Cracked Mirrors | Remus Lupin

𝐄𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 | 𝐌

She didn't care about her godforsaken past. He was important to her, more than ever.

He, who had turned into a stranger, totally different from that chirpy childhood friend she used to know. And it was painful to watch him slip away.

But she was trying her best to be patient, giving him the space and time he needed. He would finally open up, right?

Tonight was yet another weekend. The pub was in its usual spirit. Every corner and crevice was bustling with patrons who randomly clinked glasses and raised toasts, some swaying on the dance floor and some others chattering around as they struggled to stand straight. The mingled sounds were loud in the damp air, already giving her an unwelcome headache. But that probably wasn't the only source of her aching head.

His low voice was still echoing in her ears. "I don't believe anything much these days."

A sudden lump formed in her throat as her gaze settled on him. His face was illuminated by the colorful neon lights, but his silence was dark, more pronounced than before. He seemed lost in thoughts for most of the night, often staring into space with a distant look on his face.

That only meant one thing.

Tonight was actually worse than the previous ones.

Everyone was there to have fun and forget about whatever that was the bane of their lives in the outside world. But he was taking a rather large swig from the glass just to hide his hurt expression beneath the shiny rim of it.

"Don't get all sulky now. It was only a joke." A giddy voice said from the other side of the table, followed by a half-hearted "Come on mate, loosen up a bit. You're being as serious as a heart attack tonight."

Then the group burst into a careless laughter, right after they had shot him a heartless joke. She stared at her friends in utter disbelief. They were dizzy, too wasted by the alcohol that now ran freely in their veins and ended up blinding their visions. Was it worth it? How could they easily offend their friend with their bitter words and practically blame him for getting hurt?

He placed the glass on the table, forcing a smile as he muttered, "Never mind."

Y/N knew he wasn't going to say anything or fight anymore. He was going through so much and at this point, he was numb by the toll of it. He was detached from the world, to the point that he wouldn't disagree if anyone told him the sky was red, or the earth was flat... Or that he wasn't worthy.

The scraping of a chair brought her attention back to him.

"It's too warm here. I need some air."

She saw him standing and her first instinct was to get on her feet. She didn't want to leave him alone, not when he was like that. But he raised a hand to stop her mid action, making it clear that she had to shrink back in her seat and give him some time. He offered her a faint smile and nodded reassuringly, saying "One smoke and I'll be right back." before he disappeared behind the crowd.

It did not reassure her.

He never smoked.

Impatience bubbled inside her with each passing minute. She swallowed dryly, tapping her fingers on the wooden table. The sight beside her wasn't surprising at all. Shots after shots were downed and everybody seemed to take it too far tonight, completely unaware of the agonizingly empty seat beside them. She reluctantly waited for a little while.