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Based on appearances alone, most people assume Remus isn’t quite like his friends, that he’s unwillingly strung along to all these loud parties and big gatherings where you have to yell just to be heard. The truth is, though, he loves it. Sure, he’s not a big fan of waking up with his head splitting in two and his voice gone, but he never feels more alive, more full, more included than he does at these parties.
So, even as he leans against the kitchen doorway with his red plastic cup clutched in his hands, just watching and listening to the comforting chaos that always seems to accompany his friends, there’s a smile on his face because truly, there’s nowhere he’d rather be.
Plus, he has a rather great view of you where you sit at the kitchen table.
“I’m not lying, Sirius!” His attention, which has been wandering, snaps back to you, your voice rising out above the regular din. You don’t sound mad, really, just trying to get the other boy to take you seriously.
“I just don’t believe it!” Sirius counters, towering over you as he stands behind your chair.
“I’ve barely been kissed at all, let alone kissed at midnight on New Year’s,” your voice is full of melancholy, the sort that only seems to appear after someone’s been drinking, and you tip your head back until the top of it rests on Sirius’s stomach, the two of you face to face in the strangest way.
The two of you remain that way, just staring at each other, until Sirius steps back, letting your head fall and grabbing at your hands instead.
“C’mon, c’mon,” he tugs you from your chair and you follow, pliant if not willing. A twisting knot of jealousy forms as Remus watches his best friend lead you from the kitchen and he hates it, hates the gross way it makes him feel, but it only burns brighter and hotter when he hears a door slam.
He abandons his post by the doorway, turning instead into the kitchen proper and pouring himself another drink. The seconds until midnight tick by, and Remus hopes you’ll reappear soon because even if he can’t be the one to kiss you, he couldn’t live with himself if Sirius did. Selfishly, Remus wants you all to himself.
It’s not long after that you reappear, and instead of looking debauched you look refreshed. The shine that had begun to appear on your face, heat from the press of bodies and all the drinks you’ve had, is gone, and your lipstick that has disappeared and smudged against the rim of your cup is once again perfect, just like it was when you arrived. Your hair appears to be restyled, just slightly, and the knot in Remus’s stomach starts to disappear.
“God, I’m hungry,” you say, even as the rings on your fingers clink against the bottle you’re tugging towards you, unscrewing the cap and pouring some into your cup.
“James and Lily should have something, if you want to look,” he replies, and he realizes belatedly that he sounds rather hollow, still trying to shake the gross, sticky jealousy that he has no right to be feeling. He’s had plenty of chances to make a move to ask you to coffee or dinner or the movies, but he hasn’t.
He’s more like his friends than he appears, but he also worries that he’s different from them in some fundamental way. James can be awkward, sure, but it also comes across as rather endearing, and even when Sirius’s swagger starts to slip, he has no problem gaining anyone’s attention. Remus, though, is awkward and clumsy in all the wrong ways, and has to work himself up to be charming and witty, constantly terrified of slipping up and letting everyone down.
“I’ve already ransacked Lily’s makeup, I can’t ransack her cupboards too,” your voice takes on a conspiratorial whisper, and when Remus glances over at you, you’re smiling at him. “I just took some powder and hairpins, the lipstick’s my own,” you add, wanting to cover your tracks even though Lily wouldn’t mind if you’ve gone and rifled through her whole makeup collection.
“I promise not to tell,” Remus responds in the same tone as you, finding it easy to be charming once you’ve set up the game.
“Even if we shouted about it, I don’t think Lily would notice,” you gesture with your head while your hands are busy pouring yourself another drink, and Remus follows your indication and finds Lily and James have gotten a jump on their New Year’s kiss.
“The house could burn down and James wouldn’t notice,” Remus adds, and the two of you share a conspiratorial little giggle.
“They’re disgusting, but god I wish someone would love me like that,” the forlorn expression that had disappeared from your face after your return is back in full force, admitting things you’d never otherwise say out loud without the alcohol coursing through you.
It’s not so much your words as it is your tone, the pure heartbreak and defeat in your eyes, that makes Remus want to make everything better for you. It doesn’t help that he’s painfully in love with you, but seeing you so upset and clearly uncomfortable with this admission would make anyone’s heart ache. He’s been silent for too long, trying to solve this for you, that it’s gotten awkward and you’re shifting your weight from foot to foot and suddenly you’re very interested in the bottom of your cup.
“Do you wanna step outside for a minute? Take a break from everyone?” He’s gotten you to set down your cup and you seem to be contemplating his offer. When you nod in agreement, you seem more tired than sad, a small win but something Remus still finds rather troubling.
To him, you are the sun and the moon and the stars combined, the center of his universe and the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. You’re a supernova, stunning and full of life, and seeing you so drained, even momentarily, seems unnatural. Remus would do anything to get your spark back, would fall supplicant at your feet if that’s what you wanted, but you’d never ask that of him or of anyone. You’re strong, like way centuries old oak trees are, but Remus worries about what might happen when you do, inevitably, break and no one’s there to catch you and help you back together.
The night air is brisk and biting, a shocking difference to the stuffy, overheated atmosphere of the party. It’s stunningly quiet, leaving your ears ringing just a tad, and it takes you a second to adjust, even as the sounds of the party play out as if through a muffled speaker.
“Do you think there’s something wrong with me?” You ask after a few moments of silence that stretched like hours, and Remus is so shocked he might have just swallowed his tongue. “Like, what do I have to fix about myself? I really don’t think all too highly of myself but I think I’m nice enough, and I can be funny, and I’m not the worst looking person on Earth but I should probably smile more, and I just don’t know what to do anymore.” It all comes out in one long, painful, unbroken breath, spilling from you like a faulty tap. Remus is unsure of what to do, what to say, how to make it all better because that’s really all he wants, is for you to feel better. “I just wish I was different, better somehow.”
“Don’t.” Remus is a bit shocked by his own voice, by the firmness he speaks with, but he just can’t help himself. There’s no flowery, fluttery prose he can think of in the moment when all he’s focused on is trying to somehow make you see that there’s no reason for you to change, that he and practically everyone you’ve ever met thinks you’re wonderful in ways he can’t even wrap his mind around.
“Don’t what?” You sound close to tears and Remus instantly wishes he didn’t sound so harsh, so rude,
“I’m so tired of it. Being alone.”
“You’re not alone.”
“I am in the ways that matter.”
“That’s not true. I think you’re pretty great.”
“Thanks, Remus,” you laugh a little in the back of your throat, a disbelieving sound. You think he’s just trying to console you, make you feel better, which he is, but he’s also telling the truth as completely as he can without playing all his cards, without scaring you away.
“You’re the greatest,” he starts, and even in the weak light of the streetlamps he sees you beginning to roll your eyes, to protest, so he barrels ahead, “you’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen, and you’re smart and witty and almost upsettingly kind and cheerful and pleasant to be around. And when I thought Sirius was going to kiss you earlier tonight I wanted to shave his head.”
Your mouth is hanging open, just slightly, perfectly framed by the redness of your lipstick. That stomach-turning sadness in your eyes has all but evaporated and been replaced with something that looks a lot like hope. Remus wants to say more, wants to push out all the words that have been swirling in his brain for months on end, but your attention is stolen away by the sounds of people counting down from ten inside the house. Remus sees his chance, and he takes it.
“I’ve never kissed anyone at midnight before,” he confesses, and your head turns back to him, a shocked giggle making its way up your throat. You're still laughing, grinning, as you place your hands on the side of his face, your rings cool against the heat that had built while he talked, and your lips connect the second the clock strikes twelve.