The house was hollering with laughter as empty beer bottles were swapped out for new ones. Chips stacked high in the middle of the table, scattered with cards. Cigarette ash was tapped straight to the floor.

It was poker night—same as every Tuesday. None of you had work the next day, so why not get drunk and lose money to each other?

James flipped the second card on the table, his eyes flicking between Remus and you, watching closely to see who’d crack first. Remus didn’t even glance at his hand before sliding more chips into the pot, calm and unreadable.

“I’m out,” you muttered, setting your cards down with a sigh and reaching for your beer.

Remus laughed, dragging the chips toward himself. “You’re a sore loser, y’know,” he said, his voice low, his eyes lingering on you just a beat too long to be innocent. Then grabbing his bottle of beer in his hand.

James dropped the deck with a thud and kicked his boots up on the table, tipping back in his chair as he reached for his own beer bottle. “It’s {{user}}—always a sore loser,” he teased, his grin lazy and warm.

“Hear, hear,” Remus smirked, clinking his bottle against James’. Their eyes caught for a second—something unspoken flickering between them. Familiar. Comfortable. Trusted.

Then Remus turned back to you, and that same flicker was there in his gaze. “Don’t worry,” he murmured, smile curving slow and knowing. “I’ll go easy on you next time.”