the one where the American meets the Marauders & the rest is water under the bridge
oc x remus lupin
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My eyes stripped from the tall boy behind me to look again into Lily's full length mirror.
Staring back at me with sharp blue eyes was a brown-haired girl, slightly pale from the winter and with a slanted pink scar across her freckled nose. She had on a red mini dress with tight sleeves that gripped her arms and a matching tight skirt that ended midway down her thighs.
"Do you not like it?" Her lips spoke, and the boy wrapped both of his arms around her from behind, and shook his head with a smile.
"Of course I like it," said Remus, and he spun me around to face him. His hands traced over my sleeves to hold mine. "You look amazing, my love."
He kissed my forehead and I smiled, but it faded away at what he said next.
"I just wanted to know why you always wear dresses with long sleeves."
My gaze fell to my arms, partly to observe his statement, and partly to avoid his eyes.
"I don't know," I mumbled, and it was a lie.
Without sleeves, tiny semicircles would trickle down my arms, each dash screaming for attention. Without sleeves, long slashes would pop out, each gash calling for question. Without sleeves, the red 1/4 carving on my wrist would be painfully evident, each line dragging me into remembrance.
Remus placed one curled finger under my chin and lifted it so I was staring into his eyes. The bronze depths melted me down, as per usual.
He moved his right hand to cup one side of my face and leaned in to kiss my lips. It was quick, but I felt my shoulders, arms, and legs loosen as my chest and heart tightened.
"It's okay to be insecure about the scars," he said quietly.
His left hand was still holding my right and I felt his fingers slip lightly under the brim of my sleeve, tracing along one of the small disfigurements.
"But you aren't yourself without them," he continued. "You and I, we aren't perfect."
His hand slid out from beneath my sleeve to hold the back side of mine. He lifted it up so my fingers were touching the jagged pink gash across his left cheek. He then did the same with my other hand, pointing it to a scar on his collarbone.
"You see?" He said with a small smile. "Those aren't supposed to be there."
His hands slipped through my arms and brushed lightly along the strip of torn skin across the bridge of my nose. It was somewhat diagonal, but clear cut nevertheless, and I hated it. I hated all of the scars I had obtained in the attack, but mainly this one. It slashed right through the middle of my face and no amount of magic or makeup could conceal it. Every time I found myself in a reflection or a photo my eyes instantly jumped to the crooked red dash. Impossible to cover, impossible to forget.
