Chapter Text
The lighter clicked open with a sound Remus knew by heart. He flicked the wheel again when the first spark died, and this time a steady flame bloomed to life. Shielding it from the wind with one hand, he lit the cigarette hanging loosely from his lips before holding the lighter out towards Sirius. For a moment the flame illuminated the sharp lines of his face. His dark hair had grown longer over the past months, falling untidily around his jaw whenever he forgot to tie it back.
Remus took a drag and leaned back against the brick wall of the record store. The alley smelled faintly like damp concrete and cooking fumes from the Chinese restaurant across the street.
Sirius was humming a tune. Remus recognised it as the song they'd been practising for the past hour. The melody wandered off somewhere around the chorus before morphing into another song.
They let the cigarettes burn down in silence, listening to cars hissing and the sound of people. Friday evenings were always busy on the high street. A dog barked somewhere around the corner. A bus rattled past. The neon sign outside the chip shop flickered weakly against the gathering dusk. The grey sky had begun to clear and sunlight peeked through the clouds. The change in weather had brought even more people onto the high street.
Eventually, Sirius tucked a black lock behind his ear and turned to grin at Remus. His front teeth overlapped slightly and his eyes crinkled at the corners.
"Cool design," he teased, looking pointedly at the lighter in Remus' hand.
Remus frowned and glanced down at the lighter. A small, blue butterfly stretched across the silver casing. The paint had chipped away around one corner, leaving a thin streak of bare steel underneath.
He hadn't really paid attention to it when he'd nicked it from his mum's bedroom. He had been in a rush, not wanting her to catch him, like last time. The month before she had confiscated all of them. Leaving Remus without any until Sirius eventually lent him one. She had a habit of taking his lighters. He avoided thinking about why.
The familiar pressure started building in his chest.
The silver casing of the lighter reflected the afternoon sun. The butterfly spread its blue wings and winked at him.
He thought about the blue butterflies painted on her dresser. The pink ones on her bedframe. The yellow ones tucked between the pages of her favourite book. Before he could stop himself, he ran his thumb over one of the faded wings. His answer came a bit too late.
"Yeah," he said, averting his gaze. "As you can tell, I'm a massive butterfly enthusiast."
"Right. Next you'll tell me you've got matching curtains."
"Don't be ridiculous."
"Matching bedsheets, then."
"Sod off."
Sirius laughed and bumped his shoulder lightly against Remus'. A loud knock on the window behind them interrupted their banter and they both spun around to find the source.
James stood on the inside. He mouthed something and waved his hands around frantically. His hair stood right up and his glasses sat askew. Behind him Peter stood with a broken drumstick in hand, scratching his neck guiltily.
James pointed dramatically at the remains of the drumstick. Then at Peter. Then at the drum kit. Peter offered a helpless shrug.
"Any guesses?" Sirius asked.
”Dunno, but I think Peter may be guilty”, Remus said, stroking his chin and pretending to be lost in thought.
Another knock rattled the glass. James looked moments away from climbing through it.
"Reckon we should go back in?" Remus asked with an amused smile.
"Alright then," Sirius agreed, stomping on his cigarette.
Together they walked through the door into the shop. The record store occupied a narrow corner unit squeezed between a newsagent's and a laundrette. The sign above the door had once been bright red, but years of rain and sun had faded it to a dull rust colour.
Inside, rows of wooden crates overflowed with records. New releases sat in the front, to attract customers. While older albums were stacked wherever there was room. Posters covered nearly every inch of wall space— Bowie, Fleetwood Mac, The Clash, The Sex Pistols. Some had begun peeling away from the wallpaper at the corners. A small counter sat near the entrance, cluttered with receipts and coffee-stained magazines.
The place always smelled faintly of dust, cardboard sleeves and old vinyl. It was the sort of smell that clung to your clothes long after you left. Remus didn't mind. In fact, he thought he preferred it to most perfumes.
After closing time, when the shutters came down and the customers disappeared, the shop became theirs. Amplifiers were dragged between the aisles, cables snaked across the floor and the space between the record bins turned into a rehearsal room. Neil helped them set up most days.
Neil was a few years older than Remus and somehow knew everything about music. Ask him about any album in the shop and he'd tell you when it was released, who produced it and which track had been criminally underrated. The first time they'd spoken, Remus had spent nearly twenty minutes standing in front of the same shelf pretending to browse. Neil had eventually wandered over and informed him that if he was going to loiter, he could at least pretend to be interested in better records. And so began their friendship.
If Remus had to describe Neil in one word, it would be untroubled. He had this carefree manner, as if things always went his way. He didn't expect anything from anyone, didn't judge either. Remus figured that if you had no expectations, you couldn't be disappointed, and therefore things went your way. Neil was not the insufferable, overpositive type that Remus usually despised. He just didn't linger too long on the bad things.
When James had decided they should start a band, Neil had been the one to suggest rehearsing after closing. Charles, the owner, had reluctantly agreed. Mostly because Neil had promised they wouldn't break anything. So far, that promise had not aged particularly well.
The door closed behind them as they entered the store. The first thing they heard was the off-tune strumming of a guitar. James sat on a stool across the room. One leg hooked around the rung and his battered Fender in hand. Remus sighed and marched across the room, stepping over cables and narrowly avoiding Peter's abandoned backpack. When he reached the corner James sat in, he reached out to grab the guitar but James snatched it away.
”Keep your hands off her!”, he said, wrapping his hands around the guitar protectively.
”James, how many times do we have to tell you not to catch feelings for inanimate objects?”, Peter said absent-mindedly. While trying to tape the remaining pieces of the drumsticks together. Several strips of tape already hung from his fingers. Judging by the look on his face, the repair was going badly.
”Yeah, you’ll get your heart broken when they don’t fancy you back,” Sirius drawled, leaning up against the wall with his arms crossed. The late afternoon light caught in Sirius' dark hair and grey eyes, making them both a few shades lighter.
Remus scoffed and rolled his eyes playfully. ”Oh please, he’s had enough practice with Evans. He’s practically immune to heartbreak by now.”
Remus turned to look at James, expecting him to have retorted a snappy comeback by now. Usually it took James less than three seconds to recover from any insult. Everything negative seemed to bounce right off him; the bloody optimist. But when he turned he saw a weird, glazed over look in James' eyes. Like he was lost in thought. His mouth was a thin line, lips pressed together. Then he blinked, and the moment was over. Maybe the moment hadn’t even happened at all.
”Comin’ from you Lupin, our stone cold soldier”, James made a mocking salute and Remus took the opportunity to finally snatch the guitar.
”Fuck off, you heartthrob”, he snapped, adjusting the tuning pegs. The string protested with a loud twang.
”Bit harsh, Rem”, Sirius said, raising his eyebrows.
”Oh well, if you wanted to listen to his off key strumming all day then be my guest”, he said dryly.
”Preferably not.”
”I thought so.”
”And you’re always right, Rem.” Sirius gushed, batting his eyelashes.
”Tosser”
Sirius laughed, the soft sound echoed softly through the nearly empty shop.
”Orright lads, are we actually gonna play or are we just gonna fool around”, Peter said standing up from his drum kit.
Outside, evening had begun creeping across the high street. Inside, dust drifted lazily through the shafts of sunlight coming in through the front windows. The shadows stretching across the floor had grown longer, swallowing entire rows of records. They continued rehearsing as the afternoon slowly gave way to evening.
Just as they began packing up, the bell above the door jingled. A fair-skinned, fair-haired girl entered the store. She was dressed in a well-loved leather jacket, the sleeves covered in scuffs and faded band pins. Smoky eyeshadow framed her bright blue eyes, already smudged slightly after a day spent wandering through the city. Her hair was tousled by the wind, falling into her face in loose waves she made no effort to fix.
"Please tell me you're finished." Marlene shrugged off her jacket and hung it over one shoulder. The cool evening air followed her in, carrying the scent of rain-soaked pavement.
James scoffed. "Good evenin’ to you too."
"I'm having people over," Marlene announced, swinging one leg over the edge of the counter. "You lot are comin’." The statement was delivered less like an invitation and more like a fact.
James didn't even bother looking up from his guitar case.
"Well, obviously." He said, swinging the case over one shoulder.
Marlene nodded."Knew you'd say that."
Peter finally abandoned his attempt at repairing the drumstick and let the two broken halves fall into the case with a clatter.
"Yeah, course."
"Excellent."
Her attention shifted across the room until it landed on Remus. He was crouched beside one of the amplifiers, winding a cable into a loose coil. The rubber casing caught on itself every few turns, forcing him to stop and untangle it before continuing.
"What ’bout you?"
Remus shrugged.
"Maybe." He mumbled and straightened up.
Marlene stared. "Maybe?"
"Depends," Remus said.
"On what?"
He wasn't entirely sure. Truthfully, he liked Marlene's flat. Everyone did. It was loud. Louder than at home. Remus had always liked noise. Especially when it was loud. He found it relaxing, like white noise. making his thoughts into a comforting hum rather than a frantic game of ping-pong. But they'd spent most of the afternoon rehearsing and the idea of spending another few hours talking to strangers sounded exhausting.
"I haven't decided yet," he said.
Marlene narrowed her eyes. "You're not bailing on me."
"I haven't bailed." he puckered when he dropped the cable once again.
"You're thinkin’ ’bout it."
"Thinking isn't illegal."
"It should be."
Before Marlene could continue her campaign, Sirius nudged Remus lightly with his shoulder. ”C’mon.” He said, offering a smile. A strand of dark hair had escaped from behind his ear again. He pushed it back absent-mindedly. "You should come." He continued.
”I told you, maybe.”
”I’ve learnt the meaning of your maybes, and that one was a no.” Sirius argued.
”How would you know?” Remus scoffed.
”You always get that guilty look in your eyes, and you start fiddling with your sleeves.” Sirius said, looking pointedly at Remus' hands, which had begun to fidget with the fabric of his jumper.
Remus looked helplessly at Peter. ”Pete, help me out here.”
Peter just shrugged and tossed a ball of used tape across the room, aiming for the bin by the door. ”Sorry mate, but he’s onto somethin’.”
Or on something, Remus thought bitterly.
”See.” Sirius said smugly. ”Please, Rem. It’ll be fun.”
”You can do better than that, gimme a good reason to tag along.” Remus crossed his arms challengingly.
Sirius mirrored him and folded his arms.
"There'll be music."
"Marlene always has music."
"Exactly."
"You're not helping your case."
A grin tugged at the corner of Sirius' mouth. The late evening light spilling through the front windows caught the sharp line of his cheekbone.
"There'll be drinks."
"Not interested."
"James will almost certainly embarrass himself."
James looked up immediately.
"Oi."
"See?" Sirius said. "Entertainment."
Remus huffed a laugh. "Now you're getting somewhere."
Sirius leaned back against the amplifier beside him. For a moment he seemed to consider something. Then he shrugged.
"Besides." His voice was quieter this time. Almost a whisper. Remus unwillingly leaned in slightly to hear better.
"I want you there."
The words landed somewhere strange inside Remus, making his stomach squirm. He found himself staring at the cable in his hands for a second longer than necessary. Weird.
Across the room, Marlene was now arguing with James about snacks and Peter had somehow lost an entire drumstick. Now he only had the broken one left.
"That's a bit desperate."
Sirius grinned. "Very."
Remus shook his head. Then, despite himself: "Fine." He threw his hands up in defeat.
Sirius pointed triumphantly. "Knew you’d cave, you can’t resist me.” He wiggled his eyebrows and nudged the toe of Remus' shoe with his own.
"You're doing my head in.” Remus groaned, kicking him lightly in the ankle.
Sirius just smiled at him. A soft one. It felt like a secret, something shared between the two of them. Before Remus could come up with anything else to say, James clapped his hands together. "Right. Let's go."
The shop erupted into movement. Instrument cases were snapped shut. Amplifiers were switched off. Peter finally located his missing drumstick wedged between two record crates. Neil appeared from behind the counter just in time to watch them make a mess of cleaning up.
"You know," he said, watching James nearly knock over an entire display, "one day Charles is going to realise letting you rehearse here was a mistake."
"Hate to break your bubble mate, but he already knows." Sirius said.
The bell above the door jingled as Marlene pushed it open. Cool evening air flooded into the shop. One by one they stepped out onto the high street.