself relax. For once, there were no fires to run into, no lives dangling on the edge of disaster. Just the three of them, orbiting each other in quiet companionship.
It was rare.
It was enough.