SEA, SWALLOW ME, remus lupin

sia air fichead, werewolf whims

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX
werewolf whims

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REMUS FEELS LOST. HOPELESSLY LOST.

He's been staring up at his bedroom ceiling for a solid fifteen minutes, weaving his fingertips through the tufts of fur along Pip's spine. When he woke up, he took a potion to cure his hangover, though he's yet to procure the energy that'll puppeteer him to get up and actually do something. A brief glance at the clock on his bedside tells him that it's almost noon, the golden light outside the dormitory window dimmed by the thicket of storm clouds that never seem to dissipate. His feelings coruscate inside his chest like an ensnared animal, sparking against the bony confines of his ribcage, which still feels bruised and tender from the previous full moon. He had attempted to tackle the next chapter of his book, Jaws, in order to remedy his self pity, but his eyes glazed over on the third paragraph and he had to put it down before he fell asleep.

Remus wouldn't say that he's angry. If anything, he simply feels confused.

  He doesn't quite understand what went wrong between him and Cove. Of course, he's never really pinned himself as someone that'd actually seek a committed relationship because of his... condition, and he's been fretting over his illness ever since he started seeing Cove in a different light. Part of him is screaming to pluck up the courage to go ahead and ask her out, whilst the other fraction is telling him that her awareness of his 'furry little problem' will only destroy their relationship further, and he doesn't think that he could just fail to mention it. That wouldn't be fair on her.

  He's always felt that she's too good for him, the perfect mix of everything that puts a smile on his face and gives him those awful little butterflies. The doubt eating away at him only seemed to grow more ravenous when she first started to avoid him. She insists that he didn't do anything to contribute to their falling out, but he finds that increasingly hard to believe. Surely there's no reason for her to stop talking to him unless he's offended her — or worse, scared her off.

  He buries his face in his hands. He wishes relationships were as easy as they seem in all the stories that he reads. Maybe then he'd finally have some peace of mind.

  The door creaks open. He looks up to see Peter poking his head around the door, his mousy hair windswept and his round cheeks rosy from the cold. He's alone for once, their other friends absent for their own reasons. Frank is off studying in the library with his girlfriend and James had announced the night before that he'd be busy with quidditch practice until dinner at the latest. Although, when he stops to properly think about it, Remus hasn't seen Sirius since— well, since the party. It always worries him when he's nowhere to be found, since it usually means that he's up to no good.

  Peter lifts an eyebrow. "It's twelve o'clock, Moony. What are you doing in bed?"

  "My only class today is during fifth period," he argues. "I'm having a lie in."

  "You're not having a lie in. You're vegetating. What's the matter?"

   Remus sighs, fiddling with the paperback cover of his book. "Nothing."

  Peter crosses the room, perching on the edge of the bed. The patchwork quilt crinkles where he rests his hands, leaning back to get a better look at his miserable friend. He narrows his eyes and scrutinises Remus closely, looking for the telltale signs of something obvious that's bothering him. It usually doesn't take him too long to figure out what's weighing on Remus' mind but, this time, he can't seem to put his finger on it. Then, a lightbulb flashes on in his head.