alcohol and cigarette smoke. that's remus.

that's your first thought when waking remus up, who is laying down on your couch, passed out. it's 7pm.

“moony, come on.” you urge, kneeling beside him and gently rubbing his shoulder.

he grumbles something, a singular eye flickering open, before they both open. they adjust to the dim lighting of the room, the gold specks now dimmed to an amber colour.

it's funny, really, how much grief can change a person. you and remus were in love. had been since fifth year, all the way until 1981. when you both found out. you can remember mary's chilling words. the tone, the pauses. you've tried to twist it in your head so many times. maybe your best friends weren't dead. maybe sirius wasn't in azkaban.

‘remus... something awful has happened.’

remus started drinking, and you retreated into yourself.

the two of you fell apart, simple as that.

yet, you know he's haunted by the look in your eyes that would've loved him for a lifetime, if he had let you. if he hadn't gotten himself so lost in the mourning, in making it to the bottom of his drink.

it's now 1983. remus showed up with morning after spending a whole night drinking, with some beautiful fool who took your spot next to him.

you're jealous, but you can't see facts through your fury.

and you can't make it go away by pretending he's the villain. that's the price you have to pay for seven years in heaven. remus isn't the one who betrayed all of you, afterall. he's just as much a victim as you are - no one could've seen sirius being the rat.

“what- what do you do when a good person hurts you?” remus grumbles. “and- and i hurt you, too. i- i know i did.”

“all you want is the green light of forgiveness.” you frown.

“maybe.” he says, scrubbing at his face and sitting up with a groan, his bones clicking.

“there'll be happiness, eventually, right?” he asks. he looks more like a child than he has done since the war. his eyes watch you, waiting for some semblance of hope. “because i can't live like this forever."