Remus Lupin hates parties. Would much rather be alone with whatever book he’s currently reading, a cup of tea, and his thoughts. So it’s kind of ironic how he always ends up getting roped into coming. Tonight was no different. There was a party, of course, a celebration of sorts to commemorate going home for winter break tomorrow. Remus thought it was a ridiculous idea to get drunk and then have to wake up early to get on the train back home-hungover. Which is exactly what he told Sirius when he tried to get him to come.
“You can sleep it off on the train. Plus it’s going to be in the common room so you can leave and come back up here whenever you want,” Sirius had said back.
“My mum would kill me if she saw that I was hungover,” he’d said back. In truth, he had the highest tolerance to alcohol out of the four of them and his hangovers had never been too bad-unlike Peter who will end up throwing up in the toilet for the rest of the day-but the excuse seemed good enough.
“You don’t have to drink,” Peter had supplied, “You can just come and have fun.”
“Nothing sounds fun about going to a party, especially if I’m not going to drink.”
Sirius rolled his eyes. “You’re being impossible.”
“Who’s being impossible?” James had asked, just having come back from quidditch practice in time to hear what Sirius had said. Remus’ eyes had flitted over to the door of their dorm, not having heard it open.
“Remus,” Sirius had said, “We’re trying to convince him to go to the party tonight but he keeps refusing.” Something had flicked over Sirius’ face then, causing him to grin. “Want to give it a shot, Prongs?”
James had walked over to the group by then, already having rid himself of his quidditch kit and shirt, leaving him in just his pants. Remus looked away. “Come on, Moony. We’re not going to see each other for a week and a half till we meet up at my house. Don’t you want to spend the night with your three best friends before we go home?”
“Not at the moment no,” he’d grumbled.
“Please?” James had drawled, giving him those wide puppy dog eyes.
Do not fall for it, the logical side of his brain had told him. And yet a mumbled “Fine” had fallen out of his mouth.
The three of them had grinned triumphantly, James most of all.
So here he was, hours later, at the very thing he didn’t even want to come to. He did drink, just a little, but then gave it up to go smoke in the nook of the window in the corner. The room was crowded with people, most already drunk or on their way to getting there, and the nook seemed to be the only place that wasn’t crowded and that also let him get some fresh air.
He’s just about to light up his third cigarette of the night when someone, rather unceremoniously, plops down in the vacant spot of the nook. He’s just about to say something along the lines of ‘piss off, can’t you see I’m already sitting here?’ when he recognizes the unruly mess of brown hair and circular glasses to be one of his best friends-James Potter.
“You alright?” he asks as James, with much effort, situates himself into a more comfortable position.
“‘M great, Moony,” James slurs out. And then with his eyebrows furrowed asks, “Why are you over here by yourself?”
He shrugs. “Wanted a smoke and some air.”
“Been looking for you,” James murmurs, settling his head against the unopened side of the window, “Missed you.”
He raises his brows. “Yeah?” he asks, knocking his knee into James’ who smiles at the touch.
“Yeah,” James confirms, nodding his head. “Been asking people if they’ve seen you.”
“Ahh, love me that much do you?” he teases.
James’ face twists in an odd way Remus has rarely ever seen and he turns his head to look out the window as he says, “I’m not-I don’t. I’m not in love with you anymore I don’t think.”
Suddenly the music dies down and the chatter flooding the room drowns out and all Remus is left with is the words James just spoke. They ring in his ears, round and round. James had been in love with him? Something odd settles over him and deep into his stomach, leaving him feeling all knotted up inside.
“I didn’t know you ever were,” he says honestly.
“I’ve been trying not to be.” James’ voice is barely a whisper and if Remus wasn’t so close and clinging onto every single letter and vowel that falls from James’ mouth he probably wouldn’t have been able to hear it. He’s still looking out the window, not meeting Remus’ eyes.
“James…”
“Sorry. Don’t know why I said that.”
“You never-” he starts.
“Think I’m gonna head to bed. Tired,” James cuts in, suddenly moving away from the window and pushing himself up and off of the nook.
“James,” he calls out but James is already weaving his way through people, walking faster than someone who's drunk reasonably should.
He’s just about convinced himself to go after him when the thought fully hits him. James is drunk. Right plastered. So surely he doesn’t know what he’s saying, right? Yes, he’ll probably come up to him in the morning and apologize, say it was all nonsense. Or forget about it entirely because that’s just how wasted he is.
The odd feeling doesn’t quite leave him despite this.
↣
The early morning the next day is met with groans from Sirius and Peter followed by Peter promptly going to the toilet and throwing up for one of the many times to come that day. Remus can’t help but immediately look over to James’ bed, finding the curtains drawn open and the bed empty. Out for his usual morning run, Remus realizes. He almost wants to laugh because James was drunk enough to say what he said a mere several hours ago and still managed to wake up early and go for his morning run. Only the James Potter would manage to go for a run at 6:30 in the morning while hungover.
Eventually he manages to coax himself out of bed and into the bathroom, brushing his teeth, not bothering to take a shower. He’s already changed into a pair of pants and a Bowie t-shirt and rechecked he’s packed all that he needs by the time James gets back. His heart feels like it stops, skips a beat, at the sound of the door opening. He’s already convinced himself-mostly-that what James said last night was because he was drunk but he can’t help but itch for the confirmation. For James to apologize or not remember what happened.
What he gets instead is James looking over to his bed, seeing that Remus is already looking at him, and then quickly looking away. That odd feeling settles fully back in him. He does get confirmation, just not the one he expected. Because James, evidently, remembers and, instead of coming over and apologizing like Remus knows he would if all he had said was some drunken nonsense, refuses to even look his way again. He’d meant it.
A flood of questions fill his brain, none of which he even remotely has the answer to. And for the rest of the morning, James’ words play over and over again in his mind. I’m not in love with you anymore I don’t think. I’ve been trying not to be. This confuses him further because the sentences are contradictions of each other. So all-in-all, Remus is fucking clueless. He tries to talk to James before they board the train but gets interrupted by Peter who finally walked over from throwing up (again). And then he tries again when they are on the train doing their prefect and Head Boy duties but James gets called off to help deal with something to do with first years and Drooble’s Best Blowing Gum.
Soon enough they’re back on platform nine and three-quarters and the time to actually talk about anything is long gone, lost somewhere back at school when Remus didn’t follow after James, and in the train they just got off of. Their parents are all waiting together like they usually do when they come back for break or summer. James and Remus’ parents had known each other before James and Remus did and so that set in place the foundation for their friendship to begin on-which it did. And, because Remus hasn’t stopped thinking about last night and consequently this morning, he remembers the one time a year or two back when he overheard his mum and Effie talking in the kitchen. Effie had said, “I think he’s in love with him,” and his mum replied, simply, “I think so too.” And, while they could have been talking about anyone, the way they fell silent when Remus had walked in had told him enough. He wonders now if they were talking about James. Wonders if they could see it when he didn’t.
Saying goodbye is never awkward between them, at least not now that Sirius has moved in with James and his parents. Goodbye is hugs and promises to write and reminders to not forget to come over and well, it still is but there’s something awkward and tense about it now, at least with him and James. When he’s hugged Peter and Sirius goodbye and James has hugged Peter he’s sure that James isn’t going to hug him or even say goodbye at least. And it must be awkward for their parents who are waiting for them because for several seconds they just stand in front of each other, saying nothing, not moving. And then, just as quick as it started, James is closing the distance and wrapping his arms around Remus, sighing against his shoulder.
Their hug is shorter than it usually is and when James pulls away he gives Remus a soft smile and says, “See you in a week and a half.”
There is a goodbye. There’s a hug, a reminder of when they’ll next see each other, and a conversation not talked about.
↣
A week and a half later
Flooing to James’ house is something Remus had done enough times to not even consider the possibility of messing up and accidentally ending up any place else. So a week and a half after getting home Remus steps into his fireplace with his things, clearly states ‘Potter Manor’, and, like always, ends up in the living room of James’ house. He’s the last one to arrive (not that he ever stood any chance against Peter’s punctuality), the other boys already settled into the couch talking with one another. They all look up when he lands in the fireplace and Peter comes forward to help grab his things, which had landed in a messy heap because while he always ends up where he intends he doesn’t always do it gracefully.
“Thanks, Pete,” he says, stepping out of the fireplace and dusting himself off.
“Of course, Moony. Had a nice holiday?” Peter asks, moving Remus’ things next to his that lay in a pile next to one of the armchairs that are in the living room.
“Yeah. Was nice to see my mum. You?”
“It was goo-” Peter starts to say but is cut off by Sirius.
“Moony!” Sirius exclaims. “Oh how I’ve missed you,” Sirius says, getting up from the couch and enveloping Remus in a hug.
He rolls his eyes but nonetheless hugs him back. “Mhmm, sure. You just have separation anxiety when it comes to your friends,” he states, teasing.
Sirius pulls back to give him an incredulous look. “I’m the one with separation anxiety? James is the one who was walking around all miserable back in fourth year when you went on that trip for summer break. Every letter he sent me that summer had something about you in it. And don’t get me started on how he is after fulls; walking from class to class with a furrow in his brow, waking up early to bring you that vile combination of toast you like, skipping quidditchpractice to come see you instead, s-”
“Shut up, Pads,” James grumbles and when Remus looks over to him his cheeks are tinged pink. Remus feels as a smile comes over his face, dipping into his cheeks and meeting his eyes.
“What? I’m just saying that if any of us have separation anxiety it’s you, at least when it comes to Remus.” Sirius says the last part deliberately and Remus doesn’t know why he’s surprised Sirius knows about whatever feelings James had or has for him. James and Sirius tell each other everything so of course Sirius would know about it.
James glares at Sirius. “I’m actually going to kill you,” James says, getting up from the couch to reach for Sirius.
“Mum!” Sirius whines, going to hide from James behind Effie, who Remus has just noticed come into the living room. “Tell him to be nice to me.
“Be nice to Sirius, James,” Effie says, a smile that says she’s being playful rather than reprimanding on her face.
“That’s not fair, he started it!” James says, pointing an accusing finger at Sirius. “So really you should be telling him to be nice to me.”
“I was just telling the truth,” Sirius says, giving James a cocky grin.
“You little-” James doesn’t finish his sentence before he’s reaching forward and messing up Sirius’ hair.
Sirius lets out an overdramatic gasp. “You absolute ars-”
“Alright, you two. How about I make you all some hot chocolate and you guys can exchange your presents for one another?” Effie cuts in.
Sirius and James give each other one last glare before both mumbling, “Fine.”
He smiles to himself about the interaction. He always found it rather endearing watching the two get on each other’s nerves like siblings. The two could bicker for hours and then act like it never happened in favor of plotting together on how to convince Monty to make their favorite for dinner. Sirius was happy at the Potter Manor and James was happy Sirius was happy and so consequently Remus was happy because Sirius and James were happy.
They eventually all settle back in the living room, warm cups of hot chocolate in hand and no more threats of murder. There’s a Christmas vinyl playing on the record player in the corner, playing songs Remus has grown accustomed to after all the years of hearing them. Before it was the four of them and before it was him, James, and Peter (Sirius’ parents didn’t allow him to come back then) it was him and James. It was James giving Remus his cup of hot chocolate because Remus already drank his and didn’t want to bother their parents for another. It was homemade gifts for each other that were honestly quite terrible; though Remus knows they both still hold onto them. It was James singing off-key to Christmas songs. It was snowball fights and sitting in front of the fireplace afterwards to warm up. It was kid-ish laughter and warmth and falling asleep on the carpet.
Gifts are being distributed around and wrapping paper is being tossed carelessly on the ground. There’s Sirius asking James where his gift is and James saying that his gift is his unending friendship and then him handing over one to him anyway. There’s James singing along quietly to the song under his breath. There’s Peter messing with whatever new contraption James got for him. There’s Remus smiling while watching his friends, heart full of so much love for them. And then there’s James sitting in front of him, hands holding out a rectangular present. He takes particular notice of the way James is already wearing the sweater he got him and smiles softly.
“Merry Christmas, Remus,” James says, voice soft. There’s some type of string lights hung around the room in a variety of colors that shine down on James’ face in a way that has Remus’ thoughts trailing off to something a lot like James Potter is beautiful.
“Merry Christmas, James.”
“Well, are you going to open it?” James asks, fidgeting in place impatiently.
He laughs, soft and quiet, just for the two of them. “Alright, alright,” he says, finding a loose edge to rip. It’s a book, one that he already owns, his favorite.
James laughs at the slight furrow in Remus’ brow. “Open the cover,” he says.
Remus does and his mouth quite literally drops open. “You’re joking,” he says, running his fingers over the ink on the page. It’s a short message and a signature. The signature, as in the author signed it.
James is smiling, wide, so wide. “Nope. Took me a while to track them down and find them but I ma-”
James is cut off by the impact of Remus reaching forward and hugging him. He lets out a shocked intake of breath and then almost instantly relaxes against him, wrapping his arms around him as well. James Potter smells like his strawberry shampoo and Christmas candy and hot cocoa and everything familiar and Remus feels clouded with it and in turn what he feels because of it. Clouded by the way his heart immediately sped up when James said it’d taken him a while to get the signature because that meant that James went out of his way to do something for him that he knew he would love because he thought of him. Clouded by how happy James looked at him after he’d opened the present. Clouded by the way James’ arms wrap around his stomach and how his head leans on his shoulder, just barely touching his cheek, making the skin tingle there with every brush of his brown hair.
“You like it then?” James asks, breath ghosting over his neck, making a shiver run down Remus’ spine.
“Yes, you idiot. I love it,” he says, smiling to himself.
James hugs him tighter at the words before pulling away. “Good.” And now James is smiling too.
He stares at the book for what feels like hours that night, flipping to certain pages so he can read excerpts he loves and then, inevitably, flipping back to the first page in the whole book. To the message specifically, the one James must have asked them to write,
To the one that shines like the moon
The night before the morning they go back from break turns out to be restless. Remus can’t sleep. Is thinking too much. About James mostly. About the night two weeks ago. About the fact that he and James still haven’t spoken about it. And then his mind flits back to every interaction they’ve had recently, dissecting it to see if he was really just an idiot and missed the clear signs. And then there’s the book. The message. It makes something fuzzy go awry in his stomach every time he reads it back-which is a lot-and it doesn’t take much time at all for Remus to realize what it is. Which just makes the sleeplessness worse because he’s stuck thinking about James. And not just overthinking and worrying about what he said and the signs he probably missed but really thinking about him. About his stupid hair that’s always messy and how nice it felt against his cheek. About that stupid James Potter smile that shines brighter than the sun and can make Remus smile in turn almost immediately. About how he remembers things and listens and cares. About how easily James can make him fold and do something simply with one look. About how James looks in the sweater he gave him and how it’s a little too big so you can only see the tips of his fingers from underneath it. About how nice James felt against him, arms wrapped around his stomach and head on his shoulder.
About how he most definitely is on the road to being in love with James Potter.
The thought taunts him because he’s too late. His chance is gone. And it was close-it was right there in front of him and he missed it. That’s all he’s been able to think about tonight and so a little bit ago he got out of bed, went downstairs, and put the kettle on. Mostly just to have something to do. Just like he runs his finger over the slope of the cup, following each divet and curve, just to have something to do.
The sound of floorboards creaking makes him look up from the cup and towards the noise. It’s dark, only a single light on in the whole house, and so it’s hard to make out who it is at first. But as the noise gets closer the person comes more into view. It’s James; hair messy from sleep or laying down, glasses crooked where they rest on his nose, wearing the sweater Remus gave him. Fuck, he looks so sleepy and cute and Remus is a fool.
“Oh,” James says when he sees Remus, “Didn’t think anyone was awake.”
He shrugs, staring down at his tea.
“Everything alright?” James asks, stepping further into view but not sitting down next to him.
He nods. “Yeah. Couldn’t sleep so I put the kettle on. It’s probably still warm if you wanted some tea.”
“Thanks,” James says. He moves further into the kitchen, grabbing a mug and a tea bag. He makes his tea how he likes: sweet with far too much sugar, and makes his way back to Remus, sitting down next to him.
“It should be illegal to make your tea like that, you know,” he says, scrunching his nose at the liquid in James’ cup.
James laughs, loud against the silence of the night. He takes a sip from the cup, making an overdramatic pleased noise for the sake of taunting Remus.
He shakes his head. “You’re ridiculous.”
James laughs, again. “I know,” he says. A pause. A few seconds. And then, “Why couldn’t you sleep?”
“Thinking too much, I guess.” About you.
James nods in understanding, running his hand back and forth over the handle of his mug.
“Why are you awake?” Remus asks.
“Same reason as you I s’pose.”
Remus nods this time. He lets his gaze fall over James fully. Over the way the kitchen light falls over his soft features. Over the way only the pads of his fingers are visible outside of the sweater. Over the way his hair is a mess, more so than usual, and sticks up in random places and falls so close to his eyes that it almost touches them. Over the way his glasses are still hanging onto his face in a truly crooked way and the brown eyes that are on display behind them. Over his lips.
“Why haven’t we talked about it?” he says rather suddenly. He doesn’t remember even deciding to.
“What?” James asks but by the way his whole body stills he knows exactly what Remus meant.
“That night. What you said. We haven’t talked about it,” Remus reiterates.
“I was drunk,” James says but his words are about as half-hearted as he looks saying it.
“You meant it,” he states.
James sighs. “Remus.”
“Did you mean it?” he can’t help but ask. He needs to know, needs something.
“No,” James says, not looking up from his mug.
“Oh,” he manages out. That same odd feeling washes over him and settles in his stomach, knotting it painfully against itself. He knew this already. Knew that whatever was said, whatever there possibly could have been, led to this. This feeling. God, he’s an idiot.
“I lied,” James says.
“Stop,” he breathes out. He’s never felt anything like this. It hurts and he would rather James have just left it at ‘no’.
“I lied,” James says again. He lets out a harsh breath and then continues, “I’m still in love with you. I didn’t stop. Couldn’t.”
“What?” Because holy shit, James is still in love with him. He never stopped and holy fuck, Remus wants to kiss him. Now. Later. Forever. His heart skips a beat and then pounds against his chest all because of those ten words.
“And I know you don’t feel the same, that’s why I didn’t want to talk. And-” James’ eyes squeeze shut, “we don’t have to talk about it again. We can just go and pretend it never happened. I don’t want this to get in the way of our friendship. You’re….You’re my best friend,” his voice cracks against the words and Remus feels his heart squeeze.
“I don’t think we can pretend this never happened. I-” Remus stops. Because James has started crying. His stomach drops. “James?”
“P-please don’t hate me. I understand if you don’t want to be friends anymore but I couldn’t stand it if you hate me.” James’ voice is small as he says it, so small.
Remus almost wants to laugh at this. He could never hate James and even if he didn’t feel the same way (which he does!) he wouldn’t stop being friends with him because of it. James is simply a part of him, has been and will always be. “I could never hate you, James. I don’t think we can pretend this never happened because I’m quite sure I’m falling in love with you, too.”
James lifts his head up and turns it towards Remus, tears streaking down his cheeks though the stream has stopped. “You are?”
“Yes,” Remus does laugh then. “That’s what I was trying to get at before you started crying.”
“Oh,” James says, sniffling a little. Remus’ lips twitch up helplessly at the way James’ nose scrunches up when he does it-thinks it’s far too cute. “I’m an idiot,” James adds.
Remus’ lips twitch up even more until a smile is taking place on his face. “Yeah.”
“I’m sorry,” James says. “For not talking about it. That was unfair to you. I was just so fucking scared.”
“It’s okay,” he murmurs. He reaches his hand out and wipes the tears off of James’ cheeks with delicate strokes of his own sweater. James’ eyes flutter at the touch, his cheek leaning into Remus’ hand. “I’m sorry I made you cry.”
James shakes his head. “Don’t be. I only started because I thought I was going to lose you.”
“Well, you’re not. You can’t get rid of me that easily. You’re stuck with me.”
James smiles, wide and perfect, and Remus is quite sure he’ll never get tired of it. Affection bubbles in his chest for the boy in front of him. It’s not too late. His chance had and has been there the whole time. He wants to take it. Wants to love James and get wrapped up in it. Wants to kiss James and get lost in it.
“Can I kiss you?” he breathes out, utterly transfixed by the boy in front of him.
“Yes, please,” James says immediately.
Remus laughs, soft and quiet, floating off into the night. He moves his hand upwards, brushing the hair away from James’ eyes with gentle fingers. James makes a soft, content noise and Remus is moving his hand back to his cheek, letting his fingers rest behind James’ ear, running his fingers through the soft hair there.
Kissing James is good, so good. His lips are soft and warm and welcoming and Remus gets lost in the kiss within seconds, leaning forward eagerly to try and press closer. James faintly smiles at this, trailing his hands up Remus’ neck and into his hair. James tastes like his tea: sweet. He tastes like running around the backyard as a kid, playing tag and laughing when they run too fast and fall into a heap on the floor on top of one another. He tastes like his mother’s cooking and hot chocolate. He tastes like the first glimpses of the sun on a bone-chilling cold day. He tastes like reading on rainy days by the window. He tastes like the warmth and comfort of knowing someone. He tastes like falling in love
When they pull away they’re both breathless and smiling, not straying too far away from each other. James’ eyes are still closed and Remus takes the opportunity to unabashedly take him in. James Fleamont Potter; his childhood best friend. James Fleamont Potter; the boy he’s falling in love with. They’re the same really, both existing deep inside him, rooted deep into his bones and his very veins. He wouldn’t want it any other way.
“That was nice,” James says after a moment, still sounding breathless. He opens his eyes then, takes Remus in as well, runs his fingers through his hair.
“Yeah. It was.” He laughs, the noise washing over the two of them, and then kisses James again.
Now. Later. Forever.