EPILOGUE

REMUS POV.

Ridiculous, is it not? The way he feels right now. 

Childish how his pants sit weirdly around his hips, a bit too long, a bit too brown.
Dirty brown without gold-hem. His mom wouldn't have liked them, she liked him in jeans she had once declared. If that was the truth or not, he doesn't know, but if Remus got the chance to change into jeans right now, he would. Though he hates jeans, he really, truly does. At least the ones his mom used to get for him. Slim, tight and nasty.

Silly how the tag which takes place beside the sipper of the pants is chafing into his hipbone. How the tag on his t-shirt does the very same thing to his neck. Funny how the bag with the winebox he's holding now feels like an inappropriate gift and how his hair feels too curly and untamed. He doesn't like the shirt anymore. He did like it twenty minutes ago, but now it feels stupid. The Bowie print will be a recite that he hasn't evolved in the slightest from when they last met him. They will see the funky shirt and realize he’s the same old nob they left behind. 

The collar sits too tight around his neck, and he's just now realizing how washed out the thing is, they will take him for a hobo. 

He doesn't like the perfume Evan managed to dispute on him, nor the fact that it very poorly covers the cigarette sent. 

He’s aware of the dark circles under his eyes, the way he looks, and looked when they last saw him. The shit-changes, including his hollowed face. How he’s lost about 20 pounds since then, and a lot of color in his cheeks too, probably. His fingers has gone from boyish, chubb, reaching for the quill -to long slender bony things, whipping on the lighter.

His shoes are not something he wants them to see, he wishes he had martins on, or something close in resemblance that could convince a viewer that Remus John Lupin is not in fact poor, but rather sustainable. His converse are off-brand and falling apart, it’s disgusting.

Ridiculous, is it not? The way he feels right now. 

Not only do his clothes feel all wrong, but so does his skin. Crawling and itching, if he didn't know better, he could swear it was put on backwards this very morning. His face is probably crimson and if he knocks on the door to the apartment now. it wouldn't come as a surprise if it turned out to be the wrong address. 

He felt like this at his ma’s funeral right before he was to make the speech, thanking everyone for coming, preaching his mother’s life. He felt like this when the old lady at work yelled at him for making her the wrong drink. 

The anxiety that creeps up on you, making you shiver and stutter and sweat, stumbling over your own feet, freezing and going mute. He felt like this when he came face to face with Sirius yesterday at the coffee shop.

He can’t not knock, he can’t be that guy who doesn’t show after making the plans.
They're going to have a jolly time and if he feels like dying he’ll text Lily an emoji and she’ll call to beg him home. She wanted it to be a specific emoji at first, but Remus assured her that if he ever texted her a bloody emoji of any sort, something was well wrong. 

It’s no fuss, it’s no biggie. No need for tamping. 

Three knocks on the door and a heart roaring in his ears. 

James and Peter, what if they will be all fuzzy? What if they will be all mudd.

The door swings open then, and James Potter stands in the entrance. 

Grinn wider than a lion's gap. He’s got an apron on with the quote “Mother of the year” on it, in red. He’s tan, muscular and shiny. Hair a curl-mob, glasses a bit crooked and nose still a little too big for his face. He looks like the sun, he hasn’t changed at all. Polaroid perfect. He's got wide 80s jeans on and a striped button up, one could mistake him for Fez in’ that seventies show’. 

In all this warmth, Remus feels embarrassed. James has spent his years becoming more ‘James’ then ever. He on the other hand must look worn out.

“Merlin's bloody back and a crocodile attack! I can’t believe this is happening.” 

And then, if so just for a second, the anxiety and pent-up fear untighs itself from his lungs . All discomfort melts away from the hug he gets. It’s not a normal ‘hello hug’. He feels wrapped and warm, and sunkissed. He feels at home. He hugs back, or clings, he’s not sure. 

Over James' shoulder he can see into the apartment and there is Peter standing. It goes in slow motion now. He feels kind of wobbly and frighteningly close to tears. Peter is wearing green corduroy pants, because, of course he is. His jumper is beige with a cow drinking milk on the front, a speech bubble makes the cow say ‘Milk is for babies, drink soy!’.
He's round and short and flushed and perfect.
Golden waves lying on his head like a well done bowl-cut. He looks mischievous and trustworthy all at once. A comforting smile spreads on his face as he steps only but a little closer, waiting for his turn. 

Behind him stands Sirius Black, looking a little lost, a little out of place and maybe just a bit unsure. Like he isn't positive he wants to go through with a hang-out after all. Like, maybe he wants to make a run for it. 

“You’ve turned out pretty shit haven't you?” 

Peter is pushing James away now and embracing Remus tumbly and harsh. God, have he missed Peter's voice. Peter loosens the hug and puts his hands on each side of Remus' shoulders instead, shaking lightly.

“You’re skin and bone, no butter on your mash or what's the deal here, you pencil?!”

“Well seems you’ve skipped the mash all together and gone straight for the butter pure as it is have you now, Pete”

Peter shakes his head holding his grin, staring into Remus eyes and even if it has been years, and even if he’s scared of these people and this evening, he can’t help but go along with the bit Peter is plasting. 

“Are you…Calling me fat?”

It’s a staring contest now. He never thought he would get to have this again. This friend, this feeling. This laugh building up from deep down. They hug again and then James jumps on him for a second round, squeezing hard. Sirius didn't so much as shake his hand earlier in the park. He can’t help to think about that, about how easy it is to melt into his old friends embrace, but feel burnt from Sirius sitting too closely. He’s still standing unsure further into the hallway, weighing back and forth on his feet.

“Morgana how I missed you. Take your shoes off and come in.”

James jumps back and runs off, past Sirius, into the warm, welcoming apartment smelling of stew and oil. Remus takes out the wine and hands it to Peter, whom, by the looks of it, has never been faced with such a dinner-party-present before. 

“Oh, so we are getting black-outs tonight then, cheers to that, you holk.” 

Peter too turns and, almost shooters after James, wine like a basket, swinging it one hand. 

Sirius is leaning now, so casually against the wall, one can barely see the uncertainty anymore. He’s plumpish red, tipsy slopping to the side.

“Are yeh sure about this then, Bout me being here?”

Remus curses his accent for slipping in, making his words sound sticky and gooey. 

“They are nothing but happy that you’re here, I can asure.” they?

The air is left piercing and awkward for the time it takes to remove the fucking shoes. They walk into the kitchen in silence where James is found putting basil on his creation. 

“Behold, fair fighters, for dinner is ready.”

“Nor am I fair or a fighter, will I starve?” Peter has poured up a glass of wine and is handing it to Remus so very casually. Remus being here seems, oh so casual. This is how it could have been, if he hadn't stopped..If he had kept contact. Going to London, visiting friends. Catch up and get a glimpse into their lives. Only a glimpse though. A glimpse would have been more than nothing. Had he not been so stubborn, would’ve those glimpses become his reason for life. But he had been stubborn, and hurt. And other people became his reason instead. 

“For your information, Peter, I will consider providing those without bravery or beauty too. But it should not concern you as you are the fairest of them all.”

“Sip it, Jamie.”

“Oh but you are a beauty, a rat, for sure, but a beauty nonetheless” Sirius plops down on a barstool with a grin at his own statement, smugly giving Peter airkisses. 

Sure, did Remus find others to live for. Skits, crazy and sneaky, loving him so well.
But the feeling he gets now, from just being here, with these three boys, it’s a feeling he’s been lacking for so long, and it’s awful. It’s a drug. 

Now he knows, now the memory will be fresh as he leaves London on Sunday to go back to not having these boys in his life.

He will know so clearly and have the lines be sharp on his wrists once again. He knew he had missed them , but only now do he realize how much, and only now do he realize nobody will ever be able to fill the hole in his heart their absence create. 

“SHE’S BUT A BEAUTY-”

“Wrong!!!, HEEEEEE’S BUT A BEA-/”

“/-BEAUTY DAMSEL SO FARE, LOVELY AND PLUM DO NEVER DESPAIR!”

“I swear if you two don’t stop singing I’ll take my ‘plum’-self and leave!"

“Oh don’t be a bore little rat, Jamie and I are only teasing.”

So far, Remus is only observing and yet he’s so full of it, this feeling of home, of belonging, of missing. 

“Oi Remus, are you gonna give us the scoop or what?”

They all turn to him now, the organic ballpassing stops and silence linger. He sips his wine, not sure if he’s to sit beside Peter or Sirius, standing awkwardly a few steps away from the rest, so wrong. Peter pats his hand on the stool next to his, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. As if that very chair is Remus' saved, designated seat.

“Scoop of what?

“Life-scoop, how's tha ladies? How’s the work and or studies? Hows your hot mom? Do you have any pretty friends you could hook me up with? Tell me everything.” 

It would be snoopy and too much if it weren't Peter. Peter talks before he thinks and so a thumb-rule is to always take his wording light. 

“I- eh” He’s hands are so interesting, he’s staring at them, twisting a ring round and round his index. He looks up from them and catches Sirius staring too. It’s not a flashback, but oh does he remember what Sirius said that afternoon. Their last real afternoon. ‘I’ll miss your hands’ he had confessed.
His hands, they are not what they were. They are bony and nasty now. Sirius seems to snap out of it and Remus can’t help but wonder as he catches the light blush, if Sirius maybe remembers it too. “I work still…At the same coffee shop” He takes another swing at the wine. “I live alone, and most my friends are either in a relationship or are really, really weird”

“Weird you say?”

“You’d take offense if I tried to set you up with some of them”

“How disappointing, too weird for me? I worry.”

“You should worry.”

James hands over a bowl of good-smelling stew. “So do you really like the café then? If you’re still there, I mean?” He smiles so familiarly and it draws you in. It’s the sun. 

“I can’t seem to bother getting a better one, so I- yeah it works.” 

‘Mother of the year’ is the quote on James' apron and the somewhat supporting yet concerned look he sends Remus proves the theory that this apron was not stolen from Mrs Potter but rather bought to James, with James inmind.

“How- Ehm, how are things here?”

James linger for just a second with the somewhat concerned look, then, as if nothing and what not, his face changes into a grim smile “You’ll love Marlene!”

Peter scoffers and tips his chair backwards (he will definitely fall in about two minutes, give or take) “He will probably not, she's a menace.” 

“He likes Sirius well enough, She’s like sirius but with boobs” 

“Sorry?” Sirius leans forward over the counter, glaring theatrically at James. “Are you objectifying me?”

“Not even a little bit.” James races his glass as if cheering, and it’s right about now that the firm dun of Peter's arse on the floor erupts the bantering flow.

“I knew that would happen.” Remus can’t help but say it, feeling so very smug. He once knew these people better than he knew himself. Maybe he still does?

 Maybe he can feel the warmth coming from James and taste the jokes before Peter spills them. Maybe he can tell what Sirius is thinking just by looking at him. He once could. He once did. He might still see it, feel it, he might still fit here.

“You. did. not!” It’s a sight to see Pete trying to crawl back up and smoothly bring the tall chair with him. “Even legends have their troubling happenings!” It’s all a mumble at this point.

The night keeps going. The other boys keep talking, Remus not as much. He just sits and listens mostly, enjoying it for the time being. It’s nice that he doesn’t get grilled, that they let him pretend his place is here. He drinks his wine, faster than he should, probably. Eat the food, it’s very good, and listens. 

Then comes the time when they need to get to know each other again, the time when he needs to actively tell. He prefers avoiding telling, like the plague . When avoiding telling , a tip is asking . Steer the conversation to the other person for most actually do enjoy telling.

“So, Marlene? Is that the blonde one?”

“Yeah she- How did you know that she's blond?”

“I-.. knew you had a blond friend, from an old picture, I think. How, what’s she like?”

“She likes cars and football.” It’s the first thing Sirius says that's directed towards him. Until now he’s spoken around Remus. Very strange.

“That’s nice.” Remus is the problem at this point, for the conversation rolls on perfectly until he chips in.”What else? Do all of you work?”

“I still study, teacher. Sirius is working and Peter too.”

“Teacher? You?” Maybe he doesn’t know them anymore, James Potter a teacher? 

“P:E” James smiles so pleased. 

“Really, so you’ve found your purpose in life is to force innocent children to work out and run laps?”  The wine is taking the edge off the bad feeling that has started to grow in his chest. It helps, but a cigarette would help more.

“I suppose, I always loved gym. I like the idea of making youngsters find passion in motion, you know?”

 Remus does in fact not know. James seems to sense this and keeps going, trying even harder to be convincing. “Take yourself, for example. You’ve got your asthma and so you know how important it is to be in a good fettle. It’s a task for you, it’s a chore. But what if you grew up with a gym-teacher who taught you how to work out and have fun at the same time? You’d never even think about the health part, it would just be a bonus.”

“I think your thesis falls there Jamie” Sirius again, mocking tone now. 

“How come?”

“Well, you see, Remus still keeps up with the lighter and so I doubt he cares much for his lungs health.”

It could be a tease, but it doesn’t feel like that. It feels like rattling, it feels mean. It aches now. Has he missed this?

Peter jumps back in “Smoke? Nah my poor lad, have you lost your greater senses completely? You’ve got baby-lungs! Can’t give babies tobacco now, can you?”

“I’m a babykiller.”

“Don’t you work out? You know it’s vital for someone with impaired lungs to try and stay winded quite consistently?” 

“James, are you quoting a textbook right now? And for yer information, piss off, I do work out. I run till I taste blood three times a week.” 

“You don’t eat like you run three times a week.”

“No? Well you do, Peter.”

“You run till iron? That’s not good, either.”

“Sorry, I guess I should have called and asked for your instructions, James.”

“.....Yeah, maybe you should have.”

It’s quiet again. He’s considering sending Lily an emoji right about now.

“We would have answered you know, if you called.” It’s Peter, with the voice he used to have when he tried to convince, comfort.
‘We like you’ ‘Your mom will be okay, you’ll see’ ‘You won’t fail this test’ ‘Fuck your dad, you don’t need him anyway.’

“Life got in the way.” He stands. He should leave now. He doesn’t fit here anymore. “It was really nice James, proper smoor, the food that is. I, eh- It’s been fun, good to see you chaps in form.”

“Wha- you’re not going anywhere! It’s not even ten yet. You haven't enlightened us about almost anything.” One pull at the hem and he’s sitting again. 

He should have gone easier on the beverages; Not that he’s hammered, but he’s still too loose for his own comfort. Too comfortable for his own comfort. 

“Whatcha wanna know, eh? My life haven't really had any crazy happenings”

“Still got in the way though.”

“Hush” It’s Sirius who shuts Peter up, that before James akes over.

“You’re here with friends, right? Can we meet them? Who are they? How long are you staying?” It’s what one would call a James-rant , or, maybe more famously known, parental questioning .

“I stay till Sunday..There’s seven of us and ehm, I don’t reckon you know any of them.” 

Sirius makes a noise at that. Noice of displeasure, for sure. This is why they always fought growing up, because Sirius bloody Black is insufferable and refuses to take the bull by the horn. If he wants this night to end in a fight, let’s end the night in a fucking fight without any silly build up. He’s been acting fine up until now. Is this how it would be if they were to befriend again. Constant weariness? Let’s just get it over with.
“What?” 

“Nothing.”

“Really? Because it seems like you want to say something.” He feels his cheeks hotten, he really needs a smoke. The anger is teasing at his sides. Pulling him, trying to make him make a scene. 

Instead of answering, Sirius, whom is facing him, shifts his head to the side to stare at James, then beside him to lock Peter down. He draws them in, like before a bomb. Then he tries to make it explode “My brother is one of those seven. He’s bestie-buds with Reg.”

“What?” James is clearly waiting for the punchline. 

He hates how this is used against him. Regulus saved him from himself and now that’s used to make him feel guilty. He won’t stand for it. This should be below him, he’s too old for these games. Too worn out.

“Yeah, we’re close.”

“Oh, so-”

“Yes.”
He stands again, he should leave now, he should have left before, too. 

“What's your favorite color, Remus?” It’s Peter.

The question is so out of place it makes him stop in his track.

“Sorry?”

“I don’t know it..anymore” That's a gut-punch without intention.

“I don’t have one.” Sirius and James are quiet. They’re all drunk. If they weren’t they’d be screaming by now; at Remus. "What's yours?” 

“I like yellow.”

“I should go now.”

“I don’t want that.” Sirius says it, it’s everything Remus has ever wanted to hear. 

Is this a soap-opera? So much drama leading to nothing. Remus is too tired for this. 

He sits, again . His mum always said to pull the band-aid fast. 

“Look.” He downs his wine, lords, if he doesn’t get a fucking cigarette soon. “I got my friends through work, sort of. I-, I’m not sorry for being friends with your brother, Sirius. He’s brilliant.The fights you had as kids are none of my business but you can’t piss on me without actually setting yourself into or even knowing the situation ”- It’s silent, Sirius seems torn about what he should say. Sirius doesn’t have to say anything at all. None of them have to say anything at all. Remus just really wants closure,  he also really doesn't. 

-“I’m sorry if ye peeps feel I intruded tonight, I know..” He’s debating standing up again. If he does, he won't sit himself down one more time out of selfrespect. He doesn't stand up.
“I know, I don’t really belong here anymore. I just really, really wish I did . ” 

“You do!” It’s James. “You, you- never stopped.” 

He never stopped belonging with them? He never stopped. They all look sincere, even Siruius, though it seems that fact pains him, or maybe scares him.. 

He belongs with them, still? Even if they don’t know anything about each other anymore. Even if he can’t seem to figure out how to fit in the conversations anymore. They can remold, he can stop being empty from the lack of them. 

He never stopped. He never stopped.

Time will pass and they will fall back into place, like before.

Just like always, maybe more so than ever-

-It feels like a lie.