The smoke streams teasingly out of his mouth, flicking his cigarette against the window sill. The grey ash falling down somewhere on the crowded street below. He’s always liked your flat more than his own. Actually he preferred all things you.

“I think it’s time to call this quits.” He mumbles, taking another deep drag of his cigarette. He’s not sure if he means it or if he’ll regret saying it. But you need to become a grown up at some point in life, right? Isn’t twenty eight age a good age to finally take some responsibility?

No matter who he’s dated, man or woman, he’s always ended up in your arms. He can’t count the numbers of parties, birthdays, Christmases and anniversaries he’s left to be with you. But you’ve never dated, not truly. Which might perhaps be the problem. No one has had the courage, so as the time passed by either Remus or you found someone new even though they’re still madly in love.

“I’m getting married next week y’know. I can’t fool around like this anymore.” He adds, still only in his boxers and an unbuttoned shirt as he gazes at you. Cigarette familiarly perched in between his fingers.