telegraph ave [the only one i know is you]

“Uh oh.” Remus’ eyes lingered on James’ presumably sour expression a few beats too long. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” James grumbled, wiping the counter with a little more effort than needed as Remus tied the apron around his waist.

“Well, nothing better not keep you in a strop this whole shift.” Remus’ voice faded as he retreated to the back room momentarily. “It’s going to be busy tonight.”

James peered out of the darkened windows of the pub. It was still light out; the days were getting longer. He normally liked his job and all the idle conversation that came with it, the smiling strangers, the occasional flirt that reminded him he was still capable of being desired by someone. He and Remus also got an excellent kick out of telling Marlene, their boss, which sleazy man needed to be removed from the premises. Today, though, he wasn’t sure he had the capacity.

Remus raised his brows expectantly, arms crossed as he leaned against the opposite end of the bar. “Is this about Lily? Heard from her lately?”

“No.” James, with a sigh, resigned to indulging Remus’ interrogation. He normally didn’t probe – they had something of a 'don’t ask, don’t tell' relationship as coworkers, but they had also become good friends, so there must have been cause for concern written on James’ face. He suspected he wasn’t doing as good a job of managing his feelings as he thought he was and tried to rearrange his body language accordingly. He stood up a little straighter, lifting his gaze from the floor. “Not for a month now. She said she doesn’t wanna see me, point blank.”

“Oh? Shite.”

James rubbed his eyes under his glasses, making bursts of light obstruct his vision. “Apparently, she can’t keep pretending we have a future together while my ‘attentions are devoted to someone else’ or something.” Maybe if he made it sound ironic and funny, it would sound less pathetic. Evans had no pity on his ego when she had unleashed her words onto him. He could still remember her face in the passenger seat of his car. She had looked at him like an abandoned puppy; she pitied him. If he lingered on the memory too long, he could feel the dread that had filled his chest when she confronted him, his heart sinking to his feet.

Understanding dawned on Remus’ face. He didn’t say anything, and, thankfully, he didn’t give him that fucking look, that sympathetic head tilt. It was something he really appreciated about Remus, the fact that he wasn't one for pity. Just a good listener and a steady body to lean on without fanfare.

Customers filed in. Businessmen getting drinks after work, old fashioneds, whiskeys on the rocks. University students and their beers, vodka sodas. James and Remus played their little game where they would whisper to each other what they thought people would order, and James took less enjoyment in it than usual, pretending he didn’t see Sirius’ face light up his phone screen's background every time it went off on the counter.

“Can I get an extra dirty martini please, and extra olives,” Remus mimicked under his breath; James’ eyes followed to the middle-aged women approaching the bar. “Oh, look how that one’s looking at you, James.”

They took orders and got to work. “You know, it’s not that I don’t like an older woman,” James murmured as Remus passed him some olives.

“What, is it the gay thing?”

James shot him a glare.

“Right, no, it’s the pathetically in love with your best friend thing. Silly me.”

“Fuck off.”

Sliding the ladies their drinks, James made sure to give them polite smiles. Maybe he was pathetic, sure, but he didn't have to look it. 

“Are you ever going to tell him?”

“What, and ruin everything?”

“This is fucking eating you alive, Potter, what do you mean? You mean to tell me you’re perfectly content sitting there watching him with other people your whole life?”

I might kill you, Remus Lupin. James allowed himself a moment to squeeze his eyes shut and pinch the bridge of his nose – he could feel a headache coming. “Yes. No. I don’t know. No, I guess not.”

“He was in here last weekend, you know, with his boyfriend.”

“Yeah, Marlene said. God, I fucking hate that guy. Don’t know what Sirius sees in him.”

“Alright. So tell him. You can’t go on like this, it’s ridiculous. And you know you can’t.” Remus slid him a shot, another in his own hand. “Cheers.”

James threw the glass back, welcoming the burning sensation. He hated himself, and he hated Sirius’ boyfriend. He hated all of Sirius’ boyfriends, actually – and the occasional girlfriend, though those were easier to stomach – and he was tired of pretending he didn’t. Tired down to his bones, the kind of tired that made it easier to hide forever, never saying a word or lifting a finger.

You either choose to speak or choose to die, Sirius loved to say. He lived by it, and Sirius always chose to speak. He was permanently fearless, blazing, teeming with life. James didn’t speak, not when it came to this particular thing. He festered, rotted, yearned.

“I don’t know if I've got it in me,” he admitted to Remus, the words barely audible. "To say it."