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The Firewhiskey burned Remus’ throat as he threw back another shot. He sat in the corner of the common room, an island in the sea of sweaty, writhing bodies. His hands were clasped together, elbows on knees, as he fought the urge for another drink. He knew better than to loosen his tongue with alcohol, to release his restraint and control. After all, what would stop the monster within him, that despicable urge if not him? But oh, was it so tempting as he watched him flirt with yet another girl. What was that, the sixth girl tonight? The old flirt must have lost count, but Remus hadn’t. Remus never lost count. Over and over and over, he let the numbers rise in his mind. Every interaction, every overt flirtation, every quick snog behind the statue on the third floor, and every failed relationship. He always kept count.
He desperately tried to shake away the soothing buzz as he became lost in his own thoughts. He should have known better to stay up and watch the object of his affections wink at anything with a heartbeat; wink at everyone but Remus. The lump caught in his throat stung as he watched that sweat-slicked hair sway as the boy flounced around the room. The dancing wasn’t quite that, more jumping in no direction to some unheard rhythm. The secretive touches of his palms feathering up and down the chest of a random Hufflepuff who’s blown pupils read full of attraction and desire. He never could quite figure out why he decided to torture himself like this every party, every celebration. Remus couldn’t remember exactly when he started counting, and when he’d started watching as much. It just seemed to appear one day, and it had never left.
He clenched his jaw as the man pushed back the blonde curls of a seventh year Ravenclaw and upturned his lips into a downright evil smirk, leaning down to whisper in her ear. Remus flexed the fingers of his right hand as the smile grew on her face, desire darkening her amber eyes. He scratched the back of his neck with his left hand as the man pulled back, a suggestive look on his face. He cracked his knuckles as the girl bit her lip and nodded, barely being able to meet the eyes of her suitor. That was weak, Remus thought absentmindedly. At least look at the man in front of you as he charms you into his bed chambers.
Had Remus been in her shoes he would have taken the time to appreciate the heat of his lover’s body, the sandalwood cologne that used just a slight bit too much of. He would have run his hands through those long ebony locks, ignoring the small catch every now and again from the inevitable tangles. That’s what came from never properly drying your hair after late night showers. He would have glazed his fingers down the side of the toned torso before him, memorising the dips and flaws and muscle of his abdomen. If it was up to him, Remus would be in the middle of stroking the porcelain skin of his slightly blemished cheek yesterday, thriving off the soft texture of the early morning face creams that he used. And most importantly, Remus would have appreciated the shine of his full lips, glossed from the lip balm’s desperate attempt to be rid of the cracks and tears that came from winter’s bite. Remus would ignore all reason, drop everything, to taste those lips just once.
“Hey Remus, you might want to room with someone else tonight, eh!” Sirius cried, voice somehow cutting through the bass-filled song thrumming through his feet, and across every heated student standing far too close for public decency. Remus rolled his eyes good-naturedly and gave him a thumbs up. Sirius winked as he made his way to the dorms, hands intertwined with number 287. He left with somebody else once again. And Remus couldn’t really stop his hand from pouring out another shot, just one more. It was easier to forget that way. Forget about number 288 as Sirius made eye contact with the thin, dark-skinned boy leaning against the wall and crooked a finger. Just forget.