You knew Remus- Or you thought you did. Over the many hours you’d spent in his arms or the time you’d have talked over the phone, you would have thought that you knew him a lot.

But in reality you knew the smallest percentage of the truth; Yes he loved David Bowie, Queen, his guilty pleasure was Duran Duran, Mars was his favourite chocolate and his favourite cigarettes were menthols, his favourite books was the Picture of Dorian Gray. You knew he hated Christmas and especially Halloween- but the reasons were unknown.

You never felt the need to know more, for he had no special reason for telling you. He met you in a pub ‘82 new years eve, with his bags under his eyes and his hair messy- The Remus look you had familarised yourself with over the year, the on and off hooking up, only for notes through the letterbox that he needs to be alone for a while, to him knocking on your door weeks later just to kiss you and be held.

Remus was tricky, almost impossible to know- and his secrets dug deeper than what he let on. But now he was laying between your legs on your couch, watching the television, when he lit up a cigarette, bringing the ash tray up to the chair.