Apogee

Remus turns thirty next month.

Marlene said it wouldn't mean anything, and that he'd be completely the same. Remus agreed. Contrary to what many would say, age was not only just a number; it was proof for time that you've been alive, and for time that you've got left. It meant wrinkles on places you've never expected and aches on joints that made him frantically stretch from time to time. But it was also something that was out of his control, so it was out of his considerations. Therefore, he really couldn't care less.

What he did care about was his café. He named it Apogee, because he was a nerd who had once taken a slight interest in astronomy and had always liked the relationship between the moon and the Earth. The fact that his name was wolf wolf, thanks to the bottle of rum his forsaken father was entertaining the day he was born, was purely a coincidence with the moon thing. But it was fitting, arguably poetically, and so Apogee it was.

Lily said it sounded too pompous, like one of those fancy cafés that charged seven quid for a cuppa. He supposed it did. It didn't matter, though. He decorated the place the same way he dressed himself: walls covered with brownish oranges that reminded him of fall; corduroy fabrics draped over the counter; tables of unsawn timber with edges rough but not too rough to hurt. That was enough for anyone who had taken the place for someplace posh because of the name to realize their mistake. 'Cosy, warm, homey, and maybe a bit Welsh' was his favourite review on his website, and he's been keeping it that way for quite a while now.

His coffeehouse was located in near vicinity of a local university. It meant that most of his customers were young. It also meant that he had to open the café until quite late for the profit, because uni students staying up late was a ubiquitous phenomenon. Remus hummed softly as he cleaned the last cup and put it on the drying rack. It was eleven-thirty in the evening, half an hour before closing. Unlike most days, the store has been empty since eleven. He's been relishing the quiet.

Sitting on his chair behind the counter, he mulled about his plans on his birthday. Lily wanted to throw him a birthday party, although she knew he'd hate it; Marlene said he could come over and have dinner with her and Dorcas. What did Remus Lupin want? He had no idea. It has been quite a long time since he'd wanted something. He was quite content with pretty much anything, really. There were times when he wanted to do something special for his birthdays, but that was too long ago that for now, it almost felt like a different lifetime. Had he been so fickle, really? So emotional? Remus thinks the thick skin he's now acquired is most likely a sign of his maturity. All he needed was his friends and this little café that gave him enough profit to lead a moderate life. All that and he was fine. Birthday fuss was not needed.

The chiming of the bell woke him out of his reverie. 

Two young lads staggered in, and Remus briefly thought of kicking them out because he did not want to take care of drunk students on a Tuesday night, but decided against it when he recognized that neither of them smelled of alcohol. They looked incredibly fatigued, however.

"Lads, welcome. What can I get for you?" He said, standing up.

Remus couldn't help but notice that one of the two was a looker. 

"Hiya, mister," said the other one, who wore glasses. He managed to smile faintly at Remus, the sorry attempt of which made him feel pity for the boy.

"I think we need two cups of coffee-," he said, looking over to his friend, who was sauntering away to (presumably) find a seat, "and yeah, extra shots for both of them, for sure."

"Prongsie!" The friend yelled, looking over from where he was going. Remus grimaced slightly at the sound.

"I want tea!"

'Prongsie' shouted back.

"And you will get coffee, you lunatic!"

"That'll be Five fifty," said Remus.

The two of them were seated at the table that was in the middle of the café―interesting choice, thought Remus, because why would anyone want to sit somewhere so open when there's so many other choices?―and from the looks of it, one was talking and the other one (with the spectacles) was trying to study. Trying being the key word, here, because it looked like they were seconds before collapsing.

Remus hurriedly took the two cups to the table.

When he came near, they stopped talking. Remus was now close enough to the two of them to realize that yes, the looker was incredibly fit, probably more than anyone he's ever met, and he still had dark circles under his eyes. 

"Oh là là," said the object of his thoughts. He looked Remus up and down. "You're tall."

Remus scoffed. Rude and handsome. How cliché.

"And you're about to die. Drink."

He put the two cups down and went back to his chair. He guessed it was smart of him to not clean the coffee machine too early, because there was always the possibility of having last-minute customers like those two. Good for him, he reckoned. He'd spend the next twenty-something minutes on his crosswords that he hadn't had the time to finish yet, and then he'd be home to Minerva. 

C-O-V-E-T, he filled in for 'another word for desire, often negative connotations'.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. It was 11:49.

Minerva's sleeping and I'm going home said the text, with the picture of a grey tabby cat curled up on the sofa. 

Thanks, Lils, he typed back.

The time was now 11:55, and it was time for Remus to tell his last-minute fellas to leave. He looked over the counter, and saw the two of them slumped over the table, likely sleeping. The coffee didn't do much, then, thought Remus. 

He walked over to them, and confirmed that they were indeed sleeping. For a moment, they were so still that Remus was afraid that they had actually blacked out. Fortunately, the one with the glasses had them steamed at the end as he breathed out.

He wondered why the two of them were so tired. It wasn't exactly exam season, was it?

Remus shook their shoulders. "Lads, wake up."

Nothing.

He did it again, this time with force. 

The two of them slowly blinked their eyes open, and Remus felt bad for them, but he couldn't let them stay any longer.

"I have to close the café," said Remus. "It's almost midnight."

"Yes, yes. Of course. Sorry," said the one with the steamed glasses.

The other one was still half-asleep. He groggily stood up, barely made it to the door as his friend dragged him. The two of them left like that, with their arms around each other for support, like a big congealed lump.

It wasn't the most unusual thing he's ever seen for the five years he's had the café, but certainly not the least.

Remus shook his thoughts away, cleaned the café, and left for home.

Remus owned the café, which meant that he didn't really have a shift, which meant that he had to fill in when one of his employees had an emergency. Today was one of those days. He was a bit piqued at this, not because he minds the work terribly―he rather liked it, actually―but because he failed to find a cat-sitter for Minerva. Lily, who usually cat-sat for him, was in class, since it was an afternoon shift Remus had to substitute for. There was a reason why Remus hired someone for the time.

Regardless, he did not have a choice. Closing the café now would mean he'd lose an important chunk of his earnings, and that can't be good for anyone, including his cat. Besides, Lily said she'll come by an hour earlier today, meaning that Minerva would have to be alone for about five hours. It didn't assuage his mood too much, though. 

People poured in and out, and with Marlene, Remus managed to work through the busiest time any café had: the hour after lunchtime.

The store now was almost empty, with only few sitting on the stools by the window. Remus savoured the serenity that felt so much more precious after what could only be called as, well, insanity.

"Whew," said Marlene, as she wiped her hands on a towel. "We survived another day, brother!"

"And I live to see another sunrise." Remus replied dryly.

Marlene and Remus sat behind the counter on their respective chairs. She was on her laptop, busy. Remus thought of asking her if things were going okay with her fashion website, but did not act on it when he realized that the furrows between her brows were deeper than Lydford’s. So instead, he pulled his own copy of Heart of Darkness out of his inner pocket and resumed where he'd last left off.

"Pads, I'm telling you, that's the best idea yet!"

At the voice, Remus looked up to see two young men pushing the door into his café. He soon realized that they were the exact pair that left him curious last night.

"No objections here. Wormy can snitch the keys," said the other one.

"Coming back soon?" Remus asked as they approached the countertop.

Remus noticed for the third time that one of them was, with no other words so fitting, beautiful. 

His chiseled, sculpted face was adorned with the glossy black hair curled up in a messy bun, with strands of it covering his high cheekbones in ways that Remus suspected were deliberately unruly; and his eyes, a mercurial grey―a colour Remus felt surreal to be anyone's actual eye colour―were deep under his prominent browbones, guarded by long, dark lashes that made them look something straight out of a pencil drawing.

It was quite something, thought Remus, to encounter him.

"Aye, you're back!" 

Remus quirked his brow.

"You're the one who's back," said Remus. "I own here."

"Yeah, pads," said his friend. "Wotcher, mister. We came back soon because we liked the look. Tea?"

Remus decided he didn't hate them.

"Black as my soul," the other answered, solemnly.

Again, it seemed like the paying process was left entirely to the friend. Remus asked them their names, to which they gave 'Prongs,' and 'Padfoot.' They both looked expectant when they gave him those names, as if they knew that others will have to be curious, which was exactly why Remus pretended that he wasn't. But he was. What kind of name is that?

They went off looking slightly disappointed, searching for seats. Remus found that they chose the middle table once again.

"Stunner, that one," said Marlene behind his back. 

Remus flinched.

"No sneaking up, Marls. I'm handling machinery."

The coffee machine was indeed one. She snickered. 

"Why, did I interrupt something, you big gay tree?"

Remus scoffed. "What the hell are you talking about."

"Daydreaming isn't a crime. Especially if you see someone like that," she nudged her head towards the table they just sat.

"Do you fancy him?"

Marlene shrugged. "I might, if he had a pair of boobs under that leather jacket."

He sniffed out a single laugh. Remus did NOT want to think about what was under his clothes.

"What is 'Prongs'?" Marlene asked, picking up their cups. "'Padfoot'?"

"No idea."

"You should ask them. And his number too."

Remus rolled his eyes and ignored her.

"I'm ninety-five percent sure that he's gay. Or at least bisexual."

That made him answer. "How would you know that? You're a lesbian!"

Marlene wiggled her brows. "And lesbians make things happen. Come on, look at those jeans. No straight dude wears something that tight to their arse."

He really was trying hard not to look, thank her very much.

"Cut it off, Marlene," said Remus, pouring a cup of tea and a shot of espresso in the corresponding cups. "Besides the fact that I don't go around asking for numbers, he's young."

"Hmm. What's a couple of years? You don't look that old."

"Ha ha. Will you bring them these?"

She happily took them and went.

Remus watched as she walked towards them, her feet light and rhythmic, and the three of them were soon laughing. He wasn't too surprised. Marlene was talkative, especially when she liked someone.

The look on Padfoot was truly a sight, however. He laughed boisterously, with his eyes crinkling and his mouth wide-open, and looked guileless and innocent. 

Pretty.

Once such acknowledgement passed away, Remus was struck with a pang of envy. It was clear from the boy's accent that he came from a rich background. How different life must have been for him, from someone like Remus? Remus took a glimpse at the mirror near the counter. A big scar ran through the bridge of his nose, white and shaped like a crescent moon. The scar meant more than just an imperfection on his face; it meant his destitute childhood, his unstable mentality that plagues him with nightmares even now, and his low self-esteem, which, from time to time, plummeted without limit.

It really was no use, however, to think in such a way. He dragged his eyes off the mirror and immersed himself into the world of Joseph Conrad.

When Marlene came back and said, "he definitely is gay, and I think he finds you cute," Remus was wholeheartedly and thoroughly, uninterested.

Lily was still at his flat when Remus came home; it was almost thirty to one. Remus knew better than to interrupt her when she was busy, so he quietly checked on Minerva sleeping and took a shower. When he came out, Lily was sprawled across the sofa. It was so unlike Lily, the ever-so-organised intellectual, that Remus had to stifle his laughter at the sight.

“Stop. Laughing.” Lily mumbled.

“I wasn’t.”

“Yes, you were.”

Remus held Lily’s feet and moved them away for him to sit on the sofa. She only grunted in response.

“Are you sleeping here?” Remus asked.

“Mm. Maybe. I don’t know. I don’t know anything.”

“Wow. Should I be worried?”

Lily’s muffled laughter vibrated through the fabric of the sofa. She slowly sat up, revealing an exhausted face.

“Remus, have you ever blamed the TA while you were at uni?”

Remus thought for a moment, and said: “Yes.”

Blaming was not typical of him, but he thinks he did resent one or two TAs. For not accepting his paper when it was thirty seconds after the deadline; or grading his exam in ways he thought was unfathomable; and so on.

She glowered at him. “Never, ever do that ever again.”

“Lily, I graduated seven years ago.”

“Doesn’t matter. Nobody should ever blame the TA, because their workload is crazy, the quality that is required of their work is crazy, and all of that for what? Less than minimum wage. INSANE.”

Remus looked over her to see her laptop and various papers strewn around.

“What’s going on? I’ve never seen you this stressed.”

Lily sighed. “There’s this… kid, in my class, who’s driving me out of my head.”

“How?”

“He’s so arrogant and so lazy.”

“…And?”

“And he’s just submitted a paper that is the best paper that I’ve ever read.”

Ah. He made a sympathetic noise. 

“I’ve tried so hard to find a flaw in it,” said Lily, “I think I’ve reached so far that I might’ve read several papers on Encephalization.”

“En-what?”

“Exactly.”

“Right. And I assume you haven’t find one?”

”Not a single one.” Her sighs were now deeper than before. “I should have passed the papers to the professor by now, but I just couldn’t send this off by itself. I guess I don’t have a choice now, though.”

Remus looked at her ashen face and was confused.

“That’d affect you this much because…? It’s not like you to be so hung up.”

“I know.”

She rest her head on the back of the sofa, and after a beat of silence, she spoke.

“He asked me out.”

Remus was finally getting it.

“And you said no, because he's too narcissistic. But then... he’s not bowing because, as you said, he’s arrogant.”

He took Lily's silence as affirmation and continued.

“You wanted to put him in his place. Make him realize that there are girls that genuinely don't want his attention. Just saying no didn't work, he's a massive idiot."

Lily snorted amusedly.

"So... you were hoping to make objective yet cutting remarks on the paper to teach him a lesson on how much of an idiot he actually is. Not so smart like he apparently thinks of himself."

“Damn, Lupin,” said Lily. “I’m the one holding the Psychology degree.”

Remus smiled wryly. “Well. Literature is about human nature. Anyways, that has been your plan, and it was thwarted, and dare I say from the looks of you, categorically, when you realized that he was brilliant.”

“Not brilliant,” she retorted. “Smarter than his fellow students, sure, but not brilliant.”

“You said it’s the best paper you’ve ever read.”

“…It might be. Okay, whatever. He’s a brilliant arsehole.”

He chuckled under his breath at her sullen tone. She was always the grown-up, no matter that she was five years younger than him; it was amusing to see her in this state.

“Why does brilliant men have to be an arse at the same time?”

“That is the question,” replied Remus, somberly.

“To be an arse or not to be an arse.”

“Indeed.”

The two of them rested without words, shoulders leaning on each other. He let his thoughts wander to the two students he’s seen in the afternoon. Well, who was he to fool? He was thinking about one of them. Clear grey eyes that crinkled beautifully under the seeping sunlight. Remus had seen photos of celebrities. He knew that there were people who looked like Greek statues. He knew they were real. But what about the boy was it that he kept thinking was unreal? What about him was it that gave Remus the undeniable impression that he had a soul that was so different?

He’d never admit this to Marlene, but he did take a look at his outfit when he left with his friend; leather jacket, tight dark jeans and doc martens. It was quintessential bad boy fashion. Had there something been more abused by young boys in the history of fashion? To be fair, he wouldn’t know. But he was certain that it was the epitome of cliché. It was the opposite of what Remus was typically attracted to. His inclination was towards the more natural, laid-back style that Marlene often called ‘light academia.’

Remus could almost already see what the boy was like as a person. Privileged in every way, he must’ve never faced a single obstacle in his life; to him, the world must have always been his oyster; his leather jackets and doc martens were his choice of style because looking like how he did, he must have never met anyone who laughed at him for trying too hard. The face he made when he laughed to Marlene’s jokes; that must’ve been his attitude towards life. Guileless, innocent, open, while being completely unaware of the fact that being able to have such an attitude is the biggest privilege anyone can ever have.

“I’m sleeping here,” declared Lily, suddenly. 

Remus blinked out of his thoughts. “I’ll get you a pillow.”

“That you should.”

Then she stretched like Minerva would.

Mary wanted to catch up, so they were having dinner in an hour. Before that, he decided to check out the new bookstore near his flat: F&B.

What it stood for, he had no idea. Maybe the owners' names? It was a corner shop at an auburn-bricked, Victorian style building. He pulled the glass door open and was surprised to see a store that was quite spacious. A woman behind the counter welcomed him in a subdued voice, and the whole place smelled of Remus' favourite scent: the smell of books. It lifted his moods in seconds.

He strolled towards the section named 'Humanities,' which was the largest. It’d be another factor that Remus was putting on the favorable sides of this store. 

English literature was huge. He skimmed through the poetry section. His love for poetry was short-lived, only in his early twenties. He doesn’t understand what exactly happened for him to move away from poetry and into the world of novels. But it did happen, and now, names like Keats and Lord Byron were nostalgic to him, but nothing more. He suspected it had to do with the fact that novels always made him calmer, more down-to-earth, more stable. 

The novel section was definitely what made the whole section take up so much space. Putting the poetry section behind him, he rummaged through the novels in anticipation.

He took his time at F&B, and was fifteen minutes late. He moved his disproportionately gangly legs as fast as he could, and found Mary already waiting in the restaurant, waving at him with a huge grin.

"Hey, sorry I'm late."

He hastily put his bag down―yes, he did yield to his inner bookworm and purchased two books that he definitely didn't need―and managed to stub his toe against the table leg. 

"Ow!"

Mary giggled. 

"Calm down, you ginormous human."

The food was out quickly, fortunately. Remus was feeling particularly voracious. 

The two of them talked. Mostly Mary. Remus liked listening. Mary talked about the weekend she’d spent in Malta with her boyfriend Alex. The way she regaled her tales with was a bit vulgar, as she deemed indecency a window to Reality. Remus attended to her affectionately. He believed that Mary would have been a sure match for D.H.Lawrence had he been alive.

“And the way the bed bounced at that―Remus, you should seriously try that, although I don’t know if you’d like a penis in such a place―”

He shut his eyes tight as if he could unsee the visual image just procured at her words. “Nope.”

She laughed.

They were down to dessert when Mary brought up the subject of Chris. Chris, a single gay friend of Alex.

“He is your type!” Mary exclaimed.

”What do you think my type is?”

"Tall, bookish, reserved, basically your twin."

"Th- well, not twin, but-"

"Am I wrong?"

"Similarity has been proven to be the key factor in attraction―"

"Yes, add 'show-off' in the mix. I left that out, my bad."

He scoffed, but knew better than to deny it. He supposed he liked people alike him. Did that say something about him? He did not want to go down that road.

“He’s ginger, though,” said Mary. “I think that’s about the only difference between you two.”

“I don’t know if that’s a good thing. If we look too similar―”

“Similarity has been proven to be the key factor―”

Remus chuckled under his breath. “Jesus Christ, Mary.”

She grinned ear to ear, looking pleased that she’d rendered Remus retort-less with his own words.

She showed him pictures, and Remus did confirm that they looked similar. The differences were: he was wearing glasses, he was ginger, and his face was scar-less. Chris had kind eyes, he supposed, and overall, looked very decent.

“And he did say he was interested in meeting me?” Remus asked.

“Yes.”

“What did you tell him?”

“That you are a tall glass of water wrapped in complicated thoughts too good for your own good.” 

Remus laughed dryly. 

“He’s okay, innit? He’s teaching English Lit. at secondary, by the way.”

His eyes widened. “And you did not think of mentioning this the second you told me his name?”

Blithely, she responded: “Oops.”

She then further informed him of the fact that he was Irish; Remus could already imagine what they could talk about. James Joyce for sure, Samuel Beckett if it was his thing.

“So, you in?”

He contemplated. He was not looking for anyone to date, not now, but it wouldn’t hurt to just meet up and see how it pans out.

He gave her an affirmative nod. She happily obliged, and texted Alex Remus’ number. 

Walking back to his flat from dinner with Mary, Remus saw F&B still open.

He had some rows of recent books that he'd missed because of his dinner plans. It was late, though. He could always come back tomorrow. But why not now? A quick scan and he'd be set for the next few weeks for books. He gave in, opened the door to the store. The same woman gave him a perfunctory nod to which he returned in kind; he was then headed straight to the novels.

As he walked towards, however, he noticed that things were a bit different from just hours before. For starters, there was a big lump of… something, in front of the poetry division. As he approached closer, he realized that it was a lump of someone, long, slender limbs in a jumbled mess. Shoes and clothes looked expensive, so it probably wasn't a homelessman taking shelter. 

He looked around. There was no one in the store other than the woman behind the counter. Should he let her know? 

The lump moaned, as if in pain. Remus instinctively crouched and asked if they were okay.

“Mmw’hat?” 

Oh.

Surprisingly, it was Padfoot.

Remus stared at him, as it was becoming quite the habit whenever he encountered him. It's been about two weeks since he'd last seen him in his café. And Remus certainly didn't expect their next reunion would be in a bookshop.

It was clear that Padfoot's been crying; his face was smeared with tear stains; strands of his hair sticking to his cheeks, his eyes rimmed red and his aristocratic nose tinged at the end with crimson. Cloudy eyes regarded Remus under long, dark eyebrows, vacantly staring. His head was hung in the air, gradually tilting towards the floor as though it was too heavy for his neck to hold it up. A whiff of alcohol from his breath suggested that he was drunk. Very much so.

"What are you doing here?" Remus asked.

Without answering, Padfoot shrugged, and closed his eyes. He looked like he was an inch to falling asleep.

Remus wondered what he should do. He looked back at the clerk once again. She was still mesmerized by whatever was on her monitor. If he reported her of Padfoot, would she just kick him out? The weather was pretty chilly out there, and if she did throw him out, Remus would probably follow him and help him anyways. Better to do this inside than outside, then.

He reached for the young brunet's jacket, looking for his phone. Padfoot huffed out silent tiny giggles as Remus' fingertips brushed past his body in the process. He probably wouldn't have done this if this was an utter stranger, thought Remus. He was doing this because he was somehow feeling a bit responsible, because Padfoot was, to mildly overstate it, his acquaintance, or something like that. He steadfastly ignored the thought that he was probably over-convincing himself and that was telling something.

No phone was found in the jacket. Remus saw a protruding object from his back pocket. Padfoot was essentially sitting on his phone. He sighed.

"Do you have a phone?" He asked, not wanting to accidentally grope his arse.

Padfoot opened his eyes again, and off his clear grey eyes, Remus could see spots of reflections of the store's incandescent light.

'PHONE,' mouthed Remus, as he made a receiver sign with his right hand and put it near his ear.

With an acknowledging noise that came out something like 'A-aw,' Padfoot wiggled a phone out of his back pocket and handed it to Remus. 

It was a Blackberry, battered to the point where even Remus would consider throwing away. And he was called frugal by people like Lily so it was saying something. It struck Remus as odd. He thought Padfoot was rich, because of how expensive his whole attire looked and of his immaculate Queen's English that screamed public school. Maybe this was part of his grunge style? 

Remus could also see that Padfoot was not someone worried about his phone security. There was no password, not even a pattern. As soon as he turned it on, he saw a picture of―Prongs, Remus remembered after a second―on the background with his mouth covered in what had to be play-doh or Remus didn't want to know. There were also fifteen missed calls from:

"Jamie?"

Padfoot mumbled something unintelligible in acknowledgement.

Remus pushed the call button on 'Jamie.' It took two rings before it was answered.

"Sirius?" Oh, and it was loud. Remus winced and pulled away. "Where the fuck are you?!" 

"Are you Sirius?" Remus took the phone away from his ear and asked Padfoot, who was now watching him amusedly, the tip of his mouth in a loose grin. He was answered with a nod. 

The other side of the phone was still vomiting words. He took the phone back to his ear.

"Hi, I'm, er..." Remus started.

What was he supposed to say? A bookshop fanatic who just couldn't pass by a new bookstore in eleven p.m. on a Wednesday night which led him to answering strangers' phones?

"I'm Remus Lupin," he said. "I'm just, er, I just found him. He's drunk."

The phone suddenly turned silent.

"Hello?"

"...Sirius? What the fuck are you pulling on me?"

Apparently 'Sirius' Padfoot was as mischievous as Remus' luck.

"Knock it off, Pads. Whatever poor soul you're holding, just let them go, come home, it's late. I know you're upset about Reg, mate, let's have some coco and talk, huh?"

Remus sighed. "He's really drunk. I'm in a bookstore."

"Bookstore?"

That somehow convinced Jamie that this was not a hoax.

"Yes, I'm in F&B, that's a new bookstore just opened in Hogsmeade?"

Jamie, when determined, was very efficient. He understood Remus' disorganized directions at once and implored him to stay with Sirius so that he "wouldn't do anything stupid" until he arrived. Remus didn't think Sirius was going to do anything stupid―the lad showed no signs of distress other than his tear-stained face, he didn't look so depressed, he looked rather like he was enjoying himself―but he agreed. It'd be better if he finished what he'd started. 

Jamie had told him that his eta was 15 minutes. Remus sat down. The carpet mitigated the cold concrete underneath.

He leaned his back against the bookstand. 

"Jamie's coming," said Remus.

Sirius gave him a lopsided, drowsy grin. "I heard."

Silence.

Remus wondered if he should talk.

"Sirius the star, or Serious the adjective?"

It turned out that his mouth decided to move without his will.

Sirius sheepishly smiled again. Remus noticed how docile he looked. His left cheek had the faintest dimple when he smiled.

"'knew you were an ast... stronomy nerd," he murmured. "Your café has the weirdest name." 

Remus felt like he as blushing. Was he? He was also surprised at Sirius remembering him in his state.

"It's the star, then?"

"Of c'rse it's the starrr," said Sirius, slurring on 'r'. "Seriously, Lupin."

Remus watched him in shock. Then he remembered telling his name to the phone.

"Lupin, lupine... wolf."

"Public schools teach Latin, then," said Remus, not too surprsied.

"Mm," said Sirius in acknowledgement. "And parents."

"Parents?"

Sirius nodded. He met Remus' eyes. For a moment, Sirius looked incredibly sad and exhausted. Remus wondered what it was, wondered if he'd said something wrong or if Sirius was just tired. The look was gone before he could figure it out.

Sirius was now back to his semi-conscious state.

He put his head between his knees and his whole body staggered towards the floor. Remus caught his knees before they collapsed. 

Remus let Sirius' body rest on his side. He was warm probably due to the alcohol. Remus didn't mind it. The young brunet did smell like vodka, though, which made him scrunch his nose.

He was reading Such a Fun Age with his right hand and keeping Sirius still by his side with his left when a shadow loomed over him.

"Sirius?"

Remus looked up. It was Prongs. The spectacled friend. So this was Jamie, realized Remus, and he felt like he finished a puzzle.

"You're Remus Lupin?" He asked, incredulously.

Prongs, or Jamie, was catching his breath; he must've ran. Remus also noticed that his hair was even messier than before. When he first saw him weeks ago, he thought the boy's hair was like that only because he was pulling an all-nighter. It was either that Prongs was having another sleepless night, or his hair was just cursed.

"Yes, um, you're Jamie?" Remus asked.

"Jam- yeah. Well." Jamie huffed in surprise, but soon seemed convinced.

"Sure. Jamie. We've met, right?"

Remus nodded. "Sirius's asleep."

Jamie sighed. "I can see that."

"Let's go, sleepyhead. Up you go." He pulled Sirius' arms and stood him up. 

Sirius mumbled words of futile resistance as his friend draped his arms around his shoulder. Sirius stumbled heavily. It seemed clear that he was unable to stand upright.

Jamie cursed. "Christ, pads! How much did you drink? Oi Remus, help me out here, will you?"

Remus maneuvered Sirius' deadweight over Jamie's back, and soon, Prongs was carrying his friend on his back. Sirius' face rested on his side, and his eyes were now tightly shut; long lashes created uniform shadows over his cheeks, moving up and down as he breathed quietly.

"Remus?"

He hastily looked at James, sincerely hoping that he hasn't noticed Remus staring.

"Thanks for calling," said Jamie. "Or, uh. Would you prefer Mr. Lupin?"

Remus snorted. "Remus is fine."

He was suddenly reminded of how much older he was to these boys.

"Remus, great," said Jamie as he grinned as big as anyone could with a deadbeat drunkard on his back. "I promise, we'll thank you properly at the café, yeah?"

"No problem," said Remus, shaking his head. "Anyone would've done the same."

"I don't think so," said Jamie. "Jesus!" He cried as he turned his head to speak to his friend. "You'd better not be drooling, I swear to god!"

Remus watched until the two of them left the store and was out of his sight.

Perusing the shelves didn't feel as intriguing as it was before. He stayed for a couple of minutes, confirmed his loss of interest, and finally headed home.