Chapter 1: I was at Coachella
Chapter Text
Remus sighed, his eyes plastered to the clock on his dressing-room wall. They were late—all of them. “Cissy and The Werewolves” were meant to take centre stage not more than half an hour ago. Yet, this proved difficult when half the band hadn’t even showed up to Woodstock’s headlining act. The trailer carriage was small, but housed an awful lot of miscellaneous items; courtesy of Bellatrix herself. They had made the stark-white room into quite the place.
The only performing contender was a bleach-blonde boy staggering into the dimly lit room. His breath more like short gasps of air than anything else.
“I—” he started, slumping down against a clothing rack, “I ran so fast, God, Marls was trying to get the buggy to work. I mean, we all know that woman is rubbish at mechanics.” His eyelashes were fluttering tremendously. Eyelids opening and closing like the machines he was brutally describing, one of his many tics. That was his main one. Except, his band had found that it was mostly adamant before a big gig.
“Don’t underestimate her fine-motor skills,” Remus sighed, “you should’ve seen her with Bella’s bike.” He was trying to hide his obvious frustration, a task that proved to be quite difficult in the face of Evan Rosier. That man was practically a seer.
“Oh Remy, you old sob. They just moved our performance after Blind Melon, besides Cissas throwing a right awful fit by the telephone booth.” He flung a burnt-out spliff in his direction. The cig missed by a centimetre, still making the tall, lanky boy flinch.
Remus bit his lip. He knew nothing terrible would happen to the group, no; they were alright. They had always made it work. “What now, her boyfriend hates her singing about yobby-like things?” His eyes were plastered to the small ashy pile on his desk as Evan nodded enthusiastically, tapping his finger to the stereo’s faint music.
“Bella finds it hilarious, I think she just wants a hub of her own though,” the blonde chuckled, taking a drag, “not fooling anybody that one.”
Through it all, Evan still managed to make Remus laugh. “What about Marlene?” He started, “is she bothering to turn up.” He could just about make a smirk crawling onto his friend’s lips through the smoke, unmistakable.
“I know you guys have a thing and that, but holy Remy, eyes on the ball?” Evan mocked.
“Don’t call me Remy, toff,” he spat, standing up to ruffle his blonde curls, “God forbid a man wants his band back together.” There was an awkward silence. Neither boy required noise to be at peace but now it felt unnatural, simple small talk wasn’t cutting it.
Evan passed the spliff to Remus. By now it was just as burnt out as the last, except slightly more roughly rolled. “Cheap hash before a gig, woah Rosier,” he mocked, “soon we’ll have enough money to make our own bloody farm.” Well, they did in Bath but that was majorly overpopulated by oldies and rather boring shows.
“Y’know,” Evan paused, ciggie cradled in his left hand, “the girls have started talking about our own jet.”
The brunette coughed to the exent that even his out-of-touch bandmate understood the obscurity of the purchase. “We might need to play Woodstock a few more times to afford something like that,” Remus said harshly.
“Oh please, once they hear me on the bass they’ll be sure to take us back,” Evan stated, “I mean remember me two summers ago, I’m sure I out-played you lot.” The short, skinny boy’s freckles stretched as he smiled, revealing a weirdly-flattering gummy smile.
Remus sighed, finally snatching a new spliff from his pocket and lighting it. “Yeah, you certainly played something. When you slammed it onto the stage and got metal pieces into every front row’s eyes everyone was deeply appreciative.”
“Tasha loved it,” Evan grumbled. He quickly thought back to the look on their PR-manager’s face when she had to write out three hospital bills and five formalised apologies towards everyone that had been affected. Marlene liked to call it the big “bass-down” of seventy-nine. That was before Woodstock; before they got big.
“Weren’t you sixteen back then?” Remus mentioned bluntly, “all youngin’ and that.” Evan swiped for his head, causing them to dramatically fall back onto a pile of colourful scarfs.
“Like you were much older, Mr. Only-nineteen.” He snapped. It was a common argument to bring up ages in the band, Bella was the oldest by three minutes and somehow the least mature out of all of them, excluding Ev's tendency to go missing on their security team.
Remus laughed, dodging another one of Evan’s playful hits. "At least I was legal, unlike someone. Plus,” he stopped, “I really carried you and Marls as a chaperone.” The sentence sounded weirder than he would’ve thought. Yet, with his astounding height he probably could’ve passed as a twenty-five year old to a stoned bouncer.
“She was only two years younger than you, that’s pretty damn legal in my opinion.” Evan groaned annoyedly, “Maybe I should give the PM a piece of my young-and-civil mind.”
“I can guarantee the Prime Minister himself does not care what you think is legal or not.” It just then occurred to Remus that he had not taken a single puff of the lighted cigarette smudged between his fingers. Looking down, he noticed it was now practically a mix of ash and wrongly burnt rolling paper. “God, these are bloody awful Ev, who’s been supplying?”
“A friend,” he replied, no more words decipherable between his raspy voice. Helpful.
Remus gave him a disapproving look that seemed to provoke a deeper answer in Evan. “You have a lot of friends, popular fucking prick. Which one is it?”
“It’s nobody ok, just—he’s not really a dealer, just an actual mate.” He continued, rubbing the back of his neck. “Barty, I dunno if you remember him from school.”
He tilted his head at the blonde’s answer, racking his memory for a single boy with that name. “Nah, can’t remember. It’s alright, so he grows hash in his compost lot?” Evan nodded apprehensively.
“Yeah, something like that.” “Something” in his case normally meant external sources, but he preferred not to bring it up, not to him.
Remus just let the conversation fade off, after all whoever was sprouting pot that bad didn’t deserve to go off of a first name basis.
Marlene walked in just as he had managed to fling the rest of the cigs into the small, plastic bin. Not just her, but to Remus’ surprise came walking in with Bellatrix herself, her hair as midnight-black and ratty as per usual.
“Oh hello there,” he sighed authoritatively, pulling Marls onto his lap, “bout’ time you lot showed up.”
Bella ignored his comment, only walking towards Evan hastily. She had that look in her eyes that usually meant she was either going to go off on you or had just done that already. This time, it proved to be the second.
“Cissas gone,” Marlene mumbled, playing with Remus’ light-brown locks, “like gone gone.” His eyes shot open. Remus’ line of sight was practically bouncing off wall to wall; only looking at Evan every time Bella let out a small sniffle.
“You knew didn’t you,” he hissed, pulling aside his girlfriend, “you kept me here so I wouldn’t try and make her stay.”
Evan stuttered, “I’m sorry, it’s just—it’s better without the trouble and—”
“Bella, that’s your fucking sister,” his tone was stronger now, “and you just what, kicked her out?” He slowly walked up to the pair, stride powerful enough to make the floor practically shake.
Remus knew that wasn’t what happened. Narcissa wanted to leave, she had for ages. He had just supposed that her obnoxious fiancée would let her off easy. That didn’t mean he would give his group the proper rack of it, they let her walk it off like it was nothing.
“Well Evan, sing then.” Remus watched as his mouth dropped open, further than when he accidentally got his eye earlier, “you’re singing, it’s final.”
“Davie’s gonna kill me,” his bandmate grumbled, “come on Rem, don’t.”
Remus stopped him, “no, you fucking toff. Our manager’s gonna kill all of us if we don't go out there in—” he paused to check the still-ticking clock, “half an hour.”
Evan brought his hands up to his face, sighing deeply as Marlene began to rub his back. The question of whether he would do it or not was beginning to linger like an unsavoury comment. He had to do it, for them if not him. For the band.
————
The crowd went on for miles. They were all just little soldiers, colours of pink and blue and yellow just waiting for them to hit the first beat. Remus could hear Evan from his stand, the heavy breaths, the way he scratched at his dark-wash jeans. It had taken convincing, that was a definite fact; but it would all be worth it when the audience began screaming louder than Bella’s drums. Moonage Daydream—a seventies classic. That was the song Remus had suggested after Marls’ multiple comments on how their originals were meant to be sung by a bird, but supposedly Evan’s underdeveloped voice had the same effect. He wasn’t Bowie but he sure wasn’t a nobody either.
With a brief glance in Bellatrix’s direction they started on their instruments. Remus strummed on his guitar like it was lightning, each cord deafening by the overly-loud speakers.
I'm an alligator
I'm a mama-papa comin' for you
I'm the space invader
I'll be a rock 'n' rollin' bitch for you
When he looked over Evan was beaming, each word rolling off his lips gracefully as the crowd stood entranced. It was hard to believe that this was the same boy who would’ve rather die than sing, to perform in general; especially in front of hundreds of thousands of people.
Keep your mouth shut
You're squawking like a pink monkey bird
And I'm bustin' up my brains for the words
Keep your 'lectric eye on me, babe
Put your ray gun to my head
Press your space face close to mine, love
Freak out in a moonage daydream, oh yeah!
He was good, better than Narcissa in fact. There was something in the way he moved to each beat and bass drop. Remus couldn’t help but fall under the same spell as the rest of them, he was no better than anyone else. Evan felt magical.
“Show off,” he mouthed to him, walking down from the large stage. It has been an amazing set, complete with covers and of course, some originals when the girls gave a heads up. But by far Woodstock’s favorite was the first.
“What can I say, I’m so musically gifted aren’t I,” Evan mocked, “besides, you play Moonage Daydream like it’s Gospel.” Remus slung his arm over him, pulling him in for a tight hug. He had never wanted to kiss someone as much as now.
Marlene opened her mouth to protest, yet stopped when she saw his ecstatic smile. “Oh come on, where’s my hug.” They were found-family. It was then that Remus realized these were the days he would look back on when he was grey, remembering the glory and thrill. His life was a dream.
Chapter 2: Nothing gold can stay
Summary:
Evan meets a terrible fate.
Notes:
Uh oh this is an angsty one
Chapter Text
The room smelt of damp. The kind that you would pass by on an empty alley, walking to whatever plug you could find within a five mile radius of South Croydon. “So?” Remus broke the silence, bitten nails rested on Davie’s desk, “what did you bring me in here for?” His manager’s expression remained composed. It was often scary, at times, how such a man could keep a straight face in situations like these.
“I think you know why you’re here, Remus. Listen, you’ve worked with me for two years, two great years of Cissy. But now Narciss—”
“No,” he replied calmly, standing up as if he had planned his response all along, “I know you want us to split. But Evan, I mean—he can’t do it without us.” Remus could sense Davie’s anger, the urge to shout at him abruptly came clear as day; yet he never took it out like that. No, his tactic was pure manipulation. And Remus knew, he knew after Evan became distant and Bella went insane, and after the band crumbled like a paper maché. Davie D’s way of getting to you would forever be sliding under your skin, twisting each part he found distasteful. That was him.
The old man raised his hand up to Remus’ shoulder. They were practically the same height, both sporting something around a six foot four, if not maybe five. The only difference was Davie being built like a bodybuilder who had taken a week off work, and Remus, well he looked like a baby deer learning how to walk. Suddenly, he was snapped back into reality, animal comparisons thrown out the window like a gust of strong wind.
“Remy? Can you hear me?” His voice came in loud, piercing his eardrums for the first time since Woodstock. Remus opened his eyes in a flutter of lashes, turning to the thin figure lying next to him, Evan. “Er,” he paused, pupils still fixated on his bandmates hollow cheeks, “what happened? Why am I here?” The skinny boy shrugged. He knew the answer, he always knew it; Evan Rosier just preferred to take everything the lighter route.
“You just passed out,” he blurted, “lack of water, the nurses say.” His speech was interrupted by a sharp sniffle, “you’ll be fine. Don't stress it or you’ll be down again.”
Remus reached into his jean pockets, noticing he was still lying on Davie’s hardwood office flooring. He hadn’t budged in however long he was unconscious for. “Where’s my fucking lighter?” He groaned, rubbing his head as he sat up, “did you take it? Thief.”
Evan sighed as he pulled it out of his jacket, letting a cigarette roll onto the floor as he spilled its contents. “Mine’s dead, thought yours was an easy cop.” Remus rolled his eyes, snatching the zippo from Evan’s pale hands, that was Evan—not Pandora. The entire conversation he had half-believed that he was his friend’s twin sister, someone he had only seen at two shows and one dinner. He just assumed their relationship wasn’t the best.
“What d'you staring at,” the blonde snapped, “my gorgeous face, hm?” His fingers were intertwined in Remus’, counting the chipped nail polish Marlene had done just two weeks ago, before she obnoxiously left them all for America. They hadn’t heard from her since. “You’ll never leave me, right Evan?” He choked, “like Marls. You know I wouldn't survive that.” There was an immediate change in the atmosphere of the room. Things had been different in the last few months, everyone had been distant, and it was hanging around them like an obvious truth.
“I won't," was the last thing he remembered.
———
The call came early. No later than three in the morning had there been a distinct ringing noise coming from Remus’ kitchen phone, waking him up without effort. He had captured his reaction, the minute the receiver, Pandora herself, told him the news he purely broke down. After that there were weeks where he didn’t move. Just to brush his teeth and attempt to eat something other than an edible far expired, they were the only things preventing him from falling into no return. He was ruined.
“Wait, who died? I—it’s so early,” Remus had stuttered, hands clutching the phone like a lifeline, “Pandora? Is that you?” His fingers were twisted in the beige wire carelessly, cutting off the blood circulation in his thumb. The other end stayed quiet.
“Um, Remus. It’s Evan, he’s dead.” The silence was broken almost immediately, taken over by her soft voice; it wasn’t meant for this news. He hadn’t said anything else after that, dropping the phone to let it swing from its cord. Remus Lupin never wanted to feel that pain again, the throbbing in his heart, the wisp of numbness that overcame his body. He would never love anyone the same as he did Evan Rosier.
Quickly, he swung onto the leather couch carelessly placed right by the room’s door, letting himself spread across it. Not a single tear surged from his eyes. No, it was the kind of sadness that let you feel purely nothing, nothing at all. He wanted to say he saw it coming. When Evan started spending less time jotting down lyrics and instead beginning to fade into heavy drug use, courtesy of an unknown source. Remus just believed that the stress and fame became too much for an average twenty-one year old, having resorted to avoiding him and Bella like a disease. That was, when she wasn’t in jail for petty crime, which happened more often than you would think.
“Why,” rolled off his lips gently. Those were the only words he could fathom for the next two weeks.
The worst bit was the funeral. Black suits and women he was practically sure that he had never met, Evan wouldn’t have wanted it, he would’ve wanted a positive atmosphere. What he would have despised was the priest giving a testimony on his young and short life that was “taken too soon”, which Davie stepped in to agree with like an unknowing child. It was all just brutally wrong.
He hadn’t seen him since the office incident, him and the dead man himself were like a pair almost never apart. Remus sometimes began to wonder if there was ever more to each other's relationship. That, and why Evan was found dead by gunshot due to a suspected suicide on his bedroom patio, rather sudden. They were both simply mysterious people.
Chapter 3: Find some strength inside my hand
Summary:
Remus meets some new friends, and is presented with an amazing opportunity.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
It had been a year since the passing. Eventually fan mail complete with condolences stopped coming in, with the occasional death threat for letting his “band mate go mad”. It had all been undeniably insensitive, and on one faithful day Remus simply ripped the painted-red mailbox from his flat reception, with due complaints. Not to mention the doorman’s subtle glances of shame every time he walked out of the building, something that happened quite rarely. He didn’t leave the house much.
“Morning,” Remus grumbled, picking up a wrinkled newspaper from outside his front door, “God, I unsubscribed from them last month.” A young lady was draped by a square window on the far end of the corridor, shooting him eyes every time he peered at the burnt spliff she was huffing on. “Oh, don’t mind me, my boyfriend hates it desperately.” He nodded in response, slightly regretting addressing her in the first place, well half-way. It was only when she held out the cig that he finally thanked his attempt to be cordial.
“thanks,” he sighed, passing it back in a swift motion. A small smile crawled onto her lips, neither too wide or too faint, a meaningful one.
“What’s your name?” She prodded his arm gently, “I only see you around on like—the weekends.” He let out a small chuckle before rubbing his neck, leaning in slightly closer. “Remus.”
“Remus? What an awful name,” the girl joked, “I’m Lizzie, Elizabeth. Nicer than your posh one.”
“I’m posh? You sound like you grew up in a Kensingston high-street.” Remus stood back to mock her accent, before resting his elbow back onto the grimy windowsill. Lizzie’s hand began to drift closer and closer to his, before they were practically elbow-to-elbow, intimate for a first impression. He waited for the shy giggle for when she would pull back, yet it didn’t come. They just sat there in peace.
“My friend died a year ago,” Remus awkwardly blurted, before letting out a deep breath, “sorry. I don't know why I told you that—”
Elizabeth stopped him, bringing a hand to his lips in a silenced gesture. “It’s alright, don’t apologise for something that isn’t your fault.” For a minute he felt seen. For the first time in three-hundred and sixty-five days he felt like someone saw him for his sorrow instead of anger, it was refreshing. There were no words after that. Only the slight tip of a floppy hat caused Remus to waddle back into his two-bedroom, complete with a wave “goodbye” to his newfound friend.
The apartment was always cold. Luckily for him, the heating had gone out after December of eighty’, yet that proved to be mighty annoying when a chilly autumn came around that year. Due to that, Remus relied solely on thick scarves around the stuffy rooms. One collection of out-of-fashion hats stood on the mantle, even one from his past ex, Marlene. It had a fond favourite of his to stare at when there were no more newspapers to indulge in and the record had gone scratchy. When he really sat around to think (which happened quite often), he did tend to notice how mellowsome his life had become.
That was why it was shocking to get a call from Gideon Prewett at nine o’clock on a Saturday morning. Remus never got calls.
“Hello?” He uttered into the same beige phone, twirling the cord as he always did, “who is this? Oh wait, heating? God, I've been trying to get a hold of you lot since January.” A rough grunt could be heard from the other side, most likely the receiver getting comfortable.
“Remus, Remus. Can you hear me?” The same voice questioned, “and no, this is anything but heating.” He hadn’t heard that same low tone since the band. It did indeed come as quite a shock to him that the Gids was standing on another line talking to him, just two years since their collaborative song had released live. Remus could barely voice a short “yes” into the phone before his acquaintance began rambling.
“Well. I have an offer for you, listen I know you aren’t performing anymore—so you might not want this. But we’re one mentor down on “Born For Stardom” . I was hoping you’d be available.”
Remus furrowed his brows, racking his brain for any mention of anything of that name in the past. After simply no luck he finally had the courage to ask what exactly he was talking about. “Um, Gideon I’m not too sure I know what you mean,” he mumbled.
There was a short huff of laughter that pierced the phone speaker, before returning to its cheerful tone. “It’s like a gameshow, maybe even a reality one if you squint. I don’t know if you’d be interested but you just sort of guide a person into getting better?” Gids proclaimed. Remus paused.
“Guide into what?” He continued, phone cord long abandoned. After that the only thing audible on the other side of the phone was the slight rustling of paper, paperwork, and probably something to do with an explanation.
“Well, music obviously? You were what—the guitarist for Cissy?”
——
Remus wasn’t really sure how he found himself on a train to central London. Whether Gideon Prewett was convincing was up for debate, yet it surely proved to be easy when it came to dragging him out for something like a band gameshow. The entire thing didn't really seem legit, in all honestly he had never even heard of “Born For Stardom”, even though this was its ninth year running televised. Whatever, there was nothing like standing in Victoria with a broken suitcase and severely underpacked duffle meant for the next twelve weeks. He would make it work.
“Cab?” Remus stuck his hand out over the bustling street, stepping back when he almost got taken out by a white van. Black Taxis were dotted around the entire station, yet somehow there always seemed to be too little for the morning rush, London in late September was busy at the least. “Hi. Wait, Providence Heights?” He voiced to an unknowing driver, who already looked to be booked for another businessman, “I’ll pay extra, I just need this ride.”
The man stared him up and down for a minute, severely doubting that this man would overpay him. His ripped loose jeans, v-cut shirt, and multiple beaded bracelets were anything but proper attire. It was only when Remus coughed up five quid that he caved.
“What are you out for then?” The gruffly old man asked, making contact with his passenger through the rier-view mirror. Remus shook his head, trying to come up with something other than, “I’m a rockstar—that’s why.”
He finally decided on, “just business, not an interesting one.” It seemed convincing enough. The driver nodded, head slightly bobbing to the quiet aux, a high-pitched girl was singing on the radio. Remus took the time to look through his beat-up backpack that he had mistakenly thrown over his shoulder a few minutes before leaving. There was no need for a bag like that, he already had everything he needed, it was more for a sense of control over anything else.
London looked fresh as ever. Aside from the occasional tossed paper bag, and of course old furniture thrown outside houses practically falling by the seams, it was a new start. A first for him at least. Those were the words that played in his head as he stepped down what were meant to be the most prestigious streets you could live in, bang in the centre of Providence Heights Hotel.
Notes:
Guys the chapters WILL be longer as the story continues, but I just want him to get to the competition so uh yeah!