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maryslouisv · 1 year

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to speak or to die

part two: is there anything you do not know?

part 1, part 3, part 4, part 5

read on ao3! read on wattpad!

The more time I spent with Remus, the more confused I became. The few things he had revealed to me had not made any sense.

Remus had continued to pry me open the following morning, either ignoring or not seeing how he had annoyed me. Maybe the way I would lose myself when he spoke had been why he irked me, why he continued to speak. He asked about me often, but very rarely spoke of himself. When I would ask about him or retort with a simple what about you, he would say something snarky or ignore me entirely. Usually, I would not have minded speaking of myself, but I felt odd being expected to share so much of myself when I knew so little about him. For reasons I did not know, I was able to recite his words back to Marlene and Lily perfectly, mocking him and his toyish way of speaking.

Lily Evans was a beautiful girl with red hair, freckles all over, and adoring green eyes. She’d always been kind to me, despite my often absent mindedness towards her. She knew more than Marlene and I, but never more than Regulus. We met one of my first summers here; her being a girl from London who was visiting family. She comes every July, whether to see her family or to see Marlene and me, we never knew.

On his third day, he woke around five in the morning. The sun was barely peeking over the water. I had already been on the balcony, smoking my first cigarette of the day and reading yesterday’s paper. Remus’ hair was damp, and he still had a towel to dry off his face, but he joined me. Perfect, I thought, almost scoffing out loud.

“Can I borrow your lighter?” he asked me, pulling one of his cigarettes off our glass table. He leaned over, cig in his mouth, and I lit it for him, “I think I’m going to go for a swim. Fancy joining me?”

Smoking before a swim is slightly redundant. Counterproductive.

I was hesitant, but I agreed to go to the poolside with him. I brought my notebook and jotted down ideas for ceramics and clay statues to make. He was the quietest he’d been thus far, and I can’t say I didn’t enjoy it; having company without feeling obligated to listen or even speak. He was able to gather that I was focused and wasn’t listening to his thoughts; maybe he did speak and I did not catch it. We walked into town later, bought pastries for breakfast, and came back to the villa where I took a shower.

That afternoon, he was reading with his feet in the pool. Marlene and I were sitting at a picnic table under a shady tree-a place we called our spot- and we were sketching together. Lily had been painting in the shed. Marlene called him over to us two, maybe three times before he walked over. This is a nice spot, he said. I know, I responded. He sat with us, keeping a finger between the pages of his book. He was almost finished with it.

Marlene asked him questions that I could’ve answered; about his film and where he was from. He answered her much easier than he had me, but maybe that was because it was all small talk. They got along well, Marlene giggled with him and they shared their plans for the coming months.

Despite the amount Remus had confused and annoyed me, I had respected him. Given the experience I had with other people living in my house, he was kind to my parents, driven, and generally calm. He knew when he needed to show respect and when to help out, even on his cane-walking days.

After leaving the picnic table, he went back into town and didn’t come back until dinnertime.

“Where did you go?” I asked, half not expecting an answer.

“I needed to drop off some pages to the editor,” he said, picking at his food, “Then I decided to finish my book at the beach.” I nodded at him with a small smile, “Why? Did you miss me?”

He laughed until I looked at him, mouth flat. “No.” His eyes narrowed at me, jokingly, I think, and he continued eating his food. He was rather pretty with his blonde dreadlocks and dark skin.

We went swimming together the next morning. He woke up before I did and asked Matilda to make us peach smoothies. I woke up to the cup on the floor beside the bathroom door. I heard him leave the bathroom when I got up to get it, so I walked through and knocked.

“Yes?” he said, coming to the door.

“Thanks for the smoothie,” I said, smiling. “Do you want to go swimming?”

We swam for a few hours, and soon enough, Marlene and Lily joined us. Lily had only now met Remus face to face, despite having heard lots about him already. She and Marlene both liked him a lot, saying they liked his way of speaking. We all stayed in the ocean until Victoria came.

“Marlene?” she asked, still in the sand, “Mum needs your help.”

“Who’s this?” Remus asked, coming out of the water with Marlene and me, gleaming.

“My sister, Victoria,” Marlene responded, shifting her attention to the younger girl, “Victoria, this is Remus. Play nice.”

“No.” Remus and I both chuckled. His laugh was rather sweet compared to the edge in his voice. “Marlene, come on! You’re taking too long.”

Marlene did not hurry. Actually, I’m almost positive she slowed down just to piss off her sister. Remus, Lily, Victoria, and I all watched her take an agonizingly long time to grab her towel, water bottle, and spare clothes. Eventually, Marlene left and we all decided to walk back to the field and eat lunch.

Lily and Marlene both got along well with Remus. As his first week had drawn on, I did too. He talked his ear off some days, others he was quiet like a mouse. I both loved and hated that about him. Victoria also loved Remus, and they started to spend the mornings on the shore together. No one asked what they talked about or why a nineteen-year-old was spending his mornings with a ten-year-old; but Marlene was glad she had a friend, even if only for the summer.

After he came in from the beach, he and I would smoke a cigarette on the patio and then go outside and start the day. He still pestered me from time to time, but the days became more bearable as he became more comfortable in our condo. On his cane-heavy days, we would go to the backyard and pick peaches for Matilda, or sit around working on our projects. On easier days, we would go swimming or on a walk into town. By the end of the first week, Marlene had insisted we brought him to the shed. I was hesitant; none of our other summer guests had been so easily welcomed into the shed, only one other guest, Fabian Prewett, was allowed in at all. Remus appreciated it, but I think he could tell I didn’t love him being in there, so he almost only came in when he needed our attention.

“I think your ceramics are beautiful,” he said one day as I pulled them out of the kiln. This was the first time he made a clear-stated opinion about me. I turned and saw him admiring the fresh pottery, a small smile on his face. He reached out to touch them.

“Don’t do that,” I said, reaching out. His fingertips brushed the back of my hand and I pulled back. “They just came out of the kiln, you can touch them once they’ve cooled. Give them an hour or so.”

Remus nodded and pointed one out, “What’s this one?”

He was pointing to one of the favorites I had at the time, “That’s inspired by Athena.”

“Oh, I see. That makes sense,” he said, reaching back for it again, but going back only a centimeter before accidentally touching it. “Is that- an owl mask? I won’t lie to you, James, that’s what’s throwing me off.”

The way he said my name was nice.

“Usually, Athena has an owl somewhere on her arm or around her. The owl represents wisdom- which is common- but it also is considered her sacred animal. I think of the owl as a shield or protection. Not for war. From other people. Obviously, she's a goddess, so she wouldn’t need to hide her face in that sense, but I like to think her godly children might. Sometimes, plain old humans need to have a safety blanket just to feel alright.”

Remus understood. Maybe even too well. He asked me about a few other pieces as they came out of the furnace, and he complimented my handiwork once they were cool enough to the touch.

This time, I was okay to talk. My art was not something I disliked speaking about. Art, in general, really. He listened, he put in his two cents. And he was on with his day.

I don’t know what Remus did with his time when he left our property. Our city was small. We had a few important things; a store, bank, church, and of course the oceanfront. For anything entertaining, you would have to go to the town over or take a few trains to Milan. On the days he needed his cane, he still had some ability to ride bikes, but only to go into town. He used his cane more often than not.

One evening, Marlene welcomed him into the shed. She liked him a lot, I was even growing a liking for him. Maybe he was running out of questions, but this night he was fairly quiet. Maybe he was catching that I was not paying him any regard.

I believe I was paying him too much regard, truly. Maybe he realized that, too. He interested me, even when he gave me nothing but a blank canvas.

“Remus, can I ask you why you have a cane? You seem awfully young to-”

“Marlene, that’s not appropriate.”

Marlene was always blunt. Yes, I was wondering why as well, but I accepted this wasn’t my business.

“It’s nerve damage,” he said, not looking up from the journal he was writing in. His locs fell across his face just right. “I have a disorder called Multiple sclerosis.”

Marlene asked more questions. He seemed to be an open book for her. Why was I the one who was locked away? Turns out his disorder (MS) causes his immune system to decay a protective covering around his nerves. It caused balance issues, and his nerves couldn’t send proper responses to the brain. I asked him how he could ride our bikes just fine. He told me, I really shouldn’t, I was really good before I started having problems. It never went away.

Over the next few days, Victoria, Remus, and Marlene were getting along very well. I spent more time with Lily. She really was a kind girl, I noticed. But I also took note of the way her hands brisked my shoulders and the way she lingered on certain words. I was a kid, but not a child.

Moreover, the friendship Remus and the Mckinnons were forming was beautiful. There were a few days throughout the summer that I woke up to find Victoria and Remus on our beachfront alone in the haze. Lily asked Remus about her once, and all he did was change the topic. They had a bond, and we quickly learned to leave that with them.

On his eighth day, Remus and I went on our now routine walk to the bakery at daybreak. We came home, ate, and went swimming in the lap pool before Marlene and Lily invited themselves into the art shed. We shared headphones that day, and he shamed me for not having any David Bowie CDs, and then let me borrow his.

On the ninth, we were in town, waiting for the supermarket to open when he asked me,

“Why are we here? Right now?”

“Because whatever dictates our lives is telling us we belong here at this moment. The supernova of our lives, Remus.” I didn't think about it. His question caught me off guard, but I knew this was my answer. Something in me, then and now, tells me we belonged in that spot, at that moment.

I know that is not what he meant. I know that he meant why were we in that village as two teenagers, despite our yearning for something more.

“Is there anything you don’t know?”

---

i do not give you or anyone else permission to translate, transfer, or copy my work in any way. it is already posted to two other platforms, that is enough.

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hyunlixhart · 2 years

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I've been working on a Call Me By Your Name AU for SF9 and am planning on releasing it chapter by chapter!

I wrote this with fictional original character pairings for Rowoon, Chani, and Taeyang! I'm going to post the Prologue below. This is my first time releasing an original piece so please be kind! I'm super open to feedback as well from my fellow writers

Characters: RowoonxSimona, ChanixAllegra, TaeyangxVerona! (the rest of SF9 is eventually featured!)

First Glances

The car windows had been darkened, as per the request of the Korean embassy. Rowoon was glad for the privacy as he watched the unassuming Italian natives amble past his window where the chauffeur had stopped for a gas-up. He noticed that most of the natives had similar features. Dark curly hair, tied back against the summer heat. Tanned olive skin, not unlike his own. Everyone walked about the small hamlet as if there was nowhere to be and nothing to do. Old women sidled in and out of the open market, old men wandered into the town’s bar to sit under the fans and play poker. Most everyone in sight was above the age of 40.

The boy next to him, Chani, stirred. He had fallen asleep minutes into their journey from Rome, leaving the older boy in blissful silence.

Rowoon glanced down at the younger boy and chuckled. “You’re drooling.”

“Shut up,” Chani grumbled back in Korean, light hair falling into his eyes as he lounged back against the leather seats. “Why were we picked to come here? There’s nothing happening in this little town.”

Chani was right. There was little to do other than swim and have dinner parties with important political personalities who owned vacation homes across the coastline. The other six members of the Korean embassy were lucky to be spread out throughout Italy’s boot in Rome, Sicily, Florence…

“We aren’t here to have fun anyway,” Rowoon replied politically.

“Everyone here is a hundred years old!” Chani shook his head, glaring out the window. “I wanted to go to Rome with Taeyang and Zuho.”

Rowoon rolled his eyes and elbowed Chani in the side.

“Say that one more time and I’ll--” his voice drifted off as he caught sight of someone out Chani’s window.

“Or you’ll what?" Chani was waiting for the older boy to finish his thought. He turned his confused gaze in the direction Rowoon was looking and understood what had shut the older boy up, or rather who.

A golden head bobbed out of the sea of dark Italian curls in line at the market. The girl was young; likely closer to Chani’s age. She wore a red dress that hugged her wispy frame in all the right places. A fresh sea breeze tossed her blonde locks from side to side as she unassumingly examined the fresh crop of the day.

The girl’s skin shone like porcelain, almost frightfully pale, to the point where Rowoon felt the urge to hold an umbrella over her to ensure that she did not catch fire. Something about the girl’s face intrigued him. He wasn’t sure whether it was the furrow of her brow against the sunlight or the determined set of her lips as she sought out the perfect peach. Either way, he couldn’t peel his eyes from her until she was completely out of sight. Even out of sight, her delicate features were imprinted in his brain.

“Did you see that girl?” Chani exclaimed excitedly, pressing a hand to the glass.

“Who?” Rowoon was jarred from his moment.

“Didn’t you see that younger girl? She must have friends, and she must know what goes on around here.”

Chani clearly had not been as impacted by the girl’s pure angelic glow as Rowoon had been.

“Oh,” Rowoon shook his head, black hair falling delicately into his eyes, “right, yes. That’s exactly what I was thinking.”

“Mhmm.” Chani lifted a suspicious brow, leaving Rowoon to scan the sea of bodies hopelessly for one last glance.

#sf9 #cmbyn au #rowoon #chani #taeyang #original piece #sf9 au #sf9 imagine #call my by your name #italy au #kpop au #kpop fanfic #sf9 fanfic #kpop original au

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teahousemoonao3 · 2 years

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hey! Saw you post a into of new Cmbyn story-children of the wild! I love it and expecting new chapter, would there be regular updates ? BTW, love your Cmbyn fanfic and read TWFU at least 3 times

Hello! Thank you so much!!! Yes I am working on updating the story in the next few days, I’ve just been really busy with real life.

But I appreciate your message! Thank you again. Xx

#cmbyn au #cmbyn #call me by your name

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apricusapollo · 8 months

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(in cmbyn au)

luke, almost 20 years old: I feel like din is holding back because he sees me as a child and it makes me so mad because I'm not a child!

din, 25 years old: hey kid.

luke: -_-

#I'M SORRY THIS IS SO FUNNY TO ME #luke is just done atp #HOWEVER din and han calling luke kid because of their age difference is my fav thing ever #dinluke #luke skywalker #din djarin #crys' dinluke cmbyn au #i'm listening to illicit affairs btw!!#crys writes

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dstrt1xn · 3 months

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Somewhere in Italy in 1977…

He turns back to see Regulus’ face in his hands. At first he thinks Regulus may be crying, but when he looks back up he appears only to have aged, looking decades older than his sixteen years.

“It’s better if you and I aren’t friends,” he says, then, not looking at James.

“You’re my best friend’s brother,” James counters, weakly.

“And you know where I’m headed. You can’t follow me there, and you love people too deeply not to try.” He gives James a wan smile, rising from the bench now, too.

Around them, night has fallen and it’s very nearly too dark to see by. Yet, somehow, Regulus shines, like a second moon.

“We don’t have to be friends,” James bargains, “but if you’re back in Sirius’ life, then we at least have to get along. For his sake.”

Regulus walks purposefully towards him, leaving James so flustered he takes two steps back, out into the corridor.

“And so we shall,” Regulus agrees, politeness not quite covering the sadness in his tone as he closes his door.

—————————————————————————

FIRST INSTALMENT OF ‘SEASONS’

—————————————————————————

COMPLETE

AO3 link for kudos and comments:

Google Drive link for epub (if you were so inclined):

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fiolect · 9 months

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Cruel Summer x Wolfstar

part.1

#wolfstar #cruel summer au #wolfstar fanart #remus lupin fanart #sirius black fanart #the marauders #marauders fanart #remus lupin #sirius black #the marauders fanart #based on a taylor swift song #heavily inspired by the dancing scene in cmbyn #love my way x cruel summer crossover???#marauders #taylor swift

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asytherii · 3 months

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Archaeologist AU:

Because I am obsessed with creating dinluke aus in my head, and the dinluke document grows ever longer

imagine: retired archaeologist padmé amidala and the family (anakin, luke, leia, etc) who live somewhere in northern Italy I feel, big old beautiful house that’s been in the family for quite awhile

freshly graduated archaeologist din who’s scheduled to fly in and stay at the amidala-skywalker household for a few months after getting the opportunity to study under padme as an apprenticeship over the summer

Luke and din stuck in the same house a room apart all summer

Domestic fluff and family shenanigans ensuing ofc

#dinluke #din djarin #Luke Skywalker #padme amidala #anakin skywalker #au #dinluke au #archaeology au #fluff #family shenanigans #anakin skywalker hates sand (as always)#but his wife loves it because I love finding aus where Padmes joke provokes his hate for sand #I think I need to actually write this one #cmbyn inspired in aesthetic but without the weird age gaps and angst and no weird undertones #just fluff and healthy friendships/relationships

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kulai · 1 year

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If you're taking Wenclair drawing ideas, how about Wednesday blushing when Enid's hand brushes along hers, then grabbing it, causing Enid to blush harder than Wednesday?

im gonna be honest, this cmbyn au fic had me going actually but then i remembered i asked for requests !!!!!

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perfect-snaccccccc · 7 months

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new chapter of creaking in my bones (it’s not pain it’s applause) - my jegulus art forgery au - is out now and available here

this scene is literally what gave me the idea for the fic so I hope you enjoy :)) - here’s a lil extract:

There is an element of worship as he reaches his hand out to trace the contours of an arm that trembles beneath him, his breath coaxing warmth into the resolute cold of an exposed collarbone. He thumbs at the divet running below an elegant neck, vein punching out from beneath skin, hammering to the rhythm of his shaking fingers. He moves with the kind of reverence reserved for sacred relics, like the slightest touch could topple the young man from his pedestal. For an agonising moment, James removes his hand entirely, eyes drifting back up to the false detachment of a blank face. High cheekbones, brows knitted into the most delicate of frowns, lips pursed. He skims over brows with his index finger, and grazes his bottom lip with his thumb, letting it rest there a moment longer than he has any right to. James’ leisurely touch meanders across every peak and valley, sending shockwaves through every point of contact, allowing his hand to rebound slightly as it slides over the curves of a lean silhouette, backlit, almost haloed.

#jegulus #marauders #regulus black #marauders era #james potter #sirius black #james freakin potter #sunseeker #wolfstar #remus lupin #creaking in my bones #marauders museum au #marauders forgery au #marauders art au #jegulus au #muggle au #cmbyn

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crimsonlovebartylus · 7 months

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i'ma always be so proud of this fic 🥹 my little 30k

#bartylus #regulus black #barty crouch jr #marauders #the marauders #harry potter #dead wizards from the 70s #ao3 writer #gay dead wizards #mystery of love #the cmbyn bartylus au #with a happy ending #and also no power imbalance

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maryslouisv · 1 year

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to speak or to die:

part one: somewhere in northern Italy, 1979 part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5

a/n: Welcome! This fic is told from James' older POV. Think of it as him reflecting on this story years later and sharing it with someone else.

In theory, it would be helpful to read CMBYN before reading this, but it's unnecessary. Having watched the film could also count, but several details in this fic aren't included in the movie.

The Potters take the place of Elio and his parents, Remus as Oliver. Lily is Marzia, a character who is interested in James but can see where his heart lies. Marlene is Chiara, who takes a liking in Remus and hence makes James jealous. OCs Matilda, Allah, and Victoria are all based on characters in the original novel, but 2/3 are not vital to the story.

you can read this on archive of your own here! and wattpad here!

Every summer, my father, Fleamont Potter, invites a young college student to stay in our Italian vacation home. Whoever comes around gets to see the sights of northern Italy, make a little money, and get great connections as a striving artist or writer; all free of charge. My mum and dad spend a few days every Christmas flipping through internship applicants, looking for someone with the determination and diligence for the help, my dad might need. They would sleep in the bedroom that was mine any other time of the year, and our rooms would be conjoined by a bathroom and a small balcony.

Last summer, it was a kind young man called Amos Diggory, who was working on a novel about the history of language and cultures. He was kind to me, my friends, and my family, but he was uptight. I didn’t mind seeing him day in and day out, but every other summer the visitors want to explore the rural area of Lombardy, whereas Amos stayed on the property for the entirety of his five-week stay.

This year, my parents have kept me in the dark about the new boy coming; all I knew was that he was taller than and older than me, which was a given at this point Mum kept saying, you’ll love him, I promise.

“Is that this summer’s guest?” Marlene said, pointing out of my open bedroom window, her cigarette going out with it, “He’s pretty.”

I walked over to the window, took the cigarette from her hand, and into my lips, “Oh, he is, isn’t he? Wait here, I have to greet him.” I went downstairs, acting as though I hadn’t seen him pull into our driveway, just getting to the doorway when my parents see me,

“James!” mum said, cheerfully waving me over, “He’s here!”

“Hi, James,” I said, walking over and reaching out my hand for a nice shake. He leans forward, reaching his right arm over his stomach to stop his bag from falling, his left hand firmly shaking mine.

“Remus. Remus Lupin,” he announced. Much to my surprise, he had a slight Welsh accent, and though his dialect was serious to my ears, he was smiling brightly and his eyes were turned into crescent moon shapes. “This is a lovely house, Mr. and Mrs. Potter. Thank you for welcoming me here,” he added, walking a short distance ahead of me, but still behind my parents.

“You can call us Effy and Monty, dear,” my mum said, turning her head around at him, “It’s not particularly professional, but everyone calls us that,” she added, wrapping an arm around my dad’s. Remus’ smile faltered, and his eyebrows furrowed, but he nodded nonetheless.

“James will walk you around the property,” my dad said, pulling out chairs at our patio table, “it’s not huge, but it’s nice to know your way around. Once that’s over, we can have dinner and discuss your plans for the next two months.”

“Then it sounds like a plan,” he said, calmly. “By any chance could I have a glass of water?” Mum had our maid, Matilda, fetch him a glass of water and a few slices of lemon. He thanked her, smiling from ear to ear again, and drank it back quickly. “Well, James, whenever you’re ready.”

This boy had a pretty face, and his unkempt hair somehow framed his face just right. The faint sunburn across his cheeks made him look as though he’d truly lived. His eyebrows, thick and full, fit around his eyes in the most perfect way possible. He seemed too young to be, but he walked with a cane. He slouched over slightly, depending on it to walk around some days. I noticed he didn’t use it every day or at all hours; only when he was most immobile. I wondered, even much later, what caused that. I never asked. But somehow, there was just something about him. Even now, years later, I can’t pinpoint what it was about Remus Lupin. All those years ago, I may have told you his smile seemed faulty, or his accent fake. But now, as someone wiser and conceivable, I could not tell you what it was about Remus that irked me.

Anyhow, I did as my dad had asked of me. We spent an easy forty-five minutes walking through his temporary home and its surrounding fields. He complimented my mother’s gardens, as well as our well-kept lawns. He was simply eighteen, but he had the eye of a critic, perhaps an older woman who had lived a million lives and had seen the world. He admired our lap pool, saying he would need to make an effort to wake before dawn or sleep long after we had so he could have it to himself. His shoes came off as we left the gate of our property, finding a sandy brown beach and beautiful blue waters.

“This place is beautiful,” he contributed, staring at the horizon as though the sun would be gone if he looked away, “You must love living here. I probably would if I could.”

“I don’t live here.” It may have sounded more bitter than I intended, looking at it in retrospect. “But yes, I believe it is a beautiful place. Maybe I’ll live here one day when my parents are gone and have left this place to me.”

“Maybe I’ll join you,” he said, now looking over at me, examining my face for seemingly the first time since he’d arrived. “We should head back. It’s almost four-thirty,” he continued, looking at his black leather watch and already making his way back to the grassy yard of our villa.

“What brings you here?” I’d asked, opening the gate for him. “What made my parents pick you?” Now, this had some purposeful bitterness to it. He had some unruly arrogance to him, full of responsibility that no person his age needed to have. At the time, I didn’t see what made him special enough to be in my house, my bedroom, for the next two months.

“I’m writing a screenplay,” he’d said, proudly. If he noticed my bitterness, he had not made a point to react to it or to show that he knew where my head was. I was rather surprised to hear that he was aspiring to be such a thing; I had expected him to express something more hipster, like poetry or paintings. He explained that this film would be about moving forward from the place you’re set in and molded to in childhood, something of a coming-of-age film that he’d hope to publish by the beginning of Autumn. Yet another surprise, this time one that somehow made sense after later thought, this film was going to be complicated. Maybe because I had no idea what he meant when it came to experience, but also because I didn’t expect him to either. When he was explaining where this script would go, plot-wise, he’d explained that, though the characters were fully fictional, they’d been somewhat based on him and his own experiences; a scared mother and a crazed father with close-minded views. He had this planned out, he had very little left to complete aside from initial publishing and the long wait of trying to get a filmmaker and crew on board with it.

“I’m hoping your dad can help me,” he’d murmured, sitting next to me on the patio and waiting for dinner to be served, “Obviously, he can to some extent. He wouldn’t have invited me here otherwise.”

I had to give him this; he knew what he wanted. In less than an hour of speaking to him, I’d learned about this project, which was meant to be his debut in Europe. He was barely an adult at this point, but he knew what he needed and he had an idea of how to get it. Then, nor for many years later, I hadn’t a clue what I wanted to do. I wanted to be on a track where I could be happy, healthy, and humble, just like my father was for many, many years. Though there had been something about him that had bothered me, there had also been something there that helped me respect him and see past his posh ways.

Matilda served dinner first, and my parents sat second. The sun still had stretched over the sky while we ate, while they laid the foundation for the coming weeks. Remus and I would spend a few hours a day helping my father with his current novel, acting as an assistant. Though, after many summers of having visitors like Remus, he knew there would be more easy days than busy ones. So, he made a point to say that if he had not needed much help, he expected us to spend that extra free time working on our projects. Have a goal. Weekly, maybe daily, if you’re eager, he’d said. As we were only nineteen, he understood that we wanted to spend our summertime exploring the area, going swimming, drinking, and partying with our friends. He made yet another point to be sure Remus did not overwork himself. He’d made sure that he devoted no more than a few hours to working, spending the rest as he pleased.

“You’re young, and you’re determined,” he’d said, drinking his wine, “You know what you want. Which is great, I can’t say I was as prepared as your age, but you have to relax and have fun. It’s summer! You have so much more time than you think.”

Remus nodded and laughed out words to show he agreed with him or at least understood what my father was telling him. “I would like to open a bank account. Is there a bank nearby?” he asked after a moment's silence, looking at the gingham tablecloth beneath his plate.

“Really?” my mother asked, smiling brightly again, “Sure there is, have Allah fetch you the bikes and James can take you,” she said, nodding her head towards me. Of course, I’d take him simply because my mother asked me to, but why me? I asked Allah, our groundskeeper, to get mine and our guest's bikes from the shed, and we were leaving in under five minutes.

“Later!” he’d yelled back at my parents and Allah, using one hand to wave back at them. Later. It was so imprecise compared to his previously posh attitude. It hadn’t bothered me right away, but after everything, I wondered why later was where his properness drew a line.

“Well, Potter,” he said, accent proper and posh as it was when he’d first been greeted, “What are you working on then?” I remember having hummed in response, a way to show I didn’t understand. “Your father said you’d be working on a project of your own, just as I am.”

“Oh, that,” I’d said, breaking on the bike and walking it to a stucco wall next to the bank, “Sculptures.”

Remus looked at me, clearly confused, as his bangs flew in front of his eyes because of how his face squished, “Just sculptures?”

This had bothered me much more than I’m sure he had intended. Several of my friends’ families or family friends’ had not supported what I or my friends were working on, project-wise. Sirius was focused on music, Lily was content with abstract painting. Marlene and my parents had supported us both, as well as our friends, as they were perfectly fine with Marlene being an illustrator or freelancing depending on my mood.

“Well, I drabble,” I mumbled, trying to hide my aggravation. “But as of late, I’m working on ceramic sculptures of the greeks.” Remus nodded, face solemn, maybe disappointed in me, not that he had the right to be.

I walked him into the bank, and his account was ready in minutes, but we still had just under an hour before the sun would have hit the water, where Remus was mesmerized barely an hour and a half prior. I showed him more in town, we stopped for magazines and ice cream, and sat at a small table adorned by a red umbrella.

He asked me where I spent the rest of the year. Here for some holidays, Scotland for school and most of the spring, I said, not looking up from the article I was reading. He told me he lived in a cottage in Bristol, but was of Welsh descent and lived there until he was ten; though I could’ve taken a hunch at the Welsh part. I didn’t pay him much mind as I studied figures and faces in the zines, hoping for inspiration for a project. He leaned over, pushing himself up at the knees and revealing a small amount of bronzed chest from underneath his white button-down. He told me he was ready to leave when I was; I paid for the mag and got back on my bike.

When we arrived back home, the sun had finally set, though the moon had not quite risen yet. We let ourselves inside the house, leaving our bikes against the wall where Allah could find them later. I had accidentally walked into my room, forgetting it was Remus’ for the remainder of the summer, and walked through the bathroom doors into my room. He tried to follow and ask me more questions about myself, but he had countless days left to learn as much or as little about me as we wanted, so I shut him out and went to sleep.

I woke in the middle of the night to find Remus outside, on our shared patio smoking a cigarette and staring at the water over the gate. I thought maybe I should sit with him, and use the excuse that a cigarette sounded good right then, but I couldn’t bear another second with his calloused hands and poor small talk. I went back to sleep.

I woke again just as the sun had finished rising, merely six a.m, to hear him walking downstairs. I decided, against my better judgment, not to go back to sleep; making this the earliest I’d woken up all summer, maybe even all year. I took a shower and changed into fresh clothes, resisting the urge to go into my room, from which I’d been evicted, and see the damage I knew Remus had made. It was nearly seven when I went downstairs to find my parents in the living room and Matilda making breakfast. They’d questioned me on why I was up so early, about why Remus had gone off to. I don’t know, I told them, I thought you would.

I ate my breakfast, no Remus to be found, and quickly deserted my plans to help my dad early in the day to meet Marlene in our shared studio.

Our families were friends, going back a long, long time. She and I became friends just as easily as her father and my mother had, as their parents before them. She lives in Scotland, not a long drive from me, and they have a generations-old brick home down the street for our summer home, so we spent the better part of our time together. She helped my father and me during the final week of June and Christmas holidays when it was just me there, no guests; but she enjoyed helping my mother with gardening and her manuscripts far more.

“So?” she asked, finding her pencils on our messy shelving unit, “How’s this year's guest?”

“He’s… something,” I said, filling a jar of water, “I’m not quite sure what to say about him yet.”

Marlene made a face at me, even raising her hand to imitate slapping me in the face, “I don’t believe you,” she said, walking over to her light desk and sitting down, “Every year, it takes a sum of twelve hours before you’ve formed your opinion on whoever is visiting. Remember, three summers ago? That girl, Blake? She had been so focused on a contemporary, that you swore she didn’t even know Monty’s name. It took, eight hours, was it? Eight hours and you decided that you didn’t like her, and it stayed that way. Last year, with Amos- that was the closest you’ve ever been to neutral about someone, and even then-”

“Okay, I get it, Marls,” I said, getting her to tie my apron for me, “he’s bothering me, but I can put my finger on why. He’s posh, Marlene! I want to empathize with him, he honestly had this truly heartbreaking story about his big project- there's just something about him.”

She was confused about why I had to ‘empathize’ with the eighteen-year-old boy who was sleeping in my bedroom, so I told her exactly what he’d told me about his film. She expressed similar thoughts to mine, in the aspect that she respected his point and that he knew what path he was on. We thought alike in that way.

It was just about lunchtime when Marlene and I left our shed, both covered in colors of brown, grey, and various vibrant colors. We both needed showers. We ate lunch with my family and Remus, where Marlene kept giving me anxious glances each time his dialect changed between me, her, and my parents. When talking to us, he would grimace and tilt his nose up at us; towards my parents, though, he had taken the more serious, mundane route and looked them in the eye and smiled.

The three of us spent the better part of the afternoon helping my father with various jobs around town, including pickups, deliveries, and going to Marlene’s just to check on her mother and father. They were doing just the same as any other day; not great. Marlene’s sister, Victoria, was only ten; but was seven when she was diagnosed with leukemia. Mr. and Mrs. McKinnon’s hearts ache for her, as she’s only getting worse. Marlene and I stayed with her for a few minutes, as my father would understand if we were merely five minutes late. Marlene kissed Victoria’s head goodbye, and her parents did the same to her and me, as though we would not be returning.

Remus didn’t take much time to figure out his way around our home, nor the most vital parts of town, so Marlene and I got to skive off just for a little while. Let Remus learn how to do these things on their own.

When Marlene and I went out separate ways, just before supper, Remus was back in the living room, writing again. He hadn’t said anything to me today, not that he needed to.

“What’s your screenplay called, Remus?” I asked, needing to put a name to it all.

“To speak or to die.”

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