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The signs were brutally obvious: your heart felt as though it was unceremoniously tripping down a staircase every time you saw him; no thought could be emerged from your brain that didn’t have to do with his long, long fingertips or casual smirk; every time he said your name it was a prayer that caused flowers to grow from the base of your stomach, tickling your ribcage and creating a fluttering sensation inside of your torso.
But you had done your homework, dutifully, for three weeks time. One week for each boy. James was first, with his curly hair and defined cheekbones, his talentless grace and tactless empathy. He cared so deeply molten lava in the core of the Earth could not compare to the depth, so deeply he didn’t know what to do with himself. He hugged you, listened to you, clumsily gave you advice about homework and feelings and insecurities. But his good intentions were often circled with the wrong words said at the wrong times to the wrong person. Week one’s result: there was no love between you and James Potter.
Week two’s study was Sirius Black. The boy with hair to match his name but a life approach which countered it aggressively. He was a broken shard of glass: rough around the edges yet completely translucent. Beautiful. Sinful. Sultry. But the firewhisky that coursed through his veins- there was no way he was filled with something as ordinary as blood- calmed when he held you close, brushing your hair out of your face and tears out of your eyes. He made you laugh so hard and feel so safe, you thought you were over exaggerating your feelings for his best friend. But the week ended, and there was no spark to his touch. Just a home, a hearth.
You were most doubtful when entering week three. Fear was an hourly occurrence. You couldn’t love either of them, but for separate reasons. As far as it went for Peter, you couldn’t love him in the way that ended in moonlit undressing or soulful confessing because he was your skeleton. He was the part of your skin that was toughest to bruise and quickest to heal. Peter was that silent voice inside of your mind that reminded you of your self-worth, your beauty, your amazing-ness. You went to him when times were the toughest, when words would not even come out but you needed a body next to yours to remind you of flowers and sunshine and dogs and of life. You knew you weren’t in love with Peter before you asked yourself if you were.
And so the weeks came to a close, uneasiness settling inside of your chest. Because of course, out of all of your friends, you had to fall for the one you were the closest to.
You were deeply, madly, stupidly, irretrievably in love with Remus John Lupin.
You didn’t know when it started, but once it did, it didn’t stop. But you knew how it began; simple actions, like the brushing of forearms or the lingering of the gaze, felt different. Felt intentional. Felt like come closer and never leave. Suddenly, it was impossible to be with Remus in the same way you used to be. Casualness was stripped from the narrative entirely and replaced with constant over-thinking about why he’d touch you there like that in front of others and dear God did it mean something? Please, let it mean something. Your relationship with Remus became strained in response, as the only solution you could find was keeping as physically far away from him as possible. And nothing destroyed you more. Because Remus’ laugh was the thing that kept your heart beating, his snarky comments reminded you that people are so full-bodied in character, his small gestures of kindness made you realize what life was worth living for. How could you survive without the person that gave your breathing purpose? The simple answer: you weren’t.
Of course the boys noticed. That’s what five years of friendship does. Sirius asked what was wrong when you appeared in class with unbrushed hair, black-rimmed eyes, and an emotionless stare for an entire week. No response. James asked when he realized you were taking your usual portion onto your plate at dinner, but none managed to actually get consumed. No response. Peter didn’t ask; rather, he found you alone one night, laying in the common room looking at nothing in particular, and simply laid his hand on top of yours. No response.
Finally, Remus approached. He approached like some slow motion sunrise: beautifully bright and blinding. So blinding. You let yourself blame your tears on his luminousness, wiping the drops away before day fell, before he was close enough to notice.
“Hi,” said, somewhere between a statement and a whisper, tenderly. He was hanging right above your body, which laid in your unmade bed on its stomach.
You smiled. It was heavenly to smile at him again, like the feeling of catching air after being submerged underwater. Like the creature you were smiling at itself. Wearing skinny jeans, a worn-down, russet jumper, and his heart on his sleeve. Heavenly.
“You can’t just smile at me like…”-Remus exhaled, stopping himself- “You haven’t spoken to me in a week. You won’t tell anyone else what’s wrong.” Remus sat on his knees, making his eyes level to yours. “I’m so worried about you.”
Wordlessly, you moved away. Like some evil spirit you attached yourself to the darkest corner of your bed, watching as the worry in Remus’ eyes grew from a lake to an ocean.
Ready to break the spell? Ready to break it? You sucked in a breath. You breathed it out. “I don’t want to talk,” you replied. You turned your head to the side, ignoring Remus, enunciating your reluctance.
There was a tangibility in the air between you and Remus. He tugged on it for a moment, almost hopping on the bed to corner you, but retracted, giving you the space you desired yet infuriating you to no end. God, can’t he just make one mistake so I don’t have to love him anymore?
Somewhere too far away from you, Remus cleared his throat. “Okay, I’ll talk then,” he started. “I really enjoyed yesterday’s DADA lesson. I love every DADA lesson, really. I’m thinking, if I’m lucky enough to have a career with my furry little problem, I’d like to teach that. The soup at dinner last night was marvelous. I wish you ate some. And my book! I finally finished it. And I cried, as expected, so had to pay Sirius and James two galleons each, as expected. I think you’d like it, too. Kind of like that Muggle book you lent to me- what was it? Pride and Prejudice? Kind of like that, but with magic, so cooler, of course.”
Pride and Prejudice. Pride and Prejudice. The story of two people bound to different fates that fell in love regardless. Could it be us? The daydream almost went full-throttle, almost escaped from the tight grip of your fisted hand, but you deflated it during its inception. As always. Because it wasn’t about you being you and Remus being a werewolf. It was what he thought about himself because he was a werewolf. Where you saw kindness he saw claws. Where you saw beauty he saw scars. Where you saw caring he saw violence. Every crush that presented themselves to Remus over the past five years got pushed away for that same reason, no matter their beauty, their brains, their pleading. Paired with the brick you’d throw into the beautiful sculpture of your and Remus’ best friendship, admitting your feelings would do every harm and no possible good. You were not Darcy and Elizabeth, written to destroy one another separately to be rebuilt as one. You were Remus and Y/N, written to be best friends. Nothing more, nothing less.
As the realization struck you once again, so did salted tears across your cheeks. Quiet sniffling prompted Remus to ask, “what’s wrong?” so tenderly it made you cry harder.
It was frustration, as heavy as the heart that held it, that caused you to react like this. That skin that creased in worry for you, that heart that worried for you, that mouth that asked for the state of your mind was unable to apply that same love to itself. And it killed you, put a strangle on your chest, a fire in your lungs. What is wrong with him? You have to ask. You have to ask.
“Remus,” you whispered. He came closer, his heart the moth your voice the flame. Two gulps of air later, you were ready to speak again. “Remus, why don’t you love yourself more?”
The shock that covered Remus’ face reverberated through your bones. He sat, slack-jawed and wide-eyed, at your curled frame, which was finally willing to look at him back.
Remus huffed. “I don’t understand.”
You uncoiled your body slightly, wanting to get closer, letting the uncontrollable urge to touch him finally be as uncontrollable as it was always meant to be. Your hand went for his. His skin felt holy.
“You are so hard on yourself. Everyone with half a brain and a full heart knows you can’t control what you become. But you insist on staying unempathetic and stupid when it comes to yourself. But here you are, patiently waiting for me to break down so you can help as reassure me I’m alright. Why?”
Remus pulled back. You shamed the part of your heart that screamed silently, as this rejection was to be expected. High hopes are for people with wings.
“Is this really what’s bothering you?” he accused.
“In a way.”
His hand left yours. The air was colder than his skin and you shivered at the loss of warmth. But you realized that loss of touch was as necessary as brutal, as Remus crossed his arms against his chest defiantly. “Why?”
If it wasn’t for the fact his lips were right there, the ones you’ve been hoping and dreaming of kissing for four weeks too long; if it weren’t for the hollowness in your stomach that screamed your name at the retraction of his fingers; if it weren’t for the fact that seeing him again, all messy-haired and unknowingly angelic, made being without him in the past or future seem that much more impossible; maybe your answer would have been different. Or maybe you were tired of holding your breath, whispering instead of screaming, hating instead of falling.
“Why?” you repeated. “Because I can’t handle myself knowing you think so lowly of yourself. It’s been destroying me. Remus, I’ve been trying to trick myself out of it. Find a loophole. I’m so afraid of what you’ll do, what will happen to our friendship. You’re my best friend. But I know, I know for a fact I’m in love with you and I can’t do anything about it. And I’m absolutely terrified.”
The tears were a given, and they fell and fell and fell like you had for Remus. The air was still tangible, and it stood as silently as Remus sat. He approached to touch but never followed through. He tried to leave and failed. The air told you through your second flesh of tears. He wanted to do something, but couldn’t, and wow, how gut-wrenchingly familiar that feeling was to you. Stasis around chaos.
He stayed. Remus Lupin stayed. Your tears, however, eventually trickled down to nothingness. Salt was left on your cheeks. You desperately wanted Remus to swipe the dust off your puffy flesh with his thumb. But when he stayed, he stayed still.
But you didn’t. You sat upright, finding every air hole between vertebrates, looking your love straight in the eye. A nonverbal invitation to say the next line. And he did, after clearing his throat: “I, I…” A stumble. A breath. An ungraceful intermission. Followed by a confession, “You're the best person I’ve ever met.” His eyes glistened in the way they do before a smile breaks out. But he looked down, hiding whatever was brewing on those beautiful lips.
You grabbed his hand, prompting his face to lift. “Don’t say anything you don’t mean,” you warned. “These last few weeks have been bad enough.”
“I’m sorry. See? We aren’t even dating, we’ve barely even been friends, and look how much I’ve hurt you-”
“That was my fault,” you cut off quicker than expected. “I let myself wallow in pain instead of speaking up. That was my choice. And I still don’t know if it was the right one or not.” Remus looked up at you with a specific calmness that portrayed he knew exactly what you were asking of him. Yet he denied you of the answer, prompting you to ask, in a manner so weak and hopeful it seemed like a ghost of a voice, “please?”
Please?
You felt Remus’ thumb rubbing at the palm of your hand, his body answering before his mind got the chance to.
“Of course I’m in love with you,” he smiled, finally allowing the rest of his body to cave into temptation, forehead resting against yours while his other hand found a place on your shoulder. “But I’m scared, too. Scared of myself, yes. But mostly how much I can't be without you. This week nearly broke me.” Suddenly, he had moved his head into the crook of your neck, trying to form a makeshift hug. “I missed you so much,” he said into the shell of your ear, raising every minuscule hair on your skin. So close. He’s so close to me.
Intoxicated by this proximity, you slithered down the side of the mattress- never failing to not face Remus- and onto the ground to properly hug his now tall frame. You pressed your head against his chest. A heart raced inside, thumping and ringing like a song with no meter. Put an ear to my heart, Remus, and you’ll find the exact same.
“I’m so sorry,” you said against his chest. “The way I acted was so immature. I should have just talked to you. I mean, we’re best friends. It was stupid of me to be so afraid to come to you. You’ve supported me through everything else. It’s one of the reasons I love you.”
He snuck whispers of kisses all over your skin, innocently and lovingly, through the process of accepting apologizes and affirming that everything was fine- better than fine. He had everything he wanted splayed between his calloused fingertips. How could he be angry?
But you were with yourself. You could feel the grudge forming, so tight and jagged in your soul, as opposed to the feather-lightness of Remus’ touches. How could you have let your fear get in the way? He’s always been there for you. And in the act of self-resentment you couldn’t see you were held in the arms of a mirror, a parallel, a doppelgänger of no twinning appearances but a perfectly symmetrical thought process. So afraid of hurting him you shut him out like he did to the girls you were afraid you were to become. It was so perfect it was invisible. So invisible because it was perfect, the way he held you, pulling you in closer, as if trying to make your two bodies into one. Two into one. Two into one. Similar to Darcy and Elizabeth, certainly, but you both remained as Remus and Y/N. Best friends. Yet so much more and, now, never again anything less.