Remus Lupin was only 18 when he first met Sirius Black.

Of course, he had also met James Potter, Peter Pettigrew and Lily Evans on the same day, but somehow they never sprang to mind as quickly as Sirius, who had made his astounding entrance to their university halls dressed already in his pyjamas, carrying an inflatable dinosaur.

Sirius Black was an art student – all long hair and scruffy jeans and leather jackets. He smelled like wet dog and motor oil, and he had a smile like the sun. He played the bass guitar – he insisted that a regular guitar was far too mainstream, and Remus had pretended to be offended, he himself being a guitarist and avid songwriter. Remus studied English literature, and his parents seemed insistent on pushing him into a career as an editor for some poncy book publisher in London, but Remus had other plans. He had always had other plans, ever since he was a kid.

Remus wanted to start a band.

He had never told anyone his ambition, not before Sirius, he had always found it far too childish and embarrassing. He had been in several at secondary school – playing covers of Arctic Monkeys and Coldplay songs at talent shows and local pubs – but he had always been holding out for university. That was where all good bands met.

When Sirius had heard he had grinned. He and James had been best friends since they had attended an expensive boarding school as kids. They both came from rich families – Sirius' was aristocratic, an old French house who apparently still married for business (Sirius had told Remus that his mother was Korean, and had married his father to secure a deal between his family and theirs. Sirius would never tell Remus what his family sold, and hardly ever spoke about them anymore – he hadn't talked to them in years). James' father ran a business selling hair styling products, which had taken off in James' youth, meaning that he had grown up in the lap of luxury. James was possibly the richest person that Remus had ever met; he studied marketing and always went to lectures in a suit, and was up at the crack of dawn every day to jog for three hours.

James was probably the least relatable member of the band, but he kept them all together – he was the backbone, connecting them all and keeping them in time. It made sense to Remus that he was the drummer.

For a while it was only the three of them, practicing in the kitchen on Friday and Saturday afternoons when they had no lectures and no one was trying to sleep. They wrote original songs and played them at the union in competitions, but never got very far. They always felt like there was something missing from their line-up, and when they found out that their flatmate Peter played the keyboard, they realised what that was.

Finally, their line-up was complete. Remus as the frontman, his voice as soft as the oversized jumpers he wore and his lyrics as poetic as the books he studied for his degree. He played lead guitar and sang, finding that when he was on stage all of the anxiety he felt daily dissipated, and he suddenly felt lighter and free in the spotlight. Sirius was the bassist, brooding and moody like his basslines. He always insisted that the bassist was the sexiest member of any band, and so that was where he felt he belonged – Remus didn't feel the need to argue with that. James played drums, but also wrote songs on the side. They were mostly about this one girl he had been pining over for the majority of his university career, who had lived in the room across from his. After James and Lily had started dating he had played them to her. She hated them all. Peter made up the quartet, playing keyboards and rhythm guitar, whichever was needed. He was a short, chubby boy with a pale face, and he was studying to be a primary school teacher, which he seemed to be far more invested in than the band but nevertheless, he was an integral part. Each of the boys were. If any one of them left, the rest would surely fall apart.

It had been several years since they had met, and since then they had cycled through many names, finally settling on one that they believed captured their youths perfectly.

The Marauders were fresh out of university; broke and without connections, but eager to make their name in the music scene.

They lived together – all five of them – Lily having been made an honorary member and (reluctant) manager of the band on account of the amount of time she spent with them. Remus wondered if she regretted agreeing to date James, seeing as he had roped her into this crazy endeavour. Nevertheless, she persisted no matter how exasperating she found the boys to be, and begrudgingly used her accounting degree to manage the band's finances.

"If you hate doing this so much then why are you still here?" Sirius asked her one afternoon, while the five of them lounged on beanbags in the living room/kitchen/peter's bedroom. Their flat technically only had three bedrooms, but they had managed to fit a futon in between the fridge and the sofa so that Peter had a place to sleep. He had gotten the short straw, having to sleep in the communal area because, as Sirius had said, Peter was the least likely one to get laid.

Lily tutted, looking up at James before turning back to give Sirius a pointed look, her lips pursed. "I'm doing this because if I left you to your own devices, you would spend all your money on a bouncy castle and then starve to death."

James let out a hearty chuckle from where he sat on the opposite side of Lily, his arm draped lazily over her shoulder. "She's got a point, mate." He said, raising his eyebrows.

They had been sat there for almost an hour listening to Lily complain about how much time she had to spend budgeting for the boys and how little time this left her to try to find a job anywhere else. James had been listening attentively, nodding and encouraging her as often as Sirius was criticizing her. Remus hadn't been paying much attention, playing his acoustic guitar in the corner of the room and working out a new riff, while Peter lazed on his futon and gave him feedback.

Sirius was pouting – he always had been a drama queen – and crossed his arms across his chest, looking slightly ridiculous, swallowed up by the giant blue beanbag. "I would not buy a bouncy castle," he said, "I'd buy a karaoke machine so I could finally show up Remus."

Remus stopped playing at that, smirking and looking over at the bassist. "There's a reason you only sing backup, dearest," he called, his voice mocking sweetness, "we want the audience to actually buy our vinyl."

"Speaking of reckless spending," Lily piped up, pulling her accounting notebook from her bag and addressing the entire group, "who's fucking smart-arse idea was it to press your EP onto vinyl? No one even buys your CDs, why did you ever think that getting records was a good idea?"

"That was James." Peter said absently, not looking away from his phone screen, which he was studying carefully, holding it above his face where he lay. James shrugged.

"Our target market is the hipster kids with those shitty record players from urban outfitters, he explained, "they love that shit."

Lily huffed, and scribbled down some numbers on the page in her notebook before looking back up at James. "Could your dad lend you some money, maybe?"

This was a topic of conversation that often came up. It was a well-known fact that James' family were multi-millionaires, and that back at their home in India the Potters owned an entire penthouse apartment manned with ten staff. How James had ended up with no money in a tiny London apartment was beyond Remus, but James seemed too scared of his father to ask him for any cash.

"Dad's already paying for this place," James shrugged, "I wouldn't want to ask him for anything else."

Sirius sighed, uncrossing his arms and throwing them up in the air as he spoke. "You need to grow a backbone mate! Your dad is minted; he can spare a couple of hundred to cover a run of records."

James squirmed uncomfortably in the beanbag, sinking a little further into it and taking his arm from around Lily's shoulders. She patted his knee and gave him a comforting smile, before crossing out one of her notes on the page and slipping the notebook back into her bag.

"Oh well," She said, "I'm sure we can make it back with tickets and merch sales over the next month."

"I really do admire your optimism, Lils." Remus said, going back to the riff he was working on, trying not to think about how much debt the band had racked up in the past few months since leaving university. The band made very little money; mostly playing free gigs in the city for charities or open mic nights to try and get their music out there. The Marauders had a few loyal fans, and a few hundred Twitter followers, but that was nothing. They were still waiting on their first paid booking.

Sirius scoffed, crossing his arms again, the pout still sitting purposefully on his lips. Remus eyed him carefully, starting to get sick of his attitude. Sirius always got touchy when money came up, probably on account of the fact that he had used to be rich and now was barely getting by, having to work at a fast food restaurant five days a week. Still, his attitude was starting to rub Remus the wrong way, and he caught his eye, giving the bassist a sharp shake of his head as a way of telling him to lighten up. Sirius stuck out his tongue in response. Remus rolled his eyes.

"What are you working on, Moony?" Sirius asked pointedly, putting on a false air of positivity and giving Remus his best winning smile. Sirius had given Remus the nickname during their first year of university, after Remus had had a few too many ciders and mooned the rest of their halls on a dare. Remus hated it, but the others had dumb nicknames too so he tolerated it. At least it wasn't as embarrassing as Peter's.

Remus didn't stop his strumming, moving his fingers methodically through a scale to try to work out a more suitable note to fit at the end of his riff. "What do you think I'm working on?" He smirked, "'S a new song, isn't it? Someone's got to write them, seeing as you haven't had any 'inspiration' for the last year."

Sirius tutted, his fake grin only faltering for a second, however. "Well, you see, Moonbeam, it's quite difficult to get inspired when all you do all day is flip burgers."

"I'm sensing a lot of anger, Sirius." Peter interjected, putting his phone down on the futon beside him and propping himself up on one elbow. "Maybe we should talk this through?"

"Wormy, are you using primary school methods to try to calm me down?" Sirius looked hurt – offended, even – that Peter would stoop so low as to use his degree against his true friend and bandmate.

Peter raised his eyebrows and spoke in a dry, flat voice, "Yes." He said, "It's how you're supposed to deal with children." He sighed, sitting up properly and picking his phone up again, checking the time on the screen before addressing the group, "Speaking of, I've got to go do a lesson plan – they want me teaching maths tomorrow."

"God help them." Sirius said, "Peter teaching maths? Didn't he fail his compulsory stats course?"

Peter shot him a glare as he stood, picking up his satchel from in front of the fridge. "Nine year olds don't tend to do hypothesis testing, Padfoot."

The walls in 'The Marauder Apartment' were far too thin, in Remus' humble opinion. Currently, he was attempting to finish a blog post for the book review site he was working for, but he couldn't concentrate over the sound of Sirius swearing profusely in his room. Remus sighed, snapping shut the notebook he had filled with notes on The Long Way to a Small Angry Planet and minimising the tab on his laptop, before scraping his desk chair back along the exposed wood flooring and standing up, stretching. It wasn't the first time the construction of their cheap London apartment had disturbed his work – James and Lily's room was next to his.

Remus listened carefully, frowning. It sounded as if Sirius was trying to play the guitar, which he had learnt despite telling Remus that it was far too mainstream four years ago, but kept misplaying the chords. Remus thought he heard him singing a tune a few times, his voice low and gravely and making Remus feel things he really ought not to still feel about a boy he had been pining over since he was 18. Remus had fallen for Sirius the moment he had laid eyes on him – as had most people, to be honest; Sirius was 'Heath Ledger in 10 Things I Hate About You' levels of hot – but, though he knew that the bassist was possibly the most pansexual person to ever be pansexual, he hadn't nearly the amount of self-esteem needed to ask someone that pretty on a date. It didn't bother him much anymore; not unless Sirius was doing something particularly attractive, like the summer he took to wearing crop tops, or when he wore those leather trousers that were far too tight.

Remus left his room, hanging outside by Sirius's closed bedroom door for a few moments, still listening to the chords he was playing. The song wasn't actually too bad; it was just Sirius that was messing it up. Remus knocked loudly on the door three times, and heard Sirius swear again loudly before the clunk of his guitar against the wooden floor as he put it down.

"What?" He said irritably as he pulled open the door, a scowl on his lips. Remus raised his eyebrows, fixing Sirius with an exasperated look.

"Can I come in?" Remus asked, and Sirius pulled a face.

"Have you been listening to me?" He asked.

Remus shook his head, "Not really," he said. Sirius looked at him pointedly, and Remus sighed, "Okay yes, but it's kind of unavoidable in this place. Do you maybe want some help?"

Sirius' face cycled through several expressions so quickly that Remus wasn't entirely sure if he could identify them all. His lips had lifted into a smile involuntarily, at which point Sirius had forced a frown, which then disappeared into a look of reluctance.

"I guess I should say yes," he shrugged, before pointing a finger at Remus' face, "but we all know I'm the John Lennon of this partnership."

"Is that because of my boyish good looks?" Remus smirked, "or because I write better songs?"

Sirius fixed him with a mock glare, lifting an eyebrow. "Paul McCartney wrote Yellow Submarine, he's irredeemable."

Remus rolled his eyes, pushing past Sirius and into his bedroom, which was a complete and utter tip, as usual. His bedsheets were lying in a heap on the floor by the foot of his bed, where at least three days' worth of crockery was balanced precariously on the linen. There were several beer cans and burger wrappers scattered haphazardly on the desk, which was also currently housing his work uniform. Sirius' acoustic guitar was leaning against the bed in a way that was particularly unstable, and Remus picked it up, handing it to Sirius before hopping onto the mattress, sitting cross-legged, watching his friend expectantly.

Sirius blinked at him, holding the guitar by the neck and standing in the centre of the room. "What?" He asked shrugging. Remus indicated his head towards the instrument, and Sirius looked down at it blankly for a moment, before making an 'oh' of realisation, drawing out the syllable.

He turned back and shut the bedroom door, before pulling the office chair from where it was tucked under the desk and spinning it around and sitting on it, propping the guitar on his knee. He positioned his fingers on the fret board but did not start strumming, and instead looked up at Remus sheepishly.

"This is really shit, just by the way." He said. Remus waved a hand dismissively,

"Okay, John Lennon."

Sirius started strumming, his fingers moving clumsily over the frets and catching the wrong strings, but Remus could tell that if he or Pete were to play the same thing it would have sounded great. Sirius had never been particularly good at anything other than the bass, but Remus had attempted to teach him a few things over the years.

Sirius started humming a melody line over the chord progression he had been playing. It wasn't perfect, and a few of the notes clashed, but eventually Remus found himself humming along, making small corrections as they went. By the time Sirius had got to the end, they had a pretty solid base for a song.

"Yeah," Sirius said, cringing a little, "as I said, it's not that great."

Remus tutted, shaking his head, "I like it – it has potential, anyway."

There was no point sugar coating it – the song needed work – but Remus wasn't lying. With input from the others and some good lyrics, Remus could see Sirius' song becoming a single.

It was strange that Sirius' muse seemed to have died over the past few months – he was previously the band's main songwriter, churning out beautiful ballads and indie-pop bops faster than most songwriters could ever wish to. Since Easter, however, he had been in a slump, writing only three songs over the two months that had passed, and only one that the rest of the band had even considered adding to the setlist. This song was progress. It was hope.

Sirius was smiling at Remus, still holding the guitar on his knee, his fingers still on the frets. "I had lyrics too but," he trailed off, shrugging, and paused for a few moments, "I don't know if they're ready yet."

"I can help with them too? You know that's my favourite thing to do." Remus linked his hands in his lap, raising his shoulders up to his ears briefly. Sirius shook his head, laughing.

"Nah, Moons," He said, "I can work them out on my own."

Remus wiggled his eyebrows, "Ooh," he extended the vowel, "private, are they?"

Sirius laughed, loud and short like a bark. "Yeah, definitely," his voice was thick with sarcasm, "they're all about you, Moony."

Remus rolled his eyes again – sometimes he felt like, with Sirius and James around, he lived in a perpetual state of exasperation – and fixed Sirius with a look to match his own; a mocking lop-sided smirk.

"Obviously," he said, his own voice just as laden with sarcasm, "Just as mine are all written about you, honey."

Sirius laughed, and Remus joined in, perfectly masking the fact that he was absolutely a huge pathetic sap who did write at least half of his songs about the bassist, who had most definitely never looked at him in any way other than as a friend. Remus tried not to think about that too much. Sometimes it got painful.

"What's all this ruckus?" The door burst open as James made his grand entrance, his arms wide and head held high as if he was about to recite some Shakespearian monologue to a theatre of people, as opposed to just addressing his two bandmates in a grubby shit-hole of a bedroom. Lily entered almost completely unnoticed behind him, her arms crossed, but a smile on her face as if she was simply basking in James' idiocy for a moment. Peter brought up the rear, looking annoyed – Remus suspected that James had dragged him away from work to attend what was surely going to be a very exciting band meeting.

"I come bearing exciting news and –" He paused for dramatic effect, holding up a finger, "- an opportunity for stardom."

Sirius looked over to Remus and their eyes locked for a moment. It was the type of look that Remus had seen Lily and her friend Marlene share when James said…. Well, anything. James did not seem to notice, but continued on with what seemed to be a very well-rehearsed monologue.

"I am sure that you are all aware with the platinum selling, Glastonbury headlining, world touring band: The Weird Sisters?" James held his arms out, and stared at Remus expectantly. Remus gave him a little nod, acknowledging that, yes, he did in fact know who the most famous indie rock band in the world were. James grinned before continuing once more. "Just this afternoon, said superstar rock band have posted this –" He produced an A4 printed piece of paper from his jeans pocket, unfolding it and holding it out to each of the members in turn, not giving any of them long enough to read it. "- on their website."

Peter tutted at James, reaching around Lily to take the flyer from the taller boy's hands, skimming it quickly before addressing James, a frown on his features. "So they're organising a festival, so what?"

"Oh, Wormy, my dear boy, so everything." James gave the room his best dazzling grin, his whitened teeth almost glinting. "The headlining spot on the Sunday will be decided by a nationwide battle of the bands."

Realisation suddenly dawned over everyone in the room, and there was silence for a few moments, before Sirius laughed.

"Us? Seriously, mate, you think we're good enough to win that?"

Remus was rather taken aback, but not entirely shocked by Sirius' immediate negativity. There had been something up with him for a while now, but he just shrugged whenever he was asked about it. Still, at the current moment, Remus was leaning more towards Sirius' point of view than James'.

"Of course we are!" James said, as if the rest of the band were crazy for doubting them for even a second. "Listen, men," James was taking on his old army general persona again, something he often did when he was faced with opposition, "we have the talent, the determination and, goddamn it, we have the balls to take down every single other band who dares step on a stage that we have graced. I believe in you all, even more than I believe in myself."

"Bloody hell." Remus heard Lily murmur, looking at James with a look of shock that made him laugh. Sometimes James' pure, unabashed narcissism was hilarious.

Sirius still didn't seem convinced, however. "That's all well and good," he said, "but when was the last time we sold out any gigs? We've never played for an audience bigger than two hundred! What if we do win? Do you want Moony to have a panic attack on stage in front of twenty thousand muddy strangers in a field?"

Remus looked at Sirius, incredulous. He wasn't entirely sure if he was angry or touched.

"I'm sure Moony can make his own decisions." Peter said, fixing Sirius with a glare.

"I mean," Remus said, quiet but assertive, "he has a point. I can deal with small crowds, Prongs, but I don't know about an audience that big."

James was nodding. Remus could see from his expression that he was trying to come up with some way to insist that they participate without sounding indelicate. His shoulders had sagged slightly and he looked down at the flyer in his hand with a lost expression, as if reading it would give him some more guidance. Remus felt a shot of anxiety in his stomach and spoke up again.

"I guess, I could do it," he said, pausing, "maybe."

Sirius turned to look at Remus, raising an eyebrow and speaking in a low voice. "Are you sure, Moons?"

Sirius' face was so close to Remus' that he found it difficult to find words. He looked at Sirius for a few moments, his mouth hanging open a little, before shaking his head and fixing him with a smile. "Yeah, I'm good, Pads."

Sirius looked back at James, meeting the taller boy's hazel eyes with his own of grey. He nodded. "If Remus is in, then I'm in."

A smile cracked across James' face. "Brilliant!" He said, before turning to face Peter and Lily behind him. The former's brow was furrowed, and he appeared to still be be in consideration, but Lily was smiling.

"I think it's an excellent idea," Lily said, "it would be great publicity – even if you don't win you could get a tonne of exposure. You could even get a record deal." She shrugged, stating the last sentence casually, but watching James with a smirk as he practically jumped for joy.

"Oh my god." He breathed, his pearly white grin now so big it was a wonder that it even fit on his thin face anymore. He looked out into the middle distance for a few moments, and Remus could almost see his visions of his future reflected in his glasses. James whipped around, facing Peter directly, "Please Pete!"

Peter pulled a face, "I have work." He muttered, but then looked up at James' face and seemed to melt a little. "I suppose I could – it's over the summer, after all."

James slapped Peter on the arm. "Good man!" He turned back to face everyone once more with a flourish, holding up the crumpled A4 paper above his head as if it was some kind of beacon. "Tomorrow, we rehearse, but today, men…" He paused again for dramatic effect. "Today, we party."

"I'm just saying – if she was up for it I one hundred percent would."

Remus nodded in response to Marlene, who was slurring her words slightly, draped across the sofa next to him like some sort of octopus with several extra limbs. Her blonde hair was falling out of its high bun and there was a wine stain on her white button up shirt, and Remus decided that now was probably the time to take the glass out of her hand. She barely even noticed him lifting it out of her fingers.

"That's nice, Marls." He hummed, putting the wine down on the coffee table in front of them, watching her carefully. He was ready to bolt the moment she looked like she was about to vomit.

"It would be nice, wouldn't it?" Marlene mused. Remus frowned.

"The idea of a threesome with Lily and Dorcas doesn't really do the same for me as it does for you, Marls."

Marlene scoffed, before her head lolled forward so that she could look at her now empty hand. "Wait," she said, creasing her brow, "did I already finish my wine?"

"Yes." Remus sighed, before patting Marlene on the leg fondly. "I'm just going to find… well, anyone who's less drunk than you."

Marlene snorted. "That's fair." She pointed a finger at Remus, who raised an eyebrow at her sceptically. "If you see my useless girlfriend tell her to get her arse over here so I can make out with her please."

The party had been a blur of loud music, people Remus hardly knew, and brightly coloured shots of substances that smelled vaguely toxic being forced into Remus' hands by Sirius at any given opportunity. To say that James had announced the gathering at such short notice, an awful lot of their collective friend groups had managed to get there on time, and now The Marauders' tiny flat was flooded with hordes of people in every room. Remus couldn't even get through his bedroom doorway.

He was leaning against the kitchen island, pouring himself a rum and coke, when Remus felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned to look, and there was Sirius, again, holding two jelly shots of bright red cherry vodka between his fingers precariously, and swaying slightly. Remus laughed at him, taking one of the shots from Sirius so there was less chance of a jelly-related carpet emergency, and raised an eyebrow.

"Having fun?" He had to raise his voice over the music that was being blasted from James' expensive speaker system. They were lucky that the downstairs neighbours were away, or they could have been getting an angry visit from their landlord.

Sirius spent a few moments trying to extract the jelly shot from the glass with his fingers – it really was a sight to behold – while nodding, not really looking at Remus as he did so. He held the red goo for a few moments before putting it in his mouth, holding his palm up to his face and making eye contact with Remus as he slurped the jelly, looking very much like one of the primary school children that Peter so often compared him to. After Sirius swallowed, he gave Remus a grin.

"I kissed Shacklebolt!"

Remus blinked, shocked, "Shack?"

Sirius nodded, looking very proud of himself. Remus had wanted to make out with Kingsley Shacklebolt from the first time he had gone to one of James' football matches and seen the man – all muscles and dark eyes and the deepest voice that Remus had ever heard. It did things to him.

"Fuck, dude, I'm so jealous." Remus admitted, "I thought he was straight?"

"Not after five Jagerbombs in half an hour, he's not." Sirius leaned a little closer to Remus, and he could smell a lingering scent of sugary alcopops in his hair. Sirius lowered his voice, giggling as he spoke, "he grabbed my ass."

Remus raised his eyebrows, feeling increasingly uncomfortable but still, more comfortable than he would have done if Sirius was this close to his face sober. "I don't blame him, it's a good ass."

Sirius winked, rocking back so that he was no longer on his tip toes, his face now painfully far from Remus'. "You know it."

The night continued on in a similarly messy manner, and Remus had to pull several couples out of his bed on numerous occasions, all in differing states of undress. Peter was becoming more and more angry as the evening went on, which was understandable, seeing as he had no bedroom to retreat to, and James had dropped three jelly shots on his pillow by accident. Remus was ready to call it a night as soon as he had finished a regretful make out session with Frank Longbottom, signalling to James across the room with a finger across his neck that it was time to kill this bitch before anything worse happened.

James switched off Mr Brightside mid-chorus; an action that was met with a cacophony of boos and abusive yells, all of which Remus felt were rather appropriate. Sirius, in particular, seemed practically offended, and Remus heard him shout above the others.

"The first actual banger of the night and you turn it off? You're a prick, Prongs!"

James cleared his throat, hopping up on top of the kitchen island and addressing everyone like a royal, his shoulders back, a wine glass in his hand like a goblet. "Alright, you ruffians," He projected, catching everyone's attention and causing a hush to fall over them all, "time to fuck off."

There was another collective groan, but James only held up a finger, "Ah, ah, ah," he shook his head, "it's gone three, if you've not got off with someone already, it's not going to happen. Now, get out of my house you filthy animals."

The next day was predictably slow. Remus didn't know why he hadn't expected to be so damn hungover the day after such a party, and he cursed himself for not thinking it through as he nursed his headache, swallowing some paracetamol dry before making his way out into the kitchen with all the energy of a partially squashed slug. Peter was asleep on his futon, so Remus stepped around him to get to the fridge, opening it and looking forlornly at the contents, feeling his stomach slosh angrily in response to the thought of a bacon sandwich.

He shook his head and closed the door again, moving over to the sink and grabbing a clean glass from the draining board. By the looks of it James had already been up and cleaned the flat, and probably run 10k, all by the time Remus had managed to get his sorry head out from under his duvet. Sometimes his friend really did make him feel inadequate. Remus filled up the pint glass with water from the tap and downed it, before pulling a face as his stomach growled angrily at him. Remus looked down at it for a moment as if to say 'it's for your own good, you know', before filling up the pint glass again and trudging back to his bedroom, his brown dressing gown billowing out behind him in much too grand a manner for how run down he felt.

The door opposite Remus' opened just as Remus was about to disappear back into his cool, dark cave, and Sirius poked his head around the doorframe, his hair a wild mane and his shirt, somehow, absent. Not that Remus noticed.

"Is the coast clear?" Sirius said, his voice a shadow of its former self, croaky and broken in odd places. His eyes had dark bags. Remus felt like he looked like Sirius felt.

"Yeah," He answered shortly, even the low volume of his voice making his head pound.

Sirius nodded, and emerged fully into the corridor, wearing nothing but his boxers (again, not that Remus noticed). "Good, I don't need Mr Blue Sky and his infuriating lack of hangover chirping to me at this ungodly hour."

"It's two in the afternoon, Padfoot."

Sirius waved a hand at Remus as if to discredit what he had said, and Remus sighed. "I'm going back to bed – try not to trip over Pete."

"Why, 's he dead?"

"His shell is in front of the fridge, but I think his spirit rolled underneath it or something, he's out for the count."

Sirius laughed, but then clutched his head, stopping abruptly. He fixed Remus with a look, "I'm too hungover for jokes or metaphors, Moons."

"Fair," Remus raised an eyebrow, "as am I." He gave Sirius a nod, before retreating into his bedroom, ever grateful for his decision to buy blackout curtains.

He crawled back under his duvet and tried to sort through the events of the previous night, slotting them into order as soon as they popped up in his head. He knew for a fact that he had kissed Frank Longbottom, which had explained the five texts he had received from his old lecture buddy, Alice Prewett, calling him things that he was far too English to ever repeat. He had replied telling her that she really wasn't missing out – that boy's tongue was like a washing machine.

He remembered dancing to Gold by Spandau Ballet with Sirius, the two of them holding hands and twirling the other under their arms. Remus had kept getting tangled under Sirius' arm on account of him being almost an entire foot shorter than Remus, but the two of them had laughed it off and continued regardless. It was a nice memory, but Remus felt guilty reliving it, knowing that it meant more to him than it did to his friend. His totally platonic bud. His pal, who had no interest in him romantically whatsoever.

He really had to get over this.

Remus brought his hands up to his face and rubbed his closed eyes with the heels of his palms. He groaned, before sitting up once more and taking his phone from his bedside table. Squinting against the backlight, he unlocked his phone and opened his messaging app, pressing Marlene's name and typing out a quick message to her. Marlene had been in the room next to Remus in first year, and she was the only person to officially know about just how far Remus had fallen for Sirius.

It was pretty fucking far. Head first into a bottomless hell-pit of despair.

"My songs are NOT about Sirius" to Marlene GAYkinnon

R - help me marls we danced last night im filled with regret

M - Oh how shameful! You danced! Whatever will the press think?

"My songs are NOT about Sirius" changed Marlene McKinnon's nickname to The Worst™

M - Well, that's just rude

R - its your own fault ur supposed to help me

M - What is there to help with? You danced, it's no big deal

R - i promised myself i wouldnt do shit like that anymore tho

M - Well, then you just need to follow your own rules better. This isn't a problem, Remus, your hangover is just telling you it is.

R - but like…it is a problem tho

M - Why?

M - I also hope you imagined me doing a really big sigh before that last message

R - its a problem because hes cute and i want to kiss him and dancing with him is just a dumb way to indulge myself

M - I guess I can't argue with that. Sorry I didn't stop you, bro

R - its cool, you could barely stand up lmao

"My songs are NOT about Sirius" changed Marlene McKinnon's nickname to Maybe Not The Worst™

M - Sorry about the bathmat BTW

R - what did u do

Marlene McKinnon changed her own nickname to Definitely The Worst™