#i keep editing this rip me i'm so bad at tumblr formatting

[indigoforiver]

I wrote a fic for @garashirweek day 7 (AUs)! You can find it here on ao3, or read down below! Apologies in advance for the uh liberties I’ve taken with canon, but it had to be done for the human AU to work.

Title: Anyone Who Knew Anything

Rating: Gen

Summary: Anyone who was at all familiar with Fontaine’s Cafe recognized Doctor Julian Bashir and his lunch companion, Mr. Elim Garak- their regular literature debates are the main draw of business to Fontaine’s over the middle of the day. The hidden truths of their relationship, too, are well-known to those who watch them.

i. a most interesting new friend

Though he’d only been practicing medicine in the area for four months, anyone who knew anything about Fontaine’s Cafe recognized Doctor Julian Bashir. He came in for lunch there nearly every day of the week, unless a pressing medical emergency barred him, and everyone had the dubious pleasure of talking with him at least once. The man was gregarious, with a sunny smile and awkward charm, but he was plagued by an inability to ever, ever shut up that was amusing at best and mildly abrasive at worst. Despite that, Dr. Bashir was cautiously well-liked by Fontaine’s lunch crowd. That was why, when Elim Garak stepped into the cafe, glanced around briefly, and then made a beeline for the doctor, a startled and rather concerned hush fell over all assembled.

Anyone who knew anything about Fontaine’s also knew of Elim Garak. He was a tailor, owned a shop across the road, and his wares were top-notch. But nobody trusted him. His movements were just a little too smooth and his mind was a little too clever for him to just be a tailor like he always insisted, and conversation with him felt like a battle that he always won. Rumor had it the man was from Cardassia, though his accent would never give it away, and if you caught the barkeep at just the right time she’d tell you that rumor also had it that he couldn’t go back. Everyone in the know gave him a wide berth, just in case, though nobody had bothered to warn the doctor to do the same. Sometimes talking to the doctor was difficult, as politeness seemed to fly completely over his head, and nobody wanted to be caught gossiping about the tailor, just in case. Garak never visited Fontaine’s during the lunch hour, anyway, so why bother?

The restaurant watched, near silent, as the tailor approached the doctor. On his part, Bashir was completely unaware, engrossed in a massive old book with a faded cover that nobody in Fontaine’s could recognize from a hole in the wall. The doctor’s literature habit was the only thing that could ever get him to stop talking, and the lunch crowd usually was grateful to see the doctor arrive with a book tucked under his arm. His favorites weren’t always in the mood for conversation, but saying no to him was difficult. “Like kicking a puppy,” everyone agreed.

Garak stopped next to the doctor’s table and stared down at him. He seemed to have forgotten his food in favor of reading- Bashir’s customary sandwich, ham and cheddar on wheat, sat on a plate pushed off to the side with only one bite missing, and his glass of iced tea was untouched and sweating condensation across the table.

He read on, oblivious, and Garak quirked a brow. “Excuse me,” he said, mild, and the doctor damn near jumped out of his skin.

All around the restaurant, patrons stifled their amusement as the doctor blinked in confusion and swung his gaze around to Garak, whose smirk could be mistaken for a smile. “Oh dear me. I do hope I’m not disturbing you overmuch.”

The doctor searched uselessly for something to say and, after a long moment of opening and closing his mouth, gave up. It was the first time anyone in Fontaine’s had ever seen him lost for words.

“I couldn’t help but notice,” the tailor continued, politely ignoring the doctor’s floundering, “that you enjoy classic literature, much like myself.” Then he paused for a moment and gasped, eyes comically wide. “Where are my manners? I am-”

“Mr. Garak,” Dr. Bashir interrupted, eager to finally get a word in. “I’ve heard of you- your clothes are quite good, if anyone trusts you enough to step foot in your shop.”

Sharp inhales and murmurs of dismay echoed around the restaurant, though nobody groaned louder at the tactless statement than the doctor himself. He slapped a hand over his mouth and shook his head, immediately apologetic, and everyone could see him flushing behind his hands. Luckily, the tailor didn’t appear to be offended, as he simply chuckled and took a seat in the chair across the table from the doctor. The contrast between them was striking- the doctor, wearing rumpled scrubs and sprawled over his chair, and the prim and proper tailor, sitting neatly upright.

“I see my reputation precedes me. But I am a simple tailor, nothing more.” Then Garak gestured to the book that sat open on the table. “Tell me, doctor, what is your opinion of the narrator’s preference for the color blue?”

Dr. Bashir, and indeed everyone in Fontaine’s, blinked in confusion. But the doctor rallied, rambling for nearly five minutes about the book that nobody else in the restaurant had ever heard of.

Then Garak raised a brow and demolished the doctor’s analysis in three neat sentences.

The doctor’s jaw dropped, face the absolute image of outrage. “Now you see here, Mr. Garak!” he protested, and they spent the next three quarters of an hour embroiled in a passionate argument over the book on the table as the rest of the cafe looked on in a potent mixture of abject confusion and extreme interest. The two of them left together, still bickering, and as soon as the doors swung shut behind them the restaurant burst into a flurry of conversation.

ii. waiting games

Before anyone knew it, the doctor and the tailor had established a pattern. Once a week they met for lunch and discussed literature, though their discussions really were mostly arguments. The rest of the usual crowd at Fontaine’s established a pattern too- one of observation. Something in the tailor seemed to loosen, just a little, when he was with the doctor, and somehow the doctor’s roughest edges were blunted by the tailor. They sat at their favorite table, in the warm glow of the sun, and argued, blind to the watchful eyes and ears of the restaurant. Occasionally Bashir was detained by his patients and arrived late or not at all, interrupting his own routine, and the tailor’s analysis was particularly cutting those days, displeasure plain to those accustomed to looking.

Rumors spread, like always, but nobody knew anything conclusive. Despite the emotions that flitted constantly across the doctor’s face, he was remarkably difficult to read properly, and it seemed nobody but the doctor himself could even begin to comprehend Mr. Garak.

Someone suggested that maybe that was evidence enough, but he was quickly shushed by the rest of the lunch crowd. They would all know it when they saw it, but not a second before then.

iii. sunshine

Dr. Bashir was a perpetual optimist, always seeing the best in characters and their motives and arguing doggedly for happy, or at least hopeful, endings. Mr. Garak, by contrast, was only ever able to see gloom and doom in the novels he and his lunch companion read.

“My dear doctor,” he would say, and the barkeep would add a mark to the official tally. “You are entirely too generous.”

“My dear Mr. Garak,” Bashir would rebut, smile shining in the summer sun, and up crept the tally again. “You’re far too much a miser. But don’t worry- I can change that.”

iv. close encounters

“I must confess,” said Garak, like the words were being pulled from him beyond his control, “I find myself agreeing- this tale does, indeed, end well for the leading lady and her suitor.”

Bashir beamed and reached across the table for Garak’s hand, and to everyone’s shock, the tailor actually allowed it.

v. shadows

The next week, Garak waited nearly three hours for Bashir to arrive, and the furrow between his brows grew deeper and deeper as each minute passed. The light of the sun, which usually fell evenly over their regular table, had completely abandoned Garak by the time he gave up and stormed back to his tailoring shop.

He left his book behind.

vi. dashed

The barkeep scooped up the book for safekeeping in the lost and found behind the bar. Curious, she flipped through the novel, just to see if she could understand or even enjoy the dense literature the doctor and tailor argued over so passionately.

“Oh no,” she breathed. Page after page was annotated in Garak’s spidery hand, pointing out symbols of hope. The final annotation, a particularly long paragraph at the end of the last page of the novel, was scribbled out with dark black ink, as if it had personally offended the tailor with its mere existence, and the barkeep couldn’t help but wonder at the dashed possibilities.

vii. do no harm

Rumor at Fontaine’s had it that Dr. Bashir had lost a patient that day, and that was what kept him from meeting Garak. The barkeep shook her head sadly. When questioned why, she said, “He may have lost far more than that.”

viii. a matter of time

It was a long, long time before either the doctor or the tailor came back to the restaurant.

Fortunately for business, and for each other, they did come back. Eventually.

ix. last call

The lunch crowd had to grudgingly admit they liked Doctor Bashir more than anticipated when his presence during the midday meal was actually missed. Fontaine’s seemed too empty and quiet without the doctor’s perpetual babbling, and of course, some of the appeal of lunch was gone now that his arguments with the tailor had ceased. Everyone was worried about him, and none moreso than the doctor’s favorites. Gradually, slowly, they hatched a plan to coax the man back.

When Bashir returned to Fontaine’s, it was nighttime, and for the first time in the restaurant’s memory, the man wasn’t wearing scrubs or a white doctor’s coat. His off-duty clothes were well-worn and several years out of style, and the brittle expression on his usually smiling face didn’t vanish until he’d played three rounds of darts and drank two brightly-colored cocktails. Even then, everyone could tell that his good mood wouldn’t last. When his favorites- his friends- eventually had to return home to their families and happiness, the doctor remained behind until last call, sitting beneath a flickering hanging light at the bar with his head in his hands.

x. bashir, alone

After that, the doctor drifted back to lunches, like his presence in Fontaine’s was inevitable. Nobody dared ask about the tailor, for risk of offending him or upsetting him, and he was quieter and more rumpled than usual, sad lines worn around the corners of his mouth when he thought nobody was looking and a wistful quality to his voice in quieter moments. He begun haunting a different table, hidden away out of sight from where he used to sit with Garak, but his new corner seat was still illuminated by the sun.

xi. concerning garak

The restaurant had been able to convince Bashir to return, but they couldn’t say the same for Mr. Garak. Nobody even knew if the tailor was still in town until the barkeep bravely ventured to the man’s shop and caught sight of him sewing in front of a window. He wasn’t trusted, not really, but his friendship with the doctor had improved his standing with the lunch crowd enough that even his harshest critics couldn’t help but feel a bit sorry for him. After all, Bashir had been the man’s only friend, and if he really was an exile, as rumor suggested, then he’d lost everything a second time. So when he finally emerged from hiding and came to Fontaine’s one midmorning, ordering a tea drink no one remembered him ordering before, well, was it any surprise that everyone had something to say about it? It was eventually agreed that Garak came back more polished, sharper than he’d ever been, dark hair slicked back and pale blue eyes filled with vicious mockery whenever anyone so much as thought of approaching him, and he gave lunch and therefore Doctor Bashir a wide berth. But Bashir kept odd hours, and avoiding lunch was no real guarantee of also avoiding the doctor.

The usual easy flow of conversation stuttered to a momentary stop when the door opened on one overcast fall day to reveal the doctor, scrambling in later than usual. Garak, sitting at the bar and poking at a garden salad, stiffened ever so slightly, and otherwise gave no indication of acknowledging the doctor’s presence. Bashir ordered the first thing off the lunch menu and spent his whole meal staring at Garak’s back with big wounded eyes, completely oblivious to the rest of the restaurant.

Once the doctor and the tailor had gone, the cafe burst into speculative conversation. Surely, the consensus went, the tailor would never come back, now that he’d encountered the doctor.

The lunch crowd had never been more wrong, or more glad to be.

xii. fall

Though Doctor Bashir and Mr. Garak had returned to their old table and literature discussions, it was obvious to everyone in the know that things were not the same. The doctor stammered more, backpedaling and giving in far too easily when Garak pushed him, and the tailor was far too cutting and cruel to truly enjoy discussion for its own sake. The changing fall weather didn’t help either. Cloudy days cast long and heavy shadows across the table, adding weight to every awkward and frosty silence that would’ve before been filled by easy conversation.

Behind the bar, the tally board was dusty and neglected from lack of use, and every bet over the date of the next appearance of the elusive endearment ‘my dear’ fell through without success. The patrons, discontent, looked helplessly to the bartender for some plan of action, but she shook her head. They’d done all they could. The rest, now, was up to the doctor and the tailor.

xiii. handle with care

“I think the flocks of birds the author describes in the last third of the novel represent faith,” Dr. Bashir argued.

Garak rolled his eyes and scoffed. He was particularly prickly these days, and needed careful handling that not even the kind doctor could always provide. “Doctor, you are an optimist. Those birds represent faith disappearing- they do fly away, do they not?”

The restaurant, breath bated, froze in anticipation of the doctor’s response.

Bashir was undeterred by his companion’s bad attitude, and he offered the tailor a regretful smile. “Just because we don’t see faith doesn’t mean it isn’t there.”

Garak had a lot to say about that, but the doctor could not be swayed.

xiv. found

“I believe,” said Garak to the barkeep, during one of his early morning visits, “I left a book here, quite a while ago. Could you check for it?”

The barkeep nodded and headed into the back office, lingering a moment to pretend to search for the book she knew sat in a place of honor in the cafe’s lost and found, before picking the novel up reverently and returning it to the man waiting patiently at the bar.

The tailor gave her a peculiar little nod of his head and set off for his shop, book clutched tightly to his chest.

xv. know it when you see it

Anyone who was at all familiar with Fontaine’s Cafe recognized Doctor Julian Bashir and his lunch companion, Mr. Elim Garak- they had been a fixture of the cafe’s lunch hour for ages, and were indeed perhaps the main draw of business to Fontaine’s over the middle of the day.

“- really now, you can’t possibly be saying the ships symbolize the end of the world!” Dr. Bashir protested, hands waving wildly. Mr. Garak, in contrast, was perfectly cool and collected as usual, observing his lunch companion with the faintest hint of a smirk.

“My dear doctor,” Garak started, and all of the restaurant inhaled. Under tables, coins and bills and IOUs changed hands, and the barkeep incremented the official tally, but Dr. Bashir and Mr. Garak continued their discussion, oblivious. They always were. “If you would simply place your antiquated notions of literature aside and take advantage of a broader perspective, you would easily see the true meaning of those ships as simply apocalyptic.”

Dr. Bashir scowled, though the almighty mess he made of his fluffy hair ruined the effect. “My perspective is plenty broad, although I couldn’t say the same of yours.” He settled back in his seat, taking an aggressive bite of his sandwich- turkey and swiss on rye.

Garak quirked a brow and leaned forward. “Oh?” he challenged.

Bashir swallowed hard and slammed his sandwich down. Turkey spilled out between slices of bread as the doctor mirrored his companion’s posture, save for his elbows on the table. “Yes,” he insisted, meeting Garak’s eyes without blinking.

A hush fell over the cafe. At the bar, the barkeep quickly and efficiently took bets. She had her routine down to a science by now, after much practice.

“Do enlighten me.”

Bashir grinned, hazel eyes sparking with fire. “From the very first chapter,” he began, and he proceeded to lose every spectator in the cafe. None of them, of course, had read the book that was being discussed- that wasn’t the draw. The draw was the life present in the youthful doctor, the thrill of the collected and private tailor Garak losing any of his poise and mystique, and, of course, the illicit bets. It was rumored that one of Dr. Bashir’s friends had made thousands of dollars from predicting the outcome of the literary arguments, though of course the honorable barkeep would never confirm or deny such a thing.

At his table, the doctor reached the final pitch of his argument. “So you see, my dear Mr. Garak-” again, money exchanged hands under tables all around the restaurant, and the official tally was updated- “those ships don’t represent the end of the world. They represent a beginning.” The doctor searched for any hint of emotion in the tailor’s face, but he seemed to be unmoved. Bashir’s eyes squeezed closed, and when he finally opened them again they glimmered with tears in the tentative rays of unseasonable sunshine. “Elim, those ships represent hope.”

Never before had the cafe been so silent. Nobody who knew anything so much as dared to breathe out of turn as slowly, ever so slowly, the tailor brought his hand forward to rest atop the doctor’s. “Julian,” he murmured, with the faintest hint of a genuine smile, and when the doctor sighed in relief and victory, the rest of the cafe sighed with him.

Gradually, the soft clinking of dishes and the hum of conversation returned to the restaurant. Bashir and Garak continued their lunch as Julian and Elim, and anyone who knew anything about Fontaine’s could tell you exactly why.

[embrassemoi]

when ur sober ☽ R.L

MARAUDERS MODERN TEXTING AU:

Remus felt his heart pound in his chest and he wondered briefly if he was going to faint. Those words he’d been desperate to hear finally happened. But she was drunk. The ringing in his ears intensified and in a panic, he hung up the phone; shakily texting back: call me when ur sober.

NAVIGATION ☽ MASTERLIST ☽ AO3

PAIRINGS: Remus Lupin x F!Reader ft. Jily, Dorlene

WORD COUNT: 3.8k

CONTENT: Fluff, swearing, sexual jokes, blink and you’ll miss the angst, love confessions, brief mention of food, cringe lol

NOTES: I'm a firm believer that Remus would've loved 'the real slim shady.’ Also, lowkey badly written but I’m too lazy to go back and rewrite

USERNAME GUIDE:

Remus — my moony Sirius — padfoot Peter — peeps James — evan’s bitch Lily — petals Marlene — marling Dorcas — meadowes in meadows Y/N — me (for her POVs (for Remus it’s: sunshine)) Me — refers to the owner of the cell who’s texting 

EDIT: there's something wrong with the formatting but Tumblr keeps glitching out so I can't fix it. I apologize

[Besties]

7:45 PM

petals: are we still going out tonight?

padfoot: ofc. don’t back out now

petals: i’m not

my moony: can’t. i got an upcoming exam

my moony: gotta study

padfoot: BUT REMUSSSSSSS!

evan’s bitch: gonna be late. need to finish something up at work but i’m driving everyone home. pretty sure pete can’t either

peeps: made plans with my s/o. another time?

padfoot: what happened to the MARAUDERS???

(padfoot removed peeps from Besties)

petals: ...

petals: damn. didn’t give him a chance

my moony: ruthless.

my moony: wait

my moony: sirius. don’t you fucking dare

(padfoot removed my moony from Besties)

(padfoot changed the group name from Besties to bad bitches ONLY)

━━━━━━༻☽༺━━━━━━

[my moony]

7:50 PM

my moony: he’s insufferable

my moony: can you add me back

me: lol

me: no

my moony: 0:

━━━━━━༻☽༺━━━━━━

[bad bitches ONLY]

7:51 PM

me: GET THEM SNUFFLES

marlings: LMFAOOO NO

marlings: IM FUCKING CRYINGG

evan’s bitch: WAIT

evan’s bitch: LET ME MAKE MY CASE

evan’s bitch: i’m the driver! u can’t kick me unless u want to walk home

me: valid point

meadowes in meadows: i agree

petals: still remove him

evan’s bitch: >:(

padfoot: kinda wanna add remus back

padfoot: he’s going to beat the shit out of me

petals: dramatic much

me: tough luck buddy

evan’s bitch: rip. getaway driver?

meadowes in meadows: wait where r we going??

marling: pub?

padfoot: pub

me: we should go to the one in diagon alley

padfoot: !!!

padfoot: good idea! It’s close

━━━━━━༻☽༺━━━━━━

[padfoot]

8:04 PM

padfoot: babes

padfoot: darling

padfoot: send me a pic of ur outfit for tonight

padfoot: wanna match

me: [sent image]

padfoot: OMFG UR GOING TO LOOK HOT

padfoot: AS FUCK

me: hot as fuck together*

padfoot: is ur bf coming?

me: he’s not my bf

padfoot: moony is literally in love with u. idk why ur not jumping each others' bones yet

me: u don’t know that

me: he’s just friendly

padfoot: …

me: shut the fuck up

me: ANYWAYYYY

━━━━━━༻☽༺━━━━━━

[bad bitches ONLY]

8:09 PM

petals: does 9 sound good?

marling: peffffecttttt

me: yup yup

evan’s bitch: i’m off work around 9 30. I’ll meet you guys there

meadowes in meadows: thanks mama james

meadowes in meadows: everyone say thank you to james

me: thxs bambi

petals: eh. thanks

evan’s bitch: whatever you want my beautiful flower

marling: thankkkk youuu

padfoot: 2/4 marauders bonding time!

━━━━━━༻☽༺━━━━━━

[petals]

8:13 PM

petals: did you want to spend the night at my place?

petals: james is offering and it’s been so long

me: sure. of course!!!

me: are my clothes still there?

petals: washed and folded

me: k. def then

Locking her home screen, she tossed her phone to the side, getting up to walk over to Remus in their shared apartment. She made her way soundlessly as he tirelessly worked away at his study notes.

“Hey.” She rubbed a supportive hand up and down his back. “Do you need anything?”

He sighed, finally putting down his pencil to look up at her.

Green eyes had never been so alluring.

“Fuckin’ tired,” he says, pulling off his glasses. “A hug would be nice though..?”

She smiles, gladly wrapping her arms around Remus, his head dropping into the crook of her neck. Her fingers dance with the honey auburn curls on the nape of his neck while his hands wrap around her waist; little ghosts of touch and brushes of fingers. Even his slightest touch flooded her veins with extremities, as she’d just been touched with livewire.

His presence cast a protective bubble over her, safe from the distress that life often brings. With him, she felt a strength and stability she didn’t know she was lacking. And being with him, she felt so loved, despite all her acknowledged imperfections. The happiness of being understood and cared for despite the voluminous flaws was comforting.

Loving Remus is calm. Joyful. Peaceful and sturdy.

Her heart clenched, wondering if he felt the same.

She was the one that pulled away. “I wish you could come tonight.”

“Mmhm. Me too.”

“If you want, I can stay to help out.”

But Remus was unrelenting as he shook his head. “Have fun, you deserve it.”

“And not my little Moony?” She jokes.

“Little Moony?” His lip quirks up, a small blush settling on his face. And every time he laughs, it is even more dazzling than the last. A victory is written in every bone at the sound.

And she saves it to auditory memory.

“If you don’t need anything else, I’m gonna get ready.”

He simply nodded his head, sinking into his chair to return to studying.

“I’m staying at Lily’s tonight!” She calls out, only to have Remus shout back in acknowledgment.

In record time, she managed to get in the shower, dry, slip on a beautiful dress and put on her makeup. She shoved her phone into her bag, heels in one hand while heading to the living room, surprised to find Remus not studying, but in the kitchen.

He was dancing a little, shuffling around as the soft playing of music encircled them.

“What are you making?” She questions. Remus’ head snaps up. And the way he looks at her, gaze scorching her skin, maybe she thinks, maybe he does feel something too.

He forcibly coughs, gaze lingering on her a beat before forcing himself to stare at the ground. “Sauce — y’know James’ spaghetti recipe. Ugh  — you look okay.”

“Okay?” She mused, stalking up beside him, staring at the fresh oregano he put into the tomato sauce. “Just okay?”

He squirms a little in his spot. “You’re humble, aren’t you?”

She laughs and Remus relaxes.

“Be my taste tester?” Gesturing to the food in front.

Brow raised, she agrees as he brings the wooden spoon to her lips. Her eyes never leaving his.

“Mmhm.” The sauce is sublime, so much so that she has to close her eyes to take in the richness of flavour. When she opens them again, Remus is staring down at her lips, eyes flashing a brilliant gold in the midst of his green hues. “That’s good.”

He pulls the spoon away,

And then a moment later, his brows raise. “Oh, you got a bit on your mouth just —”

The pad of his thumb brushes softly against her lower lip, wiping away the excess tomato sauce before he rips back his hand. Surprise written on his face and no doubt, hers too.

There was always that air of flirtatiousness, both always pushing boundaries.

“Okay!” She exclaims, nearly jumping back while he pulls away, coughing. “I better head out.”

“Y-yeah. Right!” Remus adds too quickly, forcing his head down to start cutting up vegetables speedily. “Um — text me when you get there and when you leave.”

“Sure! Bye!”

She stumbles out, feeling her skin ablaze as she shoves on her shoes, practically sprinting out the door.

What the fuck was that?

The cool air did nothing to chill the burning of her skin as October wore on. The crunching of freshly fallen leaves were crushed under each step. Only the buzzing of her phone seemed to snap her out of her distant state.

[marling]

9:21 PM

marling: she’s so beautiful

marling: i’m gonna cryyyy

marling: holy christ almighty i’m so lucky

marling: dorcas looks so pretty

━━━━━━༻☽༺━━━━━━

[padfoot]

9:32 PM

padfoot: this is it. I’m done

padfoot: i was flirting with this really hot guy and i accidentally spilt my drink on him

Padfoot: where r u???????

She slid open the notification.

me: running late

me: are you already drunk?

padfoot: ...mildy…

padfoot: i just got really nervous okay he’s hot

me: lmfao whore

padfoot: … ok u got me there

padfoot: at least i don’t want to suck my best friends dick

me: fuck all the way off you right dickhead

me: shit. nvm i’m a hypocrite

padfoot: ?????????? spill

me: omg i fucking hate myself

padfoot: TELL ME

me: remus just fUCKING TOUCHED MY LIPS

padfoot: WAHT?????

padfoot: WHATTTTTTT???!?!?!?!?!?!

padfoot: HE KISSED YOU??????

padfoot: bestie what the UFFCk

But then her phone lights up, receiving an incoming call from Sirius.

“What the fuck happened?!” Sirius practically roars from the other end of the receiver.

“I was trying his pasta sauce and —”

“Hah, are you sure it was pasta sauce?”

“Shut up! Anyway, some must have been left on my mouth and he wiped it off with his fingers!”

There was a high, muffled screaming from the other end of the phone and she chuckled, her heels clicking down on the pavement as she speedily walked to Diagon Alley.

“Oh my god! It’s happening! It's been years and it’s finally happening!”

But then there was a familiar ache that returned. “He probably didn’t realize what he was doing.”

There was a long pause on Sirius’ end, the only thing she could make out was the loud music and harsh whispering.

“You dumb bitch and I mean that with love”

That wasn’t Sirius.

“Excuse me?!”

Marlene sighs, and it’s evident she’s already drunk by the slight slur of her words. “How oblivious do you two mother fuckers have to be? I swear you guys could take a shower together, naked — you two could literally fuck and still say, but we’re just friends.’ Bullshit. Open your eyes!”

“Okay Marls. I’m going to hang up now —”

“Stop! You need to listen to me!

“— I’ll see you there.”

With the swipe of her thumb, the call ended and she felt like she could finally breathe.

It was all too confusing.

When she entered the pub, Sirius let out a low whistle, snapping his fingers a few times to gain her attention. She sent a quick text to Remus before shutting her phone off.

“There’s my fucking bestie!” He yells as she stalks up to the group.

James raises his hands. “What am I then?”

Sirius wraps an arm around her. “Moony doesn’t know what he’s missing out on.”

“How much did he drink?” She asks, a bit worried as she has to pull Sirius off from getting on the table.

“Not sure,” James sighs into his seat, keeping a close eye on Lily, Marlene and Dorcas.

Before she could respond, Sirius pulled her away to the dance floor and the familiar buzz settled its way into her heart. Her main goal: get fucking plastered and forget about… him.

━━━━━━༻☽༺━━━━━━

The only sound that filled the room was the flip of pages every few seconds.

Remus combed a hand through his hair. He’d been going over his review notes for hours now. All the dates, numbers and facts weren’t sticking as he leaned back against his chair, kicking his feet up on the desk as he listened to the crickets and cars zipping by.

He couldn't stop thinking about her.

Reaching over, he turned off the small night light shining on his table. With a small sigh, he kicked off his feet, opening the table drawer, pulling out a lighter and a package of cigarettes. Making it to the balcony and shutting the glass door behind him.

Remus leaned over the railing of their balcony, stretching his shoulders while a cigarette was pinched between his indeed and pointer finger. With a flick of his lighter, he brought it to his lips. The smell of a pungent herb smell floated around as he pulled back, billows of smoke travelling through the light breeze.

He was a fucking idiot. Through and through.

Remus groaned out in embarrassment, hand wanding to pockets and pulled out his phone. The light illuminated his face in the dim glowing city lights.

He typed in his password, tapping on the messaging icon; sliding straight to her number. But he hesitated.

[sunshine]

12:57 PM

me: hello!

No, that looks too exciting. Deleting.

me: what's up?

No, that was stupid. He already knew ‘what was up.’ Deleting.

me: hey

That was good. Sent.

me: wanted to check in. u ok?

Sent.

Not even a few seconds later, the phone buzzed, an incoming call coming from his sunshine.

Correction, not his.

He picked up, placing the phone to his ear. The music must have been so loud because Remus could hear the blaring nightclub music, having to pull the phone away from his ear.

May I have your attention, please? Will the real Slim Shady please stand up?

“Remusss,” she slurred into the phone and he couldn’t help but feel his face heat and heart-clenching.

She was too cute.

“They’re playing your song!”

He gave a deep chuckle, unable to stop smiling as his weight shifted, already feeling the stress leave his body.

She was still his friend above all else. That triumphed over any kind of awkwardness.

“I can hear. Are you okay?”

“Mmhm!” Her voice was high and giggly and Remus was entranced by it. “I wish you were here to dance with me.”

And he wished he was too.

“Go have fun,” he said reluctantly. “Text me when you get to Lily’s place.”

“No! No, no, no! Don’t hang up!” She chirped bubbly. “I’ll just dance while calling you. Same thing, right?”

“Love, it’s okay. I don’t want to ruin your —“

“Don’t go! Please?”

Remus didn’t have the heart to say no, he never did when it came to her so he simply said, “Of course.”

He could hear her little happy squeal.

“Okay it’s coming up — I’m Slim Shady, yes, I’m the real Shady! All you other Slim Shadys are just imitating —“

Remus felt his eyes brimming with tears of mirth, a smile breaking into a wide grin at her drunken rapping and breaths coming out short and rushed. He subbed the cigarette, that euphoric feeling he got with her never could compare to nicotine.

She was a drug. Magical ecstasy.

“Well, I do, so fuck him and fuck you too! You think I give a damn about a Grammy?”

He didn’t even have to see her to know she was glowing. But really, Remus couldn’t think of a time where she was anything but beautiful.

Everything in his body yearned for her, reaching out for her constantly. His body ached, skin burned at her touch.

He wanted to hold her hands. Wanted her to play with his hair. Wanted to kiss her, hold her, call her his.

Love came to Remus slowly, but once he realized it, it hit him all at once.

Love for Remus is good and bad. Love is kissing each other softly in the mornings, love is asking if they need anything from the store. Love is also fighting but apologizing with sweet nothing and kisses. Crying but having a shoulder to cry on. Love is fighting for the other person, no matter how hard it gets. It's those stupid fucking butterflies that erupted in the base of your stomach that travel up and made you want to explode into pure light.

Love is checking your phone to see if they texted you, and then doing the stupid happy dance when you see a notification from them.

Sharing an umbrella with them in the rain — but them getting the most coverage and your arm drenched in water.

Love was small and big. And to him, she is the very definition of what makes love, love.

“Aw! It’s over!” She whined. “I’m getting another drink.”

“Hold on!” He quipped. “Why don’t you take a second? Breathe some fresh air in?”

She babbled about him being a party crasher, but he could hear the smirk in her voice.

Several voices flittered in and out before she shouted out to James and Sirius that she would be outside. Then it became significantly quieter, only the clicking of her heels and the soft buzzing from cars and her voice could be heard.

“After your exams, we have to celebrate.”

He shifted again. "Sure thing."

“Get you a couple of party hats.”

“Remember the last time we did that?” Remus continued to speak for a while, retelling the sudden memory until realizing that she had been peculiarly silent throughout his story.

“Am I that boring?” He teased, although it’s layered in worry and tension. There was another long pause. “Sorry, I should shut up —”

But swiftly interrupted with a soft whispered but still firm phrase enough that he barely registered it.

“I love you, Remus.”

Even then, the logical part of Remus‘ brain hadn’t quite caught up to speed yet and her confession was muddled with confusion and pure shook for minutes. It was quiet, long and he could hear her soft breathing.

He felt his heart pound in his chest and he wondered briefly if he was going to faint. Those words he’d been desperate to hear finally happened. His heart exploded, body buzzing with a warmth he’d never known before and —

And she was very obviously drunk.

The ringing in his ears intensified and in a panic, he hung up the phone; shakily texting back.

[sunshine]

1:12 AM

me: call me when ur sober

me: and then you can tell me how you really feel

He opened the door as a trembling blossom in his heart sent a sharp, warm stab of yearning through him.

The phone rang and he could see her user ID. But he didn’t pick up. If anything that made Remus panic more.

━━━━━━༻☽༺━━━━━━

When he gets a call from James around two in the morning, Remus was still wide awake, mulling over her words.

“James?”

“Open your door. Your girlfriend wouldn’t stop talking about wanting to spend the night with you instead.”

“She’s not my —”

“Shut it. Come out and help me.”

Remus hops out of bed, slipping on his shoes and grabbing the keys before dashing out the door.

James is laughing at whatever she said before she turns to him, lighting up brightly.

“Moony!”

He jogs, taking an arm and wrapping it around her waist to pull her flush against his chest. She grabs onto him like a koala bear as he prickles like a cat.

“You’re very attractive,” she whispers into his ear, lips brushing against his skin that Remus almost jerks up in shock. “Good for you.”

James doesn’t help as he begins to laugh, clutching his stomach.

“H-how much did she drink?” His usual deep voice jumps octaves high. A thrilling sensation shoots through him.

James shook his head, wiping the tears from his face. “A fucking lot. I’ve never seen her throw that many back. Make sure she drinks a lot of water.”

James leaves, getting into his car along with a loud Marlene and Sirius, chanting almost ritualistically to a Taylor Swift song while Lily looked like she was on the verge of tears, gripping James’ arm while shoving a phone in front of his face; a picture of a dozen cats reflected off his glasses.

“Alright,” Remus says, mostly to himself. “Let's get you inside.”

He immediately swung open the door, ushering her to lay down on the couch.

A thin ray of moonlight silvered between them as he bent down, kneeling at the couch. He rubbed a hand over her arm, observing. Her makeup was smudged, hair a mess, clothes rumpled, but even then as he held her, fingers grazing the smooth skin of her arm, he was floored by how pretty she was.

“Alright, pretty girl,” he murmurs, “We got to get you cleaned up okay?”

“No,” is all that she manages to get out.

Remus sighs, walking into the bathroom and flicks on the lights, searches through the mirror door for makeup wipes before returning to her side.

He gently wipes it away, dragging the wipe softly against her kin while he watches the fatigue settle deep into her bones.

Remus ran around the apartment, grabbing a couple of blankets and pillows as she but she admittedly refuses to sleep in her bed.

Luckily, she does accept the multiple glasses of water and ultimately, she agrees to brush her teeth.

“Time for you to go to sleep, okay?”

But as he turned to leave, exhaustion written in every scar of his face, he felt a tug on the hem of his shirt.

“Please stay with me.”

Her voice was soft, wavering and he was conflicted.

“Please?”

He couldn’t say no.

He shuffled beside her, and she laid her head on his chest, legs wrapped around him.

“Goodnight, my Moony.” And she pressed a soft kiss to the scar on his nose, falling asleep within seconds.

Remus felt a terrible jolt of his heart. The steady rise and cal of her chest were calming, and he closed his eyes, basking in their warmth while a whisper of a smile was engraved in his face.

He pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, bidding goodnight as he slipped into a comforting sleep.

Was this what heaven felt like?

━━━━━━༻☽༺━━━━━━

The next morning, when Remus woke up, the first thing he noticed was the body pressed against him. Soft morning rays cascading over them gently and he knew almost instantly that she was awake.

And she knows the moment he wakes too.

“Remus?”

He wonders if she remembered last night.

“Yes?” He breathes out shakily.

Is this where their friendship ends?

“I’m sober now.” she shifts her head to peer up at him through batted eyelashes.

She definitely remembers.

She looks more angelic than usual. A ball of warmth and pure glow.

“Ask me again,” she shifted her body to look at him. “Ask me that question from last night.”

A deep inhale. A moment passes.

“Tell me how you really feel.”

“I love you.”

Then another moment passes as he takes a moment to process her words for the second time. Then, he laughs; radiant with relief. Whispers of electricity through his skin.

His hand curled to the shape of her face, thumb brushing her cheek, all the distress and rejection leaving his body instantly.

She’s waiting for a verbal answer.

And he gives it.

“I’m yours. Always have been.”

She beamed and Remus felt his heart expand and thump wildly. She purchased a hand on his chest, bunching the fabric in her hand.

Voices breathy and their faces are barely centimetres away.

And finally, their lips meet.

Her lips were soft and warm, impossibly pillowy against his own. The soft tickling of their breaths was soothing and her lips were slightly parted, allowing his tongue to slip inside. She fit perfectly against him, and he could feel the rapid thuds of their combined heartbeats.

A tingling feeling spread across his body, heart igniting in glowing sparks. Her touch was intoxicating, the scent of her perfume was dizzying, she was so warm and it consumed him.

They only pulled back for a gasp of air, and his eyes fluttered open.

She was already looking at him, eyes alight.

And it washed over him, now realizing that he saw his entire future there, wrapped in his arms with a smile so sweet, so radiant.

Whatever it was, fate or destiny or just by sheer luck, Remus was thankful that his path led to her.

© gotkindabored 2021. Do not repost or modify