#remus fic

his hands were big with faint pinkish hues on his knuckles, soft lines that ran down the back of them—all used to feel you up in a way that left shivers down your spine. “how’re we feeling today?”

remus thought of you as one of his favourite patients—maybe because of how soft you were, how obediently you listened—how you were innocent enough for him to use you, to heal you with whimpering sounds.

“hi, doctor lupin. m’good.” you gave a sheepish wave and a grin, voice so airy and bright that it made remus’ pants tighten already.

that smile of his deepened before he tugged at his slacks. “someone’s chirpy.” he murmured under his breath, already reaching for the latch on the door. “what did we say about calling me that, sweetheart? you know there’s no need for formalities when it’s just us.”

you didn’t even flinch at the soft click of the lock. this was your fourth visit, with close proximity becoming a theme. last time you’d complained of some tension in your jaw. he’d helped—of course, told you to kneel between his legs and take every inch of his thickness until the ache disappeared entirely. you’d often leave in need of an underwear change, that tingling feeling in your legs intensified.

his methods were surely…unconventional, but they always worked, and no other doctor ever bothered to interrupt one of his sessions—leaving you all to himself.

“sorry, remus.” you murmured, hands clasped together with a slight twinge of pink to your cheeks.

remus gave a soft smile, nodding to the examination table. “no need. hop up for me, lovely.”

you obeyed without hesitation, feet lifting off the ground as you settled, folding your fingers neatly in your lap.

he came up, stood between your knees, voice low and raspy. “what’s brought you in today then, hm? jaw doing alright?”

you nodded quickly, a shy little swallow. “mhm. it’s just…something else now. i found a little cut, just right here.” you pointed to the curve of your breast, visible through the tight fabric of your blouse.

“i don’t know how it happened and it hurts a little, so I got scared,” you admitted with a pout that formed instantly. “what if it’s something bad? like i need surgery?”

remus’ expression softened with a half chuckle, watching you with a mixture of a mocking but caring look. he knew it was most likely a papercut and nothing more. you always rang up hospitals for every minor inconvenience, which remus encouraged, so he could see you more. he always bought into your little worries, like some concerned doctor that didn’t have his cock leaking at your innocence.

he reached for his stethoscope, tucking the earpieces in. “i’ll take a look, yeah? let me handle it, darling.”

the calm way he said it made you melt—always so sure. always in control. you liked listening to him, doing whatever he pleased to make you feel better.

his fingers went straight to your blouse, unbuttoning them with practised ease. the first time, he’d worn gloves, asked permission. by now, he didn’t need to. you never said no to him, and you preferred the warmth of his hands over cold latex.

as the fabric parted, remus paused. the pink lace of your bra was peeking through, one that pushed your tits together perfectly—one that made his throat work in a quiet swallow.

“dressed up for me today, doll?” his tone curled around the petname, dipping just enough to make your thighs clench.

you shook your head with wide eyes, the lace colour matching the blossoming of your cheeks. “didn’t mean to. my other ones were in the wash—this was the only clean one.”

“so you picked the sluttiest one?” he shot back darkly, lips twitching, eyes staring at your covered tits. his fingers grazed the plush skin there, dragging down one of the cups to bare your breast.

“i didn’t mean—”

“hm, but you did.” his tone dropped to a quiet, gruff note. he pressed the stethoscope to your chest, the cold metal making you jump in a shiver. your heart thudded against it, and remus gave a sly smirk—his way of knowing that you enjoyed every bit of this.

“such a bad girl.”

“m’not! i wanna be a good one.” you gave a pout and he clicked his tongue at you, humming in amusement with a smirk.

“well you can’t be when you dress like that.” his thumb brushed across your nipple until it hardened beneath your touch. then his hand slid lower, cupping beneath your breast, giving it a soft squeeze. “now, show me where the cut is, love.”

you guided his fingers just beneath, and he crouched slightly, examining the skin of a faint cut, the size of an ant.

remus’ eyes narrowed, before a soft laugh escaped him. “just what i thought. that’s a light scratch, baby.” he tapped your skin gently, eyes flickering up to you. “must’ve just nicked yourself from your fingers while you were asleep. is that where it hurts?”

you nodded with face crumpling in embarrassment, a frown tugging at your lips. “so it’s not serious?”

“well no, but still needs treating, doesn’t it?” he said softly, hand gently coming up to caress your cheek. “you trust me, sweet thing?”

“yeah.” you murmured, shy again.

“good girl.” he praised, and then pressed a soothing steady kiss to your breast, right over the faint line.

a soft sound escaped from your lips as you felt that tingly feeling between your legs again. remus exhaled roughly through his nose, tongue tracing the sensitive skin around, before wrapping his lips around your nipple.

your back arched in a whimper, fingers tangled in his hair as he groaned. he suckled, his cock twitching at your pretty sounds, begging to be freed.

“think it’s working,” you mumbled in a dizzy manner, feeling the warm suction, the gentle scraping of his teeth.

he pulled away slightly just to whisper. “oh, i’m sure it is,” before giving a little smile and sucking your bud again. his cheeks hollowed out, hand gliding to give attention to your other breast by squeezing it roughly.

a gasp emitted from you, and remus rumbled in a vibrating groan against your skin. “so good…” he mumbled, before his teeth grazed your nipple again and bit softly. you jolted, eyes widening, yanking on his hair.

“i—i think i need more healing.” you whimpered, voice cracking slightly. you felt like this wasn’t enough, craving for that tingly feeling to continue, to drench your underwear.

remus finally pulled off your bud with a soft pop, hands gliding down your sides with shiny flushed lips. “do you, now?” he teased, before straightening up.

you noticed a darkening wet patch at the crotch of his trousers, just under his white coat. he caught you staring, a slow small grin spreading across his face. “might need a stronger tool for this. you want that?” he asked, voice strained with need.

you nodded before you could stop yourself, watching remus unbuckle his belt with a quiet, controlled motion—he always made you wait, to get you writhing for it.

the metal clinked softly, and he shoved his slacks down enough to free himself. he bit his lip to stifle a deep groan as his hand wrapped around the base. his thick cock was flushed pink and leaking, a prominent vein that lined the underside of his shaft.

“big, huh?” he teased again, giving himself a few slow strokes that tore a dirty rumbling sound from him. “think this’ll do the job, baby?”

all you could do was stare with your lips parted, thighs squeezing together at the slight curve of his thick cock. “s’big…” you mumbled in awe.

“yeah?” he gave a sheepish sort of grin, before he stepped close, lifting your hands gently to press them to your chest. he gave a soft peck to the valley of your breasts like he couldn’t help it. “want you to hold them together. like this for me. yeah? promise it’ll make you feel better.”

you nodded eagerly, doing exactly as he said.

“good girl.” he cooed, lining his cock up with your sternum. “keep them squeezed together—”

he shuddered as he guided your breasts around his cock, groaning as the softness squeezed him just right. you watched his face—his brows pulled, mouth slack in such a pleasurable way that made you even more aching to please him. “that’s it, angel.”

your innocent eyes merely blinked up at him, pressing your tits together in a firm hold for him.

“fuck…” remus hissed as his hips started to rock, thrusting between the soft fatty tissues. “so obedient. so sweet.” he cupped your jaw, thumb tugging at your bottom lip. “such a good listener you are, huh?”

his fat cock kept sliding between your tits, aching for more friction. he held your chin, biting his lip to hold back the animalistic sounds that would’ve echoed in his office. “can you spit on it, baby? just to help. for the healing.”

he said it so gently that you had no choice but to obey. remus let go of your chin and you leaned down, spitting a big drop that strung from your lips and onto the slit on his cock. remus growled low in his throat, the soft squelching noises that appeared as he lathered your spit down his shaft, with the help of your tits.

he panted, hips bucking sloppily into your chest, the obscene slapping noises amplifying. “that’s it…look so good like this. don’t even know how filthy you are. do you?” he rasped, muttering more to himself than you. “just think your sweet little injury’s being treated.”

“isn’t it?” you asked with a dazed look, all confused.

remus let out a broken laugh, head tipping back just slightly. “oh, sweet girl. just keep being pretty for me.”

he grunted suddenly, cock twitching between your tits before he spilled all over your skin, coating the top in hot white seed. it trickled down and seeped into your cleavage, an ungodly sight for remus—all while you blinked up at him, unsure what to do as he pulled a tissue from the drawer, wiping you up gently.

then, he leaned in, and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “there. all healed.”

“thank you, sir.” you whispered, remembering that name of authority from the last appointment, too shy to say it until now.

remus froze, his half-hard cock already twitching again, before you got up—like you hadn’t just ruined him all over again. he gave a light smack to your ass, a small gasp falling from your lips before it disappeared into a giggle.

he cleared his throat, stifling his dark chuckle. “i think you’ll need another follow-up. same time next week.”

and then, he tucked himself back into his slacks and opened the door for you, a lingering soft smile that screamed nothing but innocent. “see you then, darling.”

©️siriuslystarman. this fic was not made by AI.

as remus strides into the gryffindor common room he is met with two things: the smell of damp wood and rain and the sweet sight of you, cozied up on an old and squeaky sofa and tucked away under the wool blanket his mom knitted up for you last christmas. only one of those things does he think actively brings joy to his heart. you’re lazily skimming a text book for what he believes is potions, but he can’t really say for sure; you’re too much a breathtaking sight to truly focus on anything else. you’ve got the tips of your fuzzy sock covered feet peeking out of the blanket and one of his older sweaters that he gave up on stealing back from you draped over your form. you look so comfortable that he thinks he wants to just cuddle up there with you for an impromptu nap. instead, he continues his pace towards you, planning to steal you up to his dorm to love on you.

hearing footsteps approaching your cozy spot, you look up and are met with the lovely sight of him; sun-kissed skin glowing under the light of the warm fire and shaggy brown hair sitting just right to give him that sleepy look. he’s a breathtaking sight you think, one you’d never get used to or get tired of. you think he looks just as kissable as he is for you and it eggs on your want to have him in your arms. after all, you’re feeling quite lovely today, so lovely you think you might steal a kiss from his very lips.

your face lights up with a close-lipped smile that has your nose scrunching up and your eyes squinting as you set aside the aforementioned textbook on the creaky wooden table in front of you. your arms invitingly open up to reach for him and he abides by your silent request to join you in your coziness. your arms wrap around his neck and his around your waist in a semi-awkward position that works just right for the pair of you. you breathe in the woodsy scent that's made its way to your boyfriend's sweater with closed eyes and a familiar smile, comfort securing its already tight hold on you.

you whisper a small greeting into his neck, which earns you a beautiful breathy chuckle from your love. he offers the same treatment, speaking in clear amusement. “looks like you’ve got yourself a cozy spot here, dove.” he mumbles with closed eyes, relaxation evident in his voice. you plant a sweet kiss to his neck before pulling away, him secretly missing your warmth.

you hum at his words, “i do, don’t i?”

he hums in agreement and as you beam at him like he’s hung the stars in the sky, he suddenly wishes he could describe to you what falling in love with you all over again feels like.

instead he opts for a simpler solution and invites you up to his dorm under the guise of ‘this creaky old couch won't be comfortable for too much longer, dove.’ and though you see through it, you are happy to pretend with him if it means getting the full effect of his warmth.

he guides you up the staircase that leads up to his dorm, hand in hand as you trudge up the aged wooden stairs. just as you reach the landing before the second flight of stairs you tug at his hand with enough force to spin him around to face you.

you force yourself to repress a giggle at the momentary shock shown on his face and lean up to kiss him like you’ve been yearning to do since you saw him approaching earlier. you think you’ve gotten your way until he turns his face at the last second and you end up pecking his cheek instead.

you squint your eyes at him and raise your chin in question, being met with a smirk mixed with amusement and mischief. “ah, ah,” he tuts, sneaking a glance at your pouted lips, “oh,” he draws out, “don’t pout, lovely”

“how can i not when you denied me something as simple as a kiss, remus.”

“well you know the rules, my love.” he says matter-of-factly, “it's only fair that you ask.”

you roll your eyes stubbornly at his teasing and turn your head from him, giving him a view of your side profile. remus doesn't appreciate this, his smirk dropping as he promptly takes hold of your jaw to make you face him again.

“there’s no need for the attitude, honey,” he corrects, “just ask. nicely,” he prompts as he leans in, his breath mingling with yours, “and i’ll give you what you want.”

you, ever the stubborn, remain silent and look away. remus, unable to deal with such attitude, tilts your head to force you to look in his eyes, “ask.”

your eyes flicker to his plump lips and you can’t help but fantasize about the familiar drag of rough scar that you’ve come to love on your lips- just as it has been many times before.

remus deems your fantasizing ways to take up too much time and he taps your chin to get your focus back on him. you meet eyes and find him looking at you expectantly.

you bite down on your plush lower lip softly before asking, “may i have a kiss remus?” “please?”

he breathes out a lovely hum and smiles at getting his way, “of course you can, my love.”

with his hand still having a hold of your jaw, he makes you meet him halfway, pausing just to be a tease and brush your lips with the warmth of his own. you’re starting to feel like you can’t bear it anymore, knowing- feeling, that with a single brush upward would connect you two the way you’ve been silently begging for.

finally, after an achingly long few seconds, his lips slide over yours, slow and teasing in a way that tells you he’s feeling more in control than ever, that tells you he’s savoring every second of it. your eyes flutter shut and you take it upon yourself to lean into the kiss, silently asking for more.

he’s more than happy to give it to you, gently pressing you to the wall as the kiss deepens with a lazy heat that makes you dizzy. all while his hand travels to cup the nape of your neck instead of gripping your jaw. he coaxes your mouth open with experienced precision and his tongue slithers its way past the barrier of your kiss swollen lips to explore inside of your mouth.

he kisses you like a claim, firm and unapologetic that he’s taking what’s his and your mouths start to move in a frenzy- biting, gasping, pulling at whatever they can grasp onto.

you can feel the rough patch of skin at the corner of his mouth graze yours when he smiles mid-kiss at the whimper you let out as the kiss grows messier, wetter, his tongue gliding against yours before pulling it into his mouth with a low, greedy hum. he catches your tongue between his lips, sucking gently until the slow pull of his mouth around it makes your head spin. he sucks on your tongue like he’s tasting something forbidden and the groan it pulls from your throat makes him want to press up against you more to relieve himself.

he pulls back with a sharp intake a breath, just enough to whisper something, a “fuck baby, you look so pretty like this,” all low and hoarse before diving back into your mouth again.

you let out a hoarse moan when his leg slides between your thighs, pressing so right against your core that you have to pull away to take a breath.

his mouth doesn’t stop in its action and takes its business to your neck, licking and biting at the spot he knows makes you weakest in the knees. his hands slither down to your hips and prompt you to start grinding on his thigh. your stomach clenches and you curse as you throw your head back, “shit, rem-”

“that feel good?” he grins against your throat, coming up to look at the pretty sight of your face scrunched up and eyes fluttered shut, “yeah?”

you let out something stuck between a moan and a hum of approval, but you’re sure remus gets the message anyways- he always does.

“this is what you get when you just let that pretty little mouth say please like it was meant to.”

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:··:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:··:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:··:*¨༺ ♱✮♱

Quite early on in life you learnt two things.

First—timing is everything.

One split-second decision has the power to change the entire trajectory of a moment, and that will trickle into your day, your week, your month—altering things in ways you’ll only notice much later. A choice as small as turning left instead of right, staying instead of leaving, speaking instead of staying silent.

And although, you tried not to dwell on things like that too much, you often found yourself staring up the ceiling fan, thumbs twiddling on your lap—lost in deep thought. Recounting moments, mind flitting back and forth trying to distinguish things, pin-point the trivial choices you’d made. Pondering. The possibilities, the what-ifs, the way things could change, if you’d done something else how different the moment you were in now could be.

Only sometimes did it frustrate you, the way life was seemingly always a one track path—curious of the small branches each decision could form.

All the coulds, woulds, shoulds melting away in a fraction of a second.

The permanance of it all erked you.

Still, you’re thankful that in the moment, you aren’t debilitated by the action of decision making, rarely plagued with regrets, just harmless wondering. It wasn’t a frequent occurence for you to wish to turn back time.

“You’re thinking too loudly, Y/N, it’s distracting.”

Regulus.

Sitting behind you with James and his brother on the table in the Gryffindor common room, supposedly studying for the advanced potions exam but you zoned them out ages ago. Head tilted back resting on the edge of the sofa—you looked quite peaceful in your mindless contemplation, Remus thought, he’d been subtely watching from the other end. His back against the arm of the sofa, book resting on the ball of his knees that he’d brought up into his chest. Tracing over your side profile in his mind, your head rolling slightly as you lifted it up, as if it was weighty on your shoulders.

You didn’t turn back to look at them behind you, only producing a small questioning hum, gaze falling on the fire. Remus continued watching as your eyes unfocused, blinks become slower and slower, almost entranced by the embers flicking off the body of fire.

The rise and fall pattern of your chest slowing as you sunk deeper into yourself again. He had to fight the twitch at the corners of his lips, sometimes you drifted away with the fairies, only a physical presence in the room—and he found it rather endearing. Using that time to steal small glances at you, the way the jogging of your foot slowed to a stop, how your face relaxed and rested in a slight pout.

He stretch out one of his long legs, letting it fall off the edge and brush against your ankle—the contact brought your back down, turning your head to him quickly a small sheepish smile blooming on your face; you’d been caught.

Still shifting in his seat, sitting upright, letting his limbs extend and crossing his ankles over one another, his book opened face down on the armrest. Remus was still looking at you, a huffed chuckle leaving through his nose when he asked, “You tired?”

Your face scrunched slighty, arms wrapping around yourself, fingertips playing with the loose yarn of your jumper. Shaking your head and mumbling a light, “No,” Remus had already made space for you, gently patting his lap, a signal. You rolled your eyes, but there was no real bite—you were already moving, twisting your body to rest the back of your head on his lap. Looking up, admiring him, melting into his touch—his hands instinctively playing hairs at the nape of your neck when you turned your head.

And the second you did, he looked down to you, mirroring your previous actions. Watching as the light from the fire flitted across the skin of your cheek, reflecting off the glisten in your eye. He whispered to you, fingertips ghosting over the skin of your neck as he twirled a strand around it, “What y’thinking about?”

Shifting further to get more comfortable, your head rolled back over to him, tongue darting out to wet your lips before you inhaled deeply through your nose—eyes boring into each others. Your brows raised on your face, humming out an answer, “Hmmm…just things,”

Remus leaned down dramatic and inquistive, hand having abandoned your stray hairs, and was now stroking over the top of your head. Your face split into a wide grin at the playful glint in his eye—voice full of feigned skepticism, wiggling his brows at you.

“Ooo, scandal! What things?”

You couldn’t help that laugh that bubbled in your chest, shaking on his lap, eyes squeezing shut as you giggles filled the room—his chest bloomed with pride when you broke, grinning with you. His fingers twitched at his sides in efforts not to just squish your face because, Merlin were you pretty.

Your friends watched the scene from the far table.

But no-one said anything, it was the norm. You and Remus—close, very comfortable with each other, but just friends. They all knew it; he liked you, you liked him, but for whatever reason neither of you addressed it.

The fond looks, lingering touches, magnetised to each other, but never crossing that line that you’d both magically drawn in the same place.

In the great hall, you sat with Lily, Marlene and Dorcas, they were all engaging in light conversation—enjoying their lunch. But you sat there silent, face vacant, mind drifting off far far away. So far infact that even in all their noisy hustle and bustle, the clattering of plates and scratching of benches, you hadn’t notice the late arrival of the boys.

Toast barely half buttered let alone eaten, hands cradling your wrists, completely content in your daydream. Not long after they settled in, Sirius snicker at your flat gaze—nudging James with his elbow before nodding over to you, and he quickly joined him in amused observation. Unsuprisingly, the whole table began watching you, the sound of metal against the china of their plates had slowed and they were waiting—waiting for you to notice or feel their gaze.

Sirius even went as far as to blow at you in hopes of a reaction, barking out a laugh when you didn’t move at all; “D’you reckon she’s sleeping with her eyes open?”

Even Remus chuckled lightly at your blank expression, after eventually deciding that your friends had had more than enough fun experimenting and speculating, he ran his hand from the top, gently trailing down the entirety of your spine, settling in the small of your back. And following the movement of his hand, your back arched, straightening, becoming taut—finally blinking your way back into the room with a deep inhale through your nose.

The table erupted with small giggles and snickers, you whipped your head around at them, and then to Remus—wide-eyed and innocent, he just ducked his head down with an airly laugh, his palm still pressed against you. “What? What’s so funny?” You couldn’t help but smile along with them, even in your oblivion.

“Oh nothing. It’s just that Moony factory reset you like you were a Monster Book of Monsters.”

This time it wasn’t just small snickers, the laughter barked and sounded loud around the great hall at Sirius comment, poor Lily even choked on her pumpkin juice, spluttering out a laugh. Your mouth was agape, heat rushing to your ears but you didn’t have any words to fight back with, just shaking your head—hand reaching out for your globet and taking a shy sip.

The chaos did eventually die down, as did the heat in your ears—chatter building again at the table that you stayed present to, humming along. Remus’ hand slid up lightly to your waist as he leaned in, head dipping to your ear. You could feel his breath warm against the skin of your neck as he pulled you in slightly closer, low enough only for you to hear—

”Where d’you go, love?”

You were sure there were goosebumps appearing down the back of your neck.

As you turned to him, your breath hitched just slightly—just enough for Remus to notice, his lips twitching at the corners. His eyes, soft and inquisitive, searched yours, waiting for an answer you weren’t sure you could give.

Nowhere, you almost said, but your lips parted, and something else came out instead.

“Just thinking.”

His fingers, still resting at your waist, squeezed gently. “About what?”

Pads digging in to your robes slightly, like he wasn’t ready to let go just yet, and you rested further into him, a small huff of laughter leaving you—but you stuggled to find the words, hesitating. You were always thinking about the same things, the moments that have passed, the infinite possibility before choice.

“Dunno,” you said, though the words tasted like a lie.

His eyes lingered on you a moment longer, like he wanted to press—like he wanted to reach into your mind and untangle every thought keeping you so far away from him. But then, just like that, the moment passed.

Remus only hummed, low and thoughtful, before leaning away. The warmth of his breath on your skin disappeared, his hand returned to his plate, and you tried to continue your meal—but a small twinge of doubt built in the pits of your stomach. The same itching thoughts, if you’d just said, if you didn’t hold back, if your didn’t lie.

Once again leaving the room, slipping away into yourself.

If, if, if.

Your only hesitation, your only regret, your only reason to wish to turn back time.

Remus.

It wasn’t until your final year that a small distance built between you and him.

At first, it was barely noticeable. A few missed conversations, a shift in routine, your usual late-night talks fading into occasional, fleeting moments. You told yourself it was just school, just NEWTs, just exhaustion. But deep down, you knew better. It was you. It was him. It was time—always working against you.

And then, one evening, during the celebration of Gryffindor’s Quidditch win, you saw it.

Remus, standing in the middle of the common room, golden light flickering across his face, his arms wrapped around her. A Hufflepuff girl—someone kind, gentle, with a soft smile and bright eyes. He was beaming, spinning her to the music that played.

The world around you dulled. The cheers, the base, the laughter—it all became muffled, as if you were underwater, sinking deeper with every second.

You watched as she laughed against his shoulder, her fingers tangled in the hair at the nape of his neck. Watched as he leaned in, lips brushing against hers like it was the easiest thing in the world.

And maybe it was.

Your heart ached, twisted into something tight and unbearable, and for a while you didn’t look away. You couldn’t. Maybe some part of you thought you deserved to watch—deserved to feel this.

Time was cruel, the second thing you learnt was that nothing lasts forever.

You’d hesitated, debated—watch as a bystander to the passing of time, missing all of your many windows of opportunity, this was your punishment.

The music, laughter, loud chatter, thumping of feet still danced around you, and yet you sat in the corner of the sofa—transfixed on absolutely nothing. Unaware of the time as it slipped away from you—lost, at some point, Regulus took notice.

He had been standing off to the side, lingering in the shadows like he always did, observing. He saw the exact second your expression changed—the way your eyes dimmed, the way your body seemed to curl in on itself, like you disappeared into the noise.

He sat next to you, but you didn’t move. Didn’t acknowledge him. Your mind was somewhere else—somewhere far away, but he could always tell, always hear how loud your thoughts were.

So, after a moment, Regulus took your hand.

You blinked, barely registering the warmth of his palm against yours, barely noticing the way he guided you out of the common room. You let him. You followed. The party faded behind you, swallowed by the quiet halls, the cold air biting at your skin as he led you to the bell tower.

And then, you sat.

Neither of you spoke. Regulus wasn’t the type to offer empty words or false reassurances. He didn’t tell you it would be okay or that it would pass. He just stayed. And in the end, that was enough. It wasn’t until he wrapped an arm around you—his touch gentle, grounding—that the cracks began to show.

A single tear slipped past your lashes, landing on your lap, and you forced out a nod.

“He’s happy,” you murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

Regulus frowned. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t need to. The weight of his silence was enough to say I know—to say I see you.

The next morning, you couldn’t bring yourself to sit next to him.

You came to breakfast late, sliding into the empty seat next to Lily, despite the open space beside Remus. You didn’t feel his gaze on you, heavy and searching. You plate remained untouched, no one questioned your silence—accustom to your drifting. But Lily saw it—the puffiness around your eyes, the way your fingers picked slowly at the skin of your nails, fading in and out of the room.

And so did Remus.

The way your face didn’t have it usual peaceful thinking expression, your shoulders were sagged, each small breath, each rise and fall of your chest moved like it was too heavy, too taxing to breath any deeper—there was no pout on your lips, a telltale sign of your contemplation. Instead your lips were curved down, edged with something sadder.

It made his stomach twist, made something unfamiliar settle in his chest. But before he could act on it, before he could make his way around the table and ask you what was wrong, he heard his name.

“Remus!”

His girlfriend, smiling up at him, tugging on his sleeve. “Come on, we’re going to be late.”

He hesitated.

Just for a second.

But then he let himself be pulled away, let himself walk out of the Great Hall without looking back.

Time was a silly and fickle thing.

Without the one constant presence, Remus, time seemed to escape you—more often than not just far away, floating through the days. Because any time you were actually present in the room, a squeezing pressure in your chest gathered, making each word, each thought heavy and burdensome.

It was so much simpler to just fade away with the time.

The first year after graduation, your barely saw him, it made it a bit easier—less like rubbing salt in an open wound and more like a dull ache, something buried just beneath the surface. Manageable, if only because you didn’t have to look at him, didn’t have to hear his laugh or catch the warmth in his eyes that no longer belonged to you.

Time blurred. Days bled into weeks, weeks into months. Life went on—without him, without the weight of what ifs pressing down on your shoulders.

But absence didn’t mean forgetting.

There were still moments—passing through a bookstore and spotting a title you knew he’d love, hearing a joke that would’ve made him throw his head back in laughter, seeing the first full moon of the month and feeling that quiet, familiar worry settle in your chest. Even smells, whiffs of fresh parchment and earl grey tea, laced with rich dark cocoa.

The memories lingered, slipping through the cracks when you least expected them. They weren’t as painful, not exactly. Just...hollow.

Because no matter how far the time stretch, Remus would still have a piece of your soul.

It was a chance encounter, one of those moments that felt almost cruel in its inevitability.

A cafe in Diagon Alley—warm, light streaming through the windows, a stark contrast to the biting cold outside. The scent of roasted coffee beans lingered in the air, mingling with the quiet hum of conversation and the occasional clink of porcelain against saucers. It was the kind of afternoon that made the world feel a little slower, a little softer.

Remus hadn’t planned on stopping. He had only been passing by, coat pulled tight around him against the cold, mind elsewhere. But then—through the fogged-up glass of the window—he saw you.

His breath caught in his throat and his legs moved before he could stop them.

You were sitting alone at one of the small corner tables, hands curled around a cup of something warm, though it remained untouched. Your gaze was distant, fixed on nothing in particular, lost somewhere far away. The familiar empty expression, corners of your lips still tilting downwards.

Against all rational, he stepped inside the café, ordered himself a cup of tea, and made his way over to you.

You didn’t notice.

Not when he pulled out the chair across from you, not when he sat down and set his cup gently on the table. You remained frozen in thought, thumbs gently rubbing over the procealine of the handle—chest rising and falling in that same pattern that Remus knew so well—shallow on the inhale, deeper on the exhale.

He watched you for a few long moments—old habits creeping back in, it hadn’t even been that long—maybe fifteen months since graduation, and you were the same you that he missed. He’d memorised it easily, those small things; the way the slower your blinks were the further away you were, how when you drifted, the longer you spent the more your body would begin to sway.

Then, slowly, hesitantly, he spoke.

“Y/N,”

Gods, it was that same unfairly warm and fond tone he always used without knowing, it just rolled off his tongue.

It was as if you’d been pulled abruptly from the depths of some distant memory, yanked back into the present. Your entire body stiffened for a fraction of a second before your eyes finally lifted to meet his, breath catching in your throat—eyes running over his figure.

Remus watched as recognition flickered through them, followed by something else—something unreadable. Your fingers twitched slightly against your cup, and your back straightened, as if bracing yourself.

For a moment, you just stared at him.

Then, your lips parted slightly, and in a voice quieter than you intended, you breathed, "Remus."

His name on your lips did something to him. Opening up that quiet ache in his chest, caught somewhere between longing and nostalgia, between familiarity and distance.

A small, careful smile tugged at his lips. “Hi.”

You blinked, and for a second—just a second—your expression cracked. Something raw passed over your face too quickly for him to grasp. Then, like always, like before, you smoothed it over with a practiced smile, one he had seen countless times before.

Another moment of silence stretched between you, not uncomfortable, not easy either—thick.

For the first time since seeing him, you let yourself look at him. Really look. He was the same, but different. His hair had grown out slightly, curling over his ears. There were faint circles under his eyes, like he hadn’t been sleeping much. The scar on his cheek, the one you used to trace absentmindedly with your fingers, was still there.

And his eyes—they still held that same warmth, the same quiet intensity, the same way they had always looked at you like he could see through every carefully constructed wall you had ever put up.

He tilted his head slightly, studying you. “Still away with the fairies, Y/N.”

It was a simple statement, lighthearted, harmless—but you felt your lungs squeeze at his voice.

Huffing out a small laugh, though it lacked real amusement, fingers tracing over the rim of your now cold cup, avoiding his gaze with a light shrug; “Mmm, old habits die hard,”

Remus hummed, taking a slow sip of his tea before glancing back at you. “I missed you at Mary’s birthday last month.”

The pressure of his gaze was undeniable, it made you want to hide away, run, escape it. And though he surely didn’t mean it to be scrutinising, you could look at it no other way.

Your fingers curled slightly against your cup.

You hadn’t gone. You’d intended to—had even gotten ready—but in the end, the thought of seeing him had felt too much. It wasn’t that you hadn’t wanted to, it was just…you weren’t sure if you could bear standing in a room with him and feeling so far away, like a stranger.

Swallowing thickly, “Yeah, I—” You hesitated, searching for the right words. “I got caught up with things.”

Leaning forward, brows raised, eyes glistening with a playful curiosity that you hadn’t seen in so long, “Ooo, what things?” His voice was so casual, slipping so easy back into old mannerism with you he couldn’t even catch himself. He smiled softly, watching as your eyes widened slightly—earning a real laugh, small and breathy, shaking your head.

Noting the way the grip on your cup lessened, relieving your shoulders from their overly tense position when you replied. “Nothing interesting,”

Gods did he miss your smile.

He almost missed your words, absorbed in the moment of you, “I would’ve liked to see you there,” he admitted.

Something in your chest ached, like bandages were being taken off too early, too slowly, the wound underneath burning against the harsh contact of air. Inhaling deeply, your smile faltered slightly, swallowing the words you want to say and Remus studied you for a beat too long, he saw it but wasn’t going to push you on it.

Instead, he nodded at nothing, a soft exhale escaping him, as he brought his tea to his lips—he’d tried to drink it slowly, prolong the time he could sit with you, but it was almost finished. His time was almost up.

Placing the cup back onto the table with a dull click, he glanced at your cup, barely touched as you traced the rim—“I was going to the market—if, you’d uh…like to come?” His words were lightly rushed at the start, slowing down in hesitance by the time he reached the end.

Your mouth opened and closed several times, eventually sighing in way that told Remus, she’s about to refuse. A quiet war waged in your mind, hesitation curling around your thoughts like vines, creeping and twisting until they tangled themselves into knots too tight to unravel.

It’s not like you didn’t want to go.

But things were different now—time had passed, life had changed and the space between you both had been filled with too many unspoken things, too many missed chances.

So, instead, you inhaled softly, gaze dropping to your untouched cup. “Remus, I—”

“It’s not too far from here, I promise,”

His gaze was almost pleading as his interrupted, words hurried with a cadance that teetered on desperate. “Just to the market,” you breathed back, more to yourself than anything. As if that made it all alright, as if your heart wasn’t already well on the way to giving out with each moment you spent with him.

He knew deep down he was being selfish, he shouldn’t have put you in this situation, shouldn’t have disturbed you and sat down at the table, shouldn’t even have come in to the shop when he saw you—but he just couldn’t help himself, it was you.

“Just to the market.” He affirmed, a glimmer of hope blooming in his eyes as he watched the cogs turn in your brain, the internal discourse—debating if you should go.

“…Okay,” you said, barely above a whisper—shoulders slumming slightly as you relented.

Remus had to use every signal in his brain not to beam at you, just allowing the corners of his mouth to twitch into a small smile, eyes crinkling at the edges, flickering with something warm, something light—releasing the smallest exhale of relief.

He pushed his chair back slightly, standing and shrugging on his coat before motioning toward the door. “Shall we?”

You nodded, your own movements slower, more careful, as if afraid the moment would shatter if you moved too suddenly.

The streets were painted in hues of late afternoon gold, the cool breeze threading through the air, tousling Remus’ hair and slipping beneath your sleeves.

At some point, without thinking, his fingers brushed against yours—the conversation was light, easy—effortless, just like two friends catching up. Technically, that’s what you were.

Just seeing you settled some of the unrest that seeped into Remus’ bones, but being with you, in your space, conversating like it were just yesterday when you sat together infront of the common room fire—it had him forcing the pits of his stomach to rest with shuddering intakes of breath. It made him feel like he was living again, made him realise that he’d not known peace in your absence.

Constantly finding his heart reeling as each crease forming by your eyes when you smiled, each time you wandered over to a stall, his breath hitched watching you enthuse with the vendor—unbelievely bewitched by your presence. The familiar shiver down his spine when you got close to him, like he was a teenager again.

Gods, you should have said no.

You should have made up a cheap excuse to avoid this, the slippery slope that was Remus Lupin.

You should have said no because you knew you were weak to him, every word that left his lips more hypnotising than the last, willing the away the invasive pinch that accompanied the crooked smile on his face, smothering the urge to let your eyes linger on him as his brows squeezed together with each laugh he let out.

You should have said no because it wasn’t just the market.

Unknowingly, time had escaped you both, trailing down the emptying narrow roads, slowly treading along the cobbled paths, hours passed like minutes until the sun had resigned under the horizon and the skies filled with small scattered pin-pricks of light, the moon smiling down at you.

The laugh that spilled from your lips was cut off with a gasp when you caught glimpse of your watch, it was already so late. Trudging to a sudden halt, Remus looked back—eyes filled with concern, frantically scanning your frame, words immediate and panicked, “What’s the matter?”

Shaking your head, realising how quickly time had slipped through your fingers. “Nothing—I hadn’t realised the time” you admitted, glancing back up at him. “I should probably—”

Go.

You should go.

Remus’ face fell almost imperceptibly, but you caught it. The subtle downturn of his lips, the flicker of something like disappointment in his eyes before he schooled his expression slightly, into something more neutral.

You’d barely started to fill the gaping hole you left in Remus—and now you were leaving?

“You don’t have to rush off,” he said, voice gentle but insistent.

You let out a small breath of a laugh. “Remus, it’s late.”

“All the more reason you shouldn’t go home on your own,” he countered easily, slipping back into that same old protective streak of his. “And besides—” He glanced down at your hands, your half empty takeaway cup from earlier, before looking back up at you with raised brows. “You haven’t eaten anything.”

You blinked at him. “I can eat at home—”

He’d only just begun to feel like he could breath again and time was already up?

Remus wasn’t a particularly prideful man, and most definetly was not above begging, not when it came to you—already rushing out words, as if he needed to say them before he lost the nerve. “You can eat with me. At mine.”

That startled you into silence.

Running a hand through his hair, pushing it back before shoving both hands into his pockets. “It’s not far. Just a few stops on the train.” He tried to keep his voice casual, easy, but there was a layer there, undeniable—something raw and vulnerable and desperate.

Your mouth opened, instinct telling you to protest—but at that exact moment, your stomach betrayed you, letting out a rather loud rumble.

Remus’ lips twitched, amusement flashing across his face before he pressed his hand over his heart in mock sincerity. “Really, I insist.”

Your jaw clenched, eyes narrowing slightly at the smugness creeping into his expression.

But despite yourself—despite every hesitation curling in the back of your mind—your lips curved upward, just a little.

“…Fine.”

And if Remus let out a breath of relief, if his smile stretched just a bit wider than before—neither of you mentioned it.

The train ride to Remus’ was comfortable and quick—he hadn’t exaggerated when he said it was only a few stops. But as you turned the corner onto his road, as his footsteps slowed, and a quiet realisation settled over you.

You’d never been to his house before.

It wasn’t a big deal—he’d never been to yours either—but still, something about it felt strangely significant. You’d spent countless afternoons, evenings, nights, knee-deep in conversations about homes you’d live in after Hogwarts—the perfect little flat you imagined for yourself, the cozy two-story house Remus had always wanted—planning.

And now, after almost a year and a half apart, you were finally seeing the place he called home.

When he unlocked the door, the lights at the bottom of the corridor were already on, accompanied with the faint sound of a radio and quiet clattering, you were still slipping off your shoes when you looked up at Remus. An expression of mild concern at the liveliness of his house, eyes flickering between the end of the corridor and him—he only huffed out a small chuckle, placing his hand lightly on your back motioning you further in.

Squinting at him in slight suspicion before following, allowing your eyes to wander around the walls, absorbing the decorations, the small homely touches he’d added—the graduations pictures, the keys hanging next to the broom stand, two framed burgundary ties with mustard yellow strips.

Two?

You were still in a state of curious admiration when the door infront of you swug open wildly with a vigour that made the hinges release a high pitch groan, almost immediately you were ingulfed in to warm clutch—feet lifted off the carpet and the world around you spun. The squeal of shock that left you was completely swallowed by the loud bellowing call of your name.

“Y/N!”

When you finally made contact with the floor again, leaning back to take a good look at your assailant, the largest grin split across your face—matching his enthusiasm and pulling him in to another tight, squeezing hug. “Jamie?!” Rocking side to side in his grasp, a laugh of disbelief bubbled through his chest—even when you seperate his hands moved to your cheeks, smooshing your face into a pout as you laughed.

“Where have you been, love?”

It had hardly even been three months since you last saw James, and he was still acting as if you had disappeared off the face of the earth. His thumbs brushed against your cheeks before he finally released you, though not without a playful shake of your shoulders.

“I swear, one minute you’re here, the next you’ve vanished into thin air! I was starting to think you’d moved to another bloody country,” James accused, though his grin never wavered.

You rolled your eyes, but the warmth in your chest only grew. “Three months, Potter. Hardly enough time to start missing me that much.”

James scoffed, dramatic as ever. “Three months too long, if you ask me.”

Remus stood not to far behind you, and as much as he was warmed by the scene that unfolded before him, a small sharp pang of something else shot through his chest, something ugly—something green. James made it look like it was the easiest thing in the world, pulling you back in, slotting you so effortlessly into the space you had once occupied in their lives.

James had always been good at that—at making people feel like they belonged, like no time had passed at all. But Remus…Remus wasn’t sure he had that same ability. Not with you. Not after everything.

His fingers twitched at his side, resisting the urge to reach for you. He watched the way you laughed, eyes crinkling as James animatedly retold some ridiculous story, and it should’ve made Remus feel nothing but comfort, ease. Instead, there was that pang again—the bitter discontent and regret tangled and settled uncomfortably beneath his ribs.

He couldn’t help but think back to the times when that would have been him, easily able to pull you close, not treading lightly around undisclosed boundaries and avoiding silences.

You’d all sat on their sofa together, eating dinner—thankful James still hadn’t mastered portion control, always making enough to feed the five thousand. It was pleasant, relaxed—unpressured conversation filling the room, time once again passing too quickly for his liking.

James let out a loud yawn, stretching his arms above his head before slinging them back around both of you, pulling you in for one last quick squeeze. “Right, I’m off to bed,” ruffling your hair before turning to Remus with a lopsided smirk, “Have fun with the dishes, Moony,” he teased.

Remus scoffed, rolling his eyes as James trudged up the stairs, his footsteps heavy against the wood. The house settled into a softer quiet in his absence, the warm hum of the radio still playing faintly in the background.

You stood up abruptly, taking Remus’ plate with you on your rise, gathering the dishes on the coffee table, swiftly making your way into the kitchen. Remus followed behind, a tad bit too low to stop in your wordless flurries—as you surveyed the room he gently tried to pry the dishes from your grasp but you quickly pulled away, “At least let me help clean up. I did kind of barge in on dinner—”

Remus cut you off, frowning slightly. “You didn’t barge in. I invited you.”

But you were already brushing past him, stationing yourself at the sink as you rolled up your sleeves.

“Still,” you murmured, voice stubborn but gentle, “it’s the least I can do.”

Remus sighed, rubbing the back of his neck, but didn’t argue further. Instead, he grabbed a clean dish towel and joined you, falling into place beside you like it was the most natural thing in the world. The lulling sound of water running, dishes clinking softly as you scrubbed and he dried, felt almost domestic, shoulders brushing together with each movement.

For a moment, it was like nothing had changed. Like time hadn’t stolen so much from you both.

And as he watched you, sleeves pushed up, hands covered in suds, brows furrowed slightly in concentration, something in his chest ached.

Because this—this quiet togetherness, this moment, this you—it burned him to think that it would eventually have to end.

The quiet hum of the radio faded into the background as your hands moved on autopilot, warm water running over your skin as you scrubbed a plate, mind drifting in the comfort of routine. You barely noticed the way Remus stared as he worked beside you, slipping into a rhythm that felt like you had done this a hundred times before.

You hissed, yanking your hand back as a bright bloom of crimson welled up along the curve of your palm.

“Shit—” His voice was sharp with concern, his body moving before his mind could catch up. Remus was on you in an instant, dish towel abandoned on the counter, forgotten, as he closed the space between you in a heartbeat. “Let me see.”

“It’s noth—”

But he had already reached for your wrist, his fingers curling around it, gentle but firm as he tilted your hand toward the dim light of the kitchen. The sting pulsed under your skin, warm and insistent, but it was nothing compared to the heat of his touch, the way his thumb brushed over the uninjured part of your palm in silent reassurance.

His brows furrowed as he studied the wound, jaw ticking. “It’s deep,” he murmured, more to himself than to you. His grip on your hand tightened ever so slightly before he exhaled sharply. “Come on, sit down. We need to clean it.”

You let yourself be led to the dining table, pulse thrumming a little too fast beneath your skin. Remus released your wrist only long enough to retrieve a first aid kit from the cupboard, and you sat there, suddenly hyperaware of the way your hand throbbed in time with your heartbeat. Mumbling out a small string of excuses littered with apologies, before he could even begin fussing over you.

When he returned, he knelt in front of you, one knee pressed to the floor, his free hand resting lightly against your knee for balance. His eyes flicked up to yours, filled with something exasperated but fond. “Are you seriously apologising for bleeding?”

You opened your mouth, then closed it again, heat creeping up your neck. “Well—no, but—”

His lips twitched, cutting you off before you could fumble out an excuse. His voice was low, unfairly gentle. “It’s fine, Y/N.”

You swallowed, pressing your lips together as you dropped your gaze to where he was already tearing open an alcohol swab. He worked deftly, practiced and careful.

“This is going to sting,” he warned, glancing up at you briefly.

You took a slow, steadying breath, closing your eyes. “Okay.”

The antiseptic made contact, and you hissed, the sharp burn blooming across your palm.

Remus’ fingers tensed around yours, brows knitting together at the sound. “I know,” he murmured, voice softer now, soothing. “Almost done.”

You nodded, forcing yourself to relax as he continued, his thumb absentmindedly brushing slow, reassuring circles against your wrist. After a moment, he leaned back slightly, inspecting the wound with quiet concentration. “Not deep enough for stitches,” he murmured, reaching for the closure strips, “this’ll seal it to keep anything out.”

You watched him as he worked, your gaze tracing the furrow of his brows, the way his lips parted slightly in focus. He hummed softly under his breath—an old habit, one you hadn’t heard in so long it made something in your depths of your chest sting and squeeze.

You hadn’t realized you were staring until his voice cut through the quiet.

“What?”

Your eyes flicked up to his, startled. “What?”

The corner of his mouth twitched in amusement, and though he hadn’t stopped tending to your hand, you could feel the air around you thin slightly. “You’re staring,” he said simply.

You hesitated. The instinct to brush it off, to deflect, clawed up your spine—but instead, you inhaled, considering your words. The confession was quiet, airy—

“I just like looking at you.”

Remus’ fingers stilled over your palm, and you felt rather than saw the breath he sucked in. He didn’t move, didn’t speak for a long moment—just looked at you, something flickering behind his eyes that you couldn’t quite pinpoint, then, a quiet, disbelieving chuckle left him, breathy and low.

His hands, still warm against you, curled slightly against your knees as he tilted his head, something playful and teasing in his voice. “Do you now?”

Your lips parted slightly, and though your pulse was hammering against your ribs, you held his gaze. “I do.”

The words left you on an exhale, soft and breath—yet certain.

Disarming him completely, briging to the surface what he’d always pushed down, unravelling something Remus was always to fearful to face.

His fingers flexed, unconsciously pulling himself closer, the warmth of his breath brushing against heating surface of your skin. His eyes flickered to your lips—lingering—just for a moment, but you felt it, the hesitation, the war between thought and impulse. The space between you was dwindling, a mere breath away from closing entirely—

Then, the sound of near footsteps, the screeching of hinges.

Remus shot to his feet so fast it was almost comical, nearly knocked the first aid kit off the table, his face twisting into something like panic. The tips of his ears flushed pink, guilt flickering over his features like he’d just been caught doing something he shouldn’t have.

James stood in the doorway, frozen, a glass in his hand.

His eyes flicked between you and Remus, and his face twisted slightly in slow realization, when he muttered, “Shit—sorry, I just…came to get some water.”

Voice flat, mildly exasperated, as if he knew exactly what he had just interrupted. You swallowed hard, heart still lodged in your throat as James stepped around the room, deliberately avoiding eye contact as he filled his glass at the sink.

Remus ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply, the tension still clinging to the air like static. “Yeah, no, it’s—uh—it’s fine.”

While you sat still in your seat, heart pounding, fingers curled tightly around the edge of the chair, James practically tiptoed around you both as if being quieter would make it any less painfully awkward.

Then, without another word, he left, water glass in hand.

The silence he left behind was deafening.

Remus let out a slow breath, still standing rigid beside you. You swallowed. Hand—still warm from his touch—lay limp in your lap. Your pulse still thrummed wildly beneath your skin. Clearing his throat, busying his hands and clearing the first aid kit, he mumbled something about getting to the dishes later.

You stood, looking around the room aimlessly—you both knew it, it was about time you left, made your way home.

But he wasn’t ready. You can’t leave, not yet.

Rubbing his palms forcibly on the surfcae of his trousers, wracking his brain for an excuse, a reason for you to stay, words to reset your time.

“Would you like to see the garden?”

He scolded himself internally, of all this he could blurt out, the garden was his best answer? There wasn’t even much to see—

“You have a garden?!” cutting his reprimanding monologue short with a small gasp, your words overflowing with enthusiasm that shocked him, purging some if the anxiety that had built in his shoulders. With a huffed chuckle Remus nodded, extending an arm to guide you through the house.

If there was one thing you missed about Hogwarts, it was without a doubt the endless view of the clear skies, the privilege of seeing the stars in all their beauty any time you wished—cloud free.

As you stepped though the sliding doors after him, another gasp slipped from your lips, Remus turned, watching you marvel at the skies, eyes wide with childlike wonder as you stepped further into the small patch of land.

The garden itself was modest, with a few well-tended plants lining the perimeter, a bench seated against the fence, but you hardly spared them a glance. Your gaze was locked skyward, drinking in the sprawling expanse of stars, their silver glow scattered like spilled ink across the inky blue.

Remus watched, momentarily forgetting himself, his lips quirking into something impossibly fond.

"You like the stars that much?" he asked, voice softer now, lower, as if speaking any louder would shatter the moment.

You turned, beaming at him, an excitement so pure that it made his breath catch in his throat. "Are you kidding? It’s been ages since I’ve seen them properly like this." Your voice was full of quiet awe as you turned your gaze back upward, taking a few more steps into the cool grass.

"I used to sneak out to see them all the time at school, but it’s hard to find a good view in the city."

He swallowed, tucking his hands into his pockets, watching the way your face reflected the soft glow of the moon. He had brought you out here on impulse, desperate to keep you close, to not let you run away again. A cool breeze drifted through the night air, brushing loose strands of hair against your cheek, and without thinking, Remus reached forward, tucking them gently behind your ear.

You stilled.

The warmth of his fingers lingered against your skin, fleeting but unmistakable. You turned to him fully then, eyes searching his face, and the only thing he could hear was the loud thumpng of his heartbeat bouncing between his ears, throat bobbing as he swallowed, the hum of the world around you steadily fading away.

"You really love them, don’t you?" His voice was barely above a whisper now.

You nodded, gaze never leaving his. "Yeah," you murmured, smiling softly. "They make me feel small, like in a good way. Like...I’m part of something bigger."

He exhaled a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. "You always say things like that."

"Like what?"

He barely even hesitated—

"Things that make me realize how much I missed you.”

Remus could see the internal panic set in, flashing wildly behind your eyes, completely undeniable, so was the way your breath audibly hitched in your throat fingers twitching where they rested by your side.

The way he said it—automatic, definite, without fear of what it might mean—had all your heart threatening to pump right out of your chest and land on the floor beneath you. His voice, the quiet certainty in his tone, the way his gaze held yours without wavering—it was too much.

Your lips pressed into a tight line, as if to keep words from escaping you, as if it could stop everything from seeping through the cracks. Crumbling under the intensity of his gaze, the weight of his words, the wanting his touch left in its wake.

His fingertips still ghosted over your skin, light yet burning, grounding yet unsteading—caught in the strange balance between too much and not enough. And though you were outside, it seemed there wasn’t enough air for you—each one of your senses overwhelmed with something distictly Remus.

You wanted to look away. Needed to. If you could just turn your head, break the moment, maybe then you could breathe properly, think again. Maybe then, the seconds wouldn’t feel so suffocating. But you couldn’t. You were frozen in place, trapped, imprisoned under his gaze—he was still, patient—searching, waiting.

The moments continued to stretch, until you finally parted you lips, exaling shallow and testing, as if you’d forgotten how to breath. Voice meek and quieter than you’d meant it to be.

“I didn’t mean to disappear,”

It was the truth. But only part of it.

The rest of the words died, heavy on your tongue, unwilling to be spoken aloud.

But it seemed easier that way. But that was the only way you knew how to survive.

That every time you saw him, it felt like pressing on an open wound, one that was so far away from healing, one that probably never would. But you didn’t say it. You couldn’t.

Remus hummed softly, and there was something knowing in the sound, something that made your stomach twist. He could see it—could feel it. That there was more. That there had always been more. And for so long, he had let it slide, let it slip through the cracks, let you get away with unfinished thoughts and lingering pauses, mystery and obsurity, silences that stretched too long between words.

But not this time.

His voice was steadier when he spoke again, pressing, “But?”

Your throat bobbed, struggling to swallow, fingers curling into your sleeves, curling into yourself as the temptation to look away won, eyes flickering down the the grass.

He tilted his head slightly, compelling your gaze onto him, studying your face with careful intent, reassuring, he was so close—one hand just barely ghosting over the fabric that rested over the dip in your waist, and the other’s palm pressed flush against the skin of your neck—spreading the heat that already prickled down your spine even further.

“It seemed easier,” the words trembled, breaking slightly at the end, and his brows pinched high on his brow at the raw cadance your voice took, but he still wouldn’t let you look away—forcing your presence in the moment, forcing you to not drift away, not again.

He knew what you meant, the words hung heavy in the air, bouncing and echoing in Remus’ brain over and over again, easier. Easier to allow the distance between you to build. Easier to fade away before his very eyes. Easier to just escape everything. Even if it did hollow you out.

His fingertips curled slightly where they rested, finally grasping on to you, palm warm against your waist, anchoring you, tethering you to him in a way that made escape impossible. Touch still cradling the side of your neck, firm but gentle, thumb running over your pulse, feeling it race beneath him.

Pursing his lips together, exhaling through his nose, the guilt in your eyes so clear to him, but he wasn’t satisfied, he wasn’t going to accept half truths anymore—you’d both already wasted so much time, he couldn’t stomach the idea of letting this go on any longer than it already had.

“Was it?”

The second the words left his lips and reached your ears, he could feel the way you tensed in his hold, your breath catching in your throat as though the very question had knocked the air from your lungs.

Your lips parted, a response forming—then hesitating, your voice failing you entirely. You swallowed thickly, gaze flickering over his face, searching for something—what, you didn’t know. A way out, maybe. A sign that he’d let it drop.

But he wouldn’t. Not this time.

His hand at your waist shifted, his fingers pressing gently into the fabric of your shirt, thumb tracing absent, soothing patterns against your side. He was patient, unyielding but never forceful, his grip warm, grounding. And the way he looked at you—soft, knowing, understanding in a way that made your chest ache—was so much. Too much.

Your lips moved soundlessly at first, as if your thoughts were warring with your voice, stuck somewhere deep in your throat. And he just waited, unwavering, unwavering in the way only Remus could be, the way that made you feel like there was nothing in the world except this moment.

Finally, you breathed out, “I—”

Then nothing.

You swallowed, throat dry, you weren’t sure you wanted to be here, standing in front of him with nowhere left to run, no more room to hide behind half-truths and evasions. Lips parting, then closing, then parting again, like the words were caught somewhere deep in your throat, tangled and knotted together, refusing to be spoken aloud.

“You… you were happy,” you murmured, voice trembling, like you were forcing the words out through a tight throat. Your fingers twitched against the fabric of his sweater, eyes darting away. “It just made sense—”

His head shook before you could even finish.

No.

He knew you were skirting around it. Knew you’d try to twist the truth, try to say just enough without saying anything at all, try to dance around the edges of what you really meant, as if that would be enough. As if he would let it be enough.

He wouldn’t let you. Not now.

The words came haltingly, breaking as they stumbled out of you. The effort of articulating the truth left you trembling, and as soon as the words left your lips, you instinctively broke eye contact, unable to bear it any longer. But Remus would not let you drift away.

"No, no, no, no—" The words were quiet, but firm, insistent. His hands moved then, slipping from your waist to your face, cradling it so delicately, so reverently, like you might shatter if he wasn’t careful. "Look—look at me…please," his eyes searching yours with an urgency that made your pulse race. Touch steadying you, and despite the tremor in your body, you found yourself listening, unable to look away.

“Was it easier?" he asked again, his voice low and sympathetic, each word a gentle command that left little room for evasion.

You knew it. He knew it.

But saying it—admitting it—felt like standing at the edge of something bottomless, staring down at the unknown.

In the quiet that followed, your eyes became glossy with tears as you shook your head slowly, once, twice, until you couldn’t stand it, everything just too much to contain, eyes squeezing shut.

Remus's thumb came up to gently wipe away the wet drops from the corners of your eyes, his touch both tender and apologetic. Leaning forward, he rested his forehead against yours. Voice, soft and laden with tenderness, that made the surface of your skin prickle, breaking through the silence once more.

"I know,"

That single word, conveyed all the unspoken emotions that had built up between you—the ache of separation, the pain of absence, the desperate hope and longing that you’d both let fester for too long.

You struggled to breathe, each inhalation more shallow and shuddering than the last, your lips trembling as you fought to contain the bubbling sobs. The sight made the depths of his stomach churn with concern.

The tip of his nose brushed against yours, and wisps of his hair skimmed the surface of your cheeks as he let his hand slip down to pull you closer, his palm rubbing soothing circles into the small of your back. He coaxed your ragged breaths into a steadier rhythm, his voice just above a whisper and lulling as he murmured—

“I know, I know. I’m sorry, love.” softer, like he was absorbing the ache from your chest into his own.

You clenched your hands into the fabric of his shirt, gripping so tightly your knuckles ached, like if you let go, you might lose yourself completely.

His thumb brushed against your cheek, catching the last remnants of your tears, and for a moment, neither of you spoke, neither of you moved. You could feel his heartbeat—fast, unsteady, as if it was caught in the same whirlwind you were. He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing slightly, eyes searching yours for something—hesitation, permission, an answer to a question he hadn’t spoken aloud.

Remus’ lips parted slightly, like he was about to say something, but no words came—just a slow exhale, like he was finally letting himself from getting lost in you.

Closing the gap, his lips ghosting, shy—testing over yours.

So you leaned into him instead, letting yourself fall into the warmth of his touch, into the way his fingers curled slightly against your jaw as he tilted his head to deepen the kiss. It was slow, unhurried, like a quiet confession in itself—one that had been waiting far too long to be spoken. The weight of unsaid words, of time lost and wounds left open, all melted away in the spaces where your lips met, where his hands held you like you were something precious, something he was terrified to let slip through his fingers again.

His thumb traced delicate patterns against your cheek, a stark contrast to the quiet urgency with which he kissed you, as if trying to make up for every moment he had spent holding himself back. Your fingers, still trembling from the unraveling of emotion just moments before, found their way into the fabric of his shirt, anchoring yourself to him, grounding yourself in something tangible. He sighed against your lips, the sound reverberating through your bones, pulling you deeper into him, into this fleeting eternity you had both fallen into.

Finally able to bask in each other, in the way your breaths tangled between kisses, in the way his hands pulled you closer without hesitation—no more space, no more running. Just this. Just you and him.

“Hello, my love,” Lily coos at her son as she trots into the dining room, whisking him from his high chair. “Hello to you, too, darling.” 

“G’morning, Lily.” You accept her kiss on your cheek, turning to watch her flip a pancake on the stove. Though you’ve just entered uninvited and chosen to linger awkwardly in their kitchen doorway, at the Potters, you’re always welcome. At least, that’s what they always tell you. And with your and your boyfriend’s flat so close to them–four floors down and five doors over, as you’ve memorized–you end up popping in a lot. 

“So? What’s going on with you today? Are you and the boyfriend going to be around?” Flop. Another pancake lands on the plate, followed by a neat pat of butter and a pool of maple syrup. 

“Mmm, nothing much. We’ll be here. I have some work to be done, as always,” you sigh, leaning your elbows onto the counter. It’s cluttered with papers and such, but you make room. You always do. 

“Well, Harry’s got a playdate at four. It’s a kids’ concert at the park, but you’re welcome to come. I think Sirius might, though I haven’t a clue what he’ll do there.” She shrugs, Harry on one hip. 

“That would be lovely. I’ll have to see.” You acknowledge her with a hum, grabbing one of the open magazines on their table and flipping through it. Their house is always so lovely, smelling of baking and buttermilk yellow, with kids’ toys littered across the floor and photos of all kinds strung up on the walls. Of just James and Lily from their Hogwarts days, in muggle photo booths with lipstick smudged all over his face, of your whole group, crammed into one shot and frozen. This is your favorite shot: Remus’ arm has found its way to your shoulders, your face is kiss-happy, and you’re both grinning at the camera like he’d just proposed. And a shot of the Potters’ engagement, of course. You can see the tears glossing over James’ eyes, the excitement that rouges Lily’s sleek face, then her white dress, her ring, her altar. 

“Tea?” She asks, back still turned toward the stove. 

“Yes, please.” You watch her pour some water–already boiling, like she knew. 

She passes a mug to you, dark gray. “Careful. It’s still hot.” 

Before you get the chance to thank her, a voice booms in from the doorway. “Are those my wife’s famous pancakes I smell?” 

Harry melts into squeals, grabbing for his father and squirming his mother’s arms. Sure enough, James comes swooping in, flying his son above his head over to you. “Ah. Hello, fourth member of the Potter household.” 

“Oh, did I get the job?” you quip, sitting back into one of the counter’s tall stools. “When do I start?” 

“Right now.” He drops Harry into your lap, warm and heavy and smelling like baby. “Starting rank is babysitting. You’ll move up as you go along.” 

You roll your eyes, turning your attention to the youngest Potter, who stares at you with wide eyes, one small hand moving to tug at your hair. “Harold. Ouch.” 

“So, Y/N.” One of James' hands reaches up towards his head, scratching at his mass of curls. “Have you noticed anything off with Moony lately?” 

“No,” you say slowly, one hand moving towards your cup of tea. You catalog your interactions with your boyfriend in the past 24 hours–two toothbrushes on the counter, breakfast tumbling out of bed, mumbles, half-late for work, short and sweet lunch call, good evening welcome home hi i love you kiss, two plates on the table, how he tastes of smoke and mint after brushing his teeth. Everything seemed in place to you. “Should I have noticed something?” 

He looks at you. Stays there for a solid few seconds. Then, slowly, crawling, “No. I suppose not.” 

Steam pushes between your fingers, tightening in coils through the air. You frown. It almost hurts. “Okay.” 

“Okay,” he repeats, looking away to saunter towards his wife. His arms wrap firmly around her waist; she lets out a small, surprised laugh as he whisks her into the air. Harry drops your hair and turns towards his parents, clapping with vigor. 

Your fingers knot their way into Harry’s shirt–a burnt mustard shifting to a pale yellow in the morning sun. Your other hand traces the rim of your cup. Lily was right, it’s practically boiling still, it’s scalding to touch. The more you do it, the more you’re sure all of your nerves have burned off. 

“Lily?” Your voice emerges like honey. Low, smooth. Achingly slow. Transparent. Perhaps too much so. 

She perks her head up from where it lay on her husband’s chest. “Yes, darling?” 

“I should go,” you say after a few seconds trip on the distance between you and them. You lift Harry from your lap and walk him over to his parents. “I think Remus is waiting for me.” 

“Okay,” she agrees, arms opening to hold her baby. “I’ll see you later?” 

You nod, step back. “I’ll see.” 

James looks at you again. You look back. “Bye, Y/N.” 

“Bye, Potter. Your pancakes are burning.” You point behind him, where smoke is escaping from the pan, something hissing and sputtering. 

“Shit.” 

“James!” 

“Sorry.” 

—

When the door to your apartment creaks open, you half-expect your boyfriend to be lying on the floor in a pool of blood, with how weird James was acting. Nope. Everything’s in place. Your couch, leather and loveworn with years of you and Remus laying intertwined and shifting and giggling, sits in the corner. The rug, that wildflower blue, is where it always is. The TV, the mantel. You like your living room, but the urge to add pictures just like Lily did, grabs you. 

“Remus?” You swallow, checking your clock. It’s already half past ten, he’s usually up by now. You know he had a rough night last night, still sleeping off the full moon a few days earlier, all aches. The moon hadn’t been good, but were they ever? You’d skipped work to take care of him, to try and massage out those clicks in his bones, to stop the aching that you knew lived in his knees and hips and chest cavity, but maybe it hadn’t been enough. 

“Mmm?” There it is. Sleep is still coating his voice, croaky as he calls out to you. “Where are you, dove?” 

“Sorry, I didn’t wake you, did I?” You lower your voice, tossing your shoes to the side and strolling towards your shared bedroom. “I’m back from Lily’s. Want to go out tonight? Harry’s got something at the park, but I have a feeling Sirius will want to go out after.” 

Your hands lodge themselves on your hips. He’s lying on the bed, looking absolutely devourable, as always. His eyes are rimmed with exhaustion, his shirt has slipped off somewhere around the room, his face is framed by his messy hair. And he’s looking up at you with those sweet, sweet eyes, turning his lips upwards as you approach him. 

“You’ll be the death of me,” you decide, crawling on top of him and lying onto his chest so your nose is snug against his neck, breathing him in. Your hands find their way to his hair, intertwine–no, tangle–you two together. “You smell good.” 

You can feel his lips press to the part of your head, the warmth of his breath as he exhales. “You smell like baby powder and James Potter.” 

“Accurate,” comes your response, a loose hum vibrating through your throat. He shivers, you can feel it run through his body. Skin against skin against skin. “Can we just stay like this forever?” 

“But how else will we attend Harry’s childrens’ music concert tonight?” He teases lightly. You smile at that, burrowing deeper into the space between his shoulder and neck. 

He rubs your back with that same lightness, fleetingly, before grabbing the pack of cigarettes that resides on his bedside table and lighting one above your head. You watch the smoke cloud his face, thickening in perpetual rings. He looks different from this angle, shrouded. 

Your hand reaches out to touch a puff of gray. It swirls out of reach before you can make contact. 

—

“Watch Harry one second, please? I have to find James.” Lily walks towards your picnic blanket, where your head’s tilted onto Remus’ shoulder, the two of you faced towards the stage. You don’t really want to be here longer than you have to, since the bands really are for little kids and you look out of place here, with no children to show off and giggle and run in circles around you like all the others here. But James went to look for Sirius, whose arrival will allow you to go to your next destination, the bar–and, more than that, you absolutely adore your godson. 

“Of course!” You straighten, opening your arms wide to hold Harry, who grins when he sees you. “Hi, Harold.” 

He “stands” on your lap, facing you as you support his endeavors with two firm hands around his hips. It’s like he’s gotten five pounds heavier since this morning, and his grip on your hair has gotten ten times as strong, tugging and tugging. You don’t mind, though. Especially when he laughs in toothless spurts, absolutely adorable and the sweetest baby you’ve ever seen. 

“Aren’t babies the absolute best?” You sigh with a melt, tipping back onto Remus and letting Harry sit propped on your lap. “He’s the cutest one I’ve ever seen.” 

But your boyfriend’s just looking at you, the hazel of his eyes drooping in the fading sunlight. “Whatever you say, dove.” 

Then, without warning, Harry lurches onto his back, brown eyes going wide in surprise as he looks up at you. 

“Ouchie. Did that hurt?” You swipe your thumb across his small, baby-haired forehead and readjust him so he’s more secure. “You’re okay, lovie. I promise.” 

He giggles it off, and something deep inside of you swells. You want a baby so, so badly. A little Remus, maybe, to take to terrible kiddie concerts and smile at you so sweetly. 

Remus’ hand slips behind your head, massaging your scalp as you babble to Harry, indulging in his small squeals of delight when you do something funny. You’ve just begun to sing along with Wheels on the Bus when someone bumps right into your back. Someone being a little girl, probably only a year older than Harry, sobs leaving her that are much too big for her small frame. You pass the baby to Remus, turning to give her your attention. 

“Oh no,” you murmur, craning your neck for a look around for her parents. “Are you okay, darling?” 

Your only answer is another sob. Tentatively, you reach out for her, one palm coming up to rub her back in small circles. Sure, you have no clue who she is, but you can’t just let her weep on the grass, alone. 

“Where’s your mum?” You ask, before mentally scolding yourself. Of course she doesn’t know, otherwise she would’ve found her by now. “We’ll help you find her, hm?” 

You stand, and the girl, at ease with your kindness, clings to one of your legs, grasping at your hands. Taking the cue, you hoist her up and help her look around for whoever she’s with. The contact seems to be helping, so you trace a pattern on her back, trying to help her calm down. 

“Jenny? Jenny!” Someone yells, and an exact depiction of the girl in thirty years barrels through the lawn. “Oh, my poor baby!” 

They’re reaching for each other, so you pass the girl to her mother and step back, letting them reunite. 

“So sorry if I overstepped, I just heard her crying and couldn’t leave her there.” You flash a small smile at the woman, who grins at you, all tooth and sparkle. 

“No, no, thank you so much! She just keeps running off from me.” She smiles at her daughter, who rests her head on her shoulder. “I’m surprised you got her to stop crying, she usually won’t stop once she starts. You’ve got a kid here? You’re good with children, I’m sure.” 

You beam at the compliment, eyes flitting to Remus and Harry, who are watching you from their picnic blanket. A sudden nervousness clenches you, and you just bite your lip, murmur something you won’t remember later, smile at the girl and her mother. 

She compliments you again, thanks you. You just smile back, my pleasure. Harry’s babbles distract you from your goodbye, so you turn and squat back down to give him a kiss on the head. His hair is down-soft, smelling like baby powder. You plant one on your boyfriend’s cheek too, right on one of his pretty scars, just because. You’re so in love with him, then, and how he smells like campfire and looks up at you with a kindness you’d never thought you’d be lucky enough to find in your life. He looks twisted, so you try to smooth him out with another kiss. 

And another for Harry, one more for Remus. You’re almost at four each when Lily comes back and steals away her baby. Five for Remus. One for you. 

—

“Have you seen Y/N?” Remus slides into the booth next to James, who’s watching a very curly-haired, very drunk Sirius pushed all the way in. You’d gone off to fetch yourself another drink while he’d gone to the bathroom, but when he returned to the floor, you were gone. 

“Think she’s over there with Lily,” James says, gesturing to somewhere to his right. When he looks over, you’re there, frosted glass cupped between palms. There’s a guy standing next to you, forearms against the counter and pretty eyes framed by jealousy-inducing lashes, much too close for Remus’ taste, but you’re too tipsy to register it. He’s got a silver watch on his left wrist, smooth and slippery between your fingers. You giggle as he hands it to you, waves something off and leans in closer. He looks like an asshole, your boyfriend decides. A complete and utter asshole. 

Remus stands just as you look around the bar, trying to find him. Your eyes are sparkling. You hold up the watch to show him, wobbling as you turn. The guy–that stupid, stupid guy with stupid, stupid eyes–is asking you a question, but you’re only half-paying attention, thank Merlin. He walks as quickly as he can towards you. Where you’re tucked into the bar, he can just hear the boom of the guy’s voice. 

“What do you do for work?” He asks, swirling a cup in his hand. His voice is throaty, deep. At your murmured answer, his brow tightens. “What? Then why are you here?” 

You twirl around, letting your skirt flounce. Where’s Remus? “Mmm, I dunno.” 

“You could be making a lot more money,” that throatiness continues. “If you traveled. You could do so much more. Be so much more.” 

“I like things here,” you respond, stilling to lean against the counter. words sloshing together. “I like my friends and my home and my boyfriend. I love my boyfriend. I couldn’t ever leave him.” 

“Your what?” He repeats. He jolts into a stand, glances around. “You have a boyfriend?” 

“She does.” Remus finally reaches you. His voice is taut. One hand clasps onto your elbow. The other slips to your hip. Squeezes. “Ready, dove?” 

As soon as you feel his touch, you slump backwards, eyes closing as your cheek slips onto the softness of his sweater. “Of course, Remmy. We going now?” 

He shakes his head before realizing you can’t see him. “No, let’s just get back to the table. Lily’s there.” 

“Lily?” You perk your head up like an excited toddler, searching through the dark for the redhead. “Let’s go. Bye bye, Jack.” 

Jack. Asshole name. Asshole. Remus doesn’t like the ugly thing that paws at his heart. You could do so much more. Jack waves, or something. You wave back and let Remus guide you to the table. 

“You okay, baby?” You ask, your fingers slowly slipping into his. You trail your gaze upward, your pretty eyes on his face so you can watch him nod. “You smell like smoke.” 

“That so?” He murmurs, letting you slide into the seat next to the other Marauders. 

Sirius is looking just as drunk as he did ten minutes ago but much less sleepy, to his credit. He bobbles his head up and down, eyes on you. “Again, Moony?” 

Your head tilts. You look like a begging puppy. “Again what?” 

Your boyfriend swallows. You press your finger to his Adam’s apple. He swallows again. You giggle as it bobs, feeling the sensation on your skin. 

He doesn’t giggle with you, you don’t mind. His eyes are pretty tonight. They’re shiny. Glittery. 

“Sirius,” comes James’ voice. More serious than you’ve ever heard him be with his best friend. “Don’t you think you did enough last time you drank?” 

“What happened last time?” You ask, looking up at the table. Ever curious, you are. 

The boy sighs, puts his head down on the table. “I don’t really remember. Something with Moony and yo–” 

“Sirius,” James says again. His voice almost echoes. 

“Oh.” Some kind of realization seizes him. “Sorry, Lupin.” 

He doesn’t receive a response. Those are tears, you realize. Glossing up his eyes. All of a sudden, it feels as though someone’s punched you in the gut. Your hand reaches for Remus. He lets you touch him, but you don’t feel his fingers braiding through yours. You take it back, tuck it under your chin. 

“Don’t smoke in here,” you mumble suddenly, to no one in particular. “Don’t do it.” 

“What’s that, darling?” Lily swoops her head next to yours. The alcohol’s effects are starting to rub off. Maybe she thinks you can’t see the glances she’s making to James. 

“I want to go home,” You say finally. 

Remus stands before you can elaborate even a word more, grabbing his coat and yours from the backs of James’ chair. 

“Goodbye, lovely,” Lily says to you as you trail behind Remus. Her husband is saying something to Sirius. You can’t tell what. 

Your apartment isn’t far from this bar, that’s why you chose it in the first place. The starlight is just beginning to lessen, midnight shifting into something else. Clouds, miserably gray, cling to the awakening sky. It must be morning. Soon? 

You walk the first block in silence, shivering, as you watch Remus so clearly hurt. His strides are impossibly long, rigid, each breath of his comes out half-torn, and he’s blinking so much more than any normal human should be. You’ve spent years memorizing the planes of his back. You can tell when he’s tense, shoulders folding in on himself, only you can’t tell why. 

“I-I’m sorry,” you try, quickening your pace to match his. “I never should’ve spoken with that guy, he just had a nice watch. I don’t–I don’t remember how we got talking.” 

“Y/N, don’t apologize. Seriously, that’s the last thing I want you to do,” he says, stopping to turn to you. “It’s not… it wasn’t that, I swear.” 

You don’t like the way your name touches his tongue–like mulch, something falling to the floor. It’s unlike him. 

“What is it, then?” You ask, eyes nonjudgmental. “Tell me.” 

Your heart skips a beat, then, “nothing.” 

“It’s not nothing,” you argue, resuming your walk. “You can talk to me about anything, Rem. You know it.” 

“When we get home,” he offers, and you take it. You’re nearly there, anyway, just a few more doors and you’ll be in the warmth. Your feet shuffle on the sidewalk as you walk, almost nipping his heels.

The lobby, as predicted, is warm, but dark. The lights are set low. You have to fumble a bit to find the button for your floor, more to find your keys. Remus nudges you aside, gentle but firm. He opens the door, lets you stumble inside. 

“Sleep, alright?” He opens the door to your bedroom, and you’ve already forgotten your earlier conversation. “I’ll be there in a bit.” 

You know where he’s going, the sound of the landing door confirming it only a moment later. You hear the lighter, the exhale, even over the city’s lullaby. You turn away and the sight of your bed lures you in, more than changing into pajamas or undoing your makeup and hair. But just as you topple onto the mattress, your nerves go frigid. Without Remus next to you, fingers running through your hair, it’s hard. You flip and flip and flip until the last dregs of night force you to sleep. 

—

When you wake, it’s jolting, to the crash of pans, a shit sworn under breath. Someone changed you out of your clothes while you slept, put you in one of Remus’ old soft tees, loose and hot on your skin. Your hand travels to his side of the bed on instinct, even though you know he’s out in the kitchen. Usually, when he makes breakfast Sunday mornings, you collect his warmth, coiling up where he lay only minutes before to try and push the day away as best you can. But today, the sheets are cold. 

You pull yourself up, a frown weighing down your lips. The bedspread is undisturbed, sheets crisp as when you made the bed the morning before. 

Did he even fall asleep? Some kind of dread pools in your gut, tugging and tugging at your intuition. You stand from the bed, stumble into the kitchen, pausing to look around. 

He wasn’t making breakfast. He was grabbing his extra pack, one now slipped between his fingers. It’s eleven in the morning. The clouds are stuck to the sky. And here he is, sitting on the landing, looking out at the bleakness of gray, of the city. 

You say his name so quietly it sounds like a nightmare, go to him with clouds for feet. When he turns to look at you, your heart startles. He’s hollowed out. Eyes rimmed red. You step out barefoot onto the wood of the landing, stopping a foot before him. 

“Show me your hands.” Your voice is soft, the command firm. When he doesn’t comply right away, you take his right fist and unfurl it for him. On his palm run deep crescent moons, some almost biting through his skin with force. You swipe your thumb against them, sandwiching his hand between yours to massage out his scars. “Baby, what’s wrong?” 

He turns around again, whole body facing outside except for his hand. He can’t bring himself to make you let him go. The silence stutters between you two, you still drawing hearts onto his palm and him away. He takes a drag from his cigarette. 

“We need to break up,” he says finally, and you think someone’s gone and pulled the landing from under you, because you never once in your life thought you’d hear those words. Not from Remus’ mouth. Not ever. 

“What?” You try repeating the death he’s just uttered, but your tongue lies limp in your mouth and your lips refuse to work right. “What?” 

He doesn’t say it again. You don’t particularly want to hear it again, so you just watch as his lips turn white with pressure, as his mouth stays shut. 

“Something happened,” you say just to get it out there. “What?” 

“I love you,” he starts, and you slap pettily at his wrist. 

Shut up, you mean. You can’t say that. Not right now. 

“I love you, and so, I refuse to drag you down with me.” Smoke settles around his pretty hair, stagnates. That’ll be a bitch of a smell to wash out, you think. “You deserve to live with a picket fence around your house. You deserve four kids and a dog. You deserve a husband. Not a werewolf, not someone you have to miss your life for.” 

You open your mouth, but he stops you. His words refuse to absorb into your brain, refuse to puzzle themselves out. You watch his fingers open into yours, clench onto you with the desperation of a man on the death row. 

“You deserve better than me,” he exhales with some kind of botched finality. “I love you too much to make you my future, dove. In another lifetime, I’ll be better for you. I promise.” 

Your head tilts up to the sky. You can see shards of sunlight now, meshed through a particularly thin cloud. Lovely, lovely. 

You can feel his eyes on you, roving over your face and body, trying to puzzle out your thoughts. It’s funny how some things work themselves out.

yes, i got lazy at the end and yes, i have an alternate ending written

masterlist

Y/N had always considered Remus Lupin to be one of her closest friends at Hogwarts. Their friendship had blossomed over years of late-night study sessions, shared laughter over ridiculous inside jokes, and quiet walks around the castle grounds. But lately, something had shifted. The comfortable camaraderie they’d always shared suddenly felt… different. At least, it did on her end.

It all started with one lingering touch.

It wasn’t anything overly flirtatious—just Remus gently brushing her arm when handing her a book during their usual spot in the library. But the moment his fingers grazed her skin, a spark had ignited inside her, leaving her breathless and painfully aware of just how close he had been. Since that moment, she couldn’t stop thinking about him—about the warmth of his hand, the way his brown eyes glinted when he smiled, how she felt safe and seen whenever they were together. It was maddening.

And now, Y/N was pacing back and forth in the Gryffindor common room, her hands tangled in her hair as she vented to her best friend, Lily Evans.

"I can't stop thinking about him, Lily!" Y/N exclaimed, nearly knocking over a cup of tea in her haste. "Remus! And it’s driving me insane. I mean, what was that touch? That touch—it was nothing, but everything, you know? I swear, I’ve never been this pathetic over a guy before."

Lily raised an eyebrow, a small smirk tugging at her lips. She had been watching the two of them for a while now, and it was becoming increasingly obvious that there was more between Y/N and Remus than either of them realized. She set her tea cup down, a mischievous glint in her green eyes.

"Oh, I know exactly what you mean," Lily said with a knowing tone, crossing her arms. "I’ve seen the way you look at him when you think no one’s watching."

Y/N groaned, flopping onto the couch dramatically. "This is ridiculous! He’s my friend. My good friend. And now every time he’s near me, I’m… I don’t know, melting like some kind of love-struck idiot."

Lily laughed softly. "Well, it sounds to me like someone needs a little nudge. What are you waiting for? A grand confession from him?" She paused thoughtfully before her eyes lit up with a spark of inspiration. "Wait, I have an idea."

Y/N sat up, her eyes wide. "What? What idea?"

Lily leaned in conspiratorially, lowering her voice as if they were planning the most intricate plot in wizarding history. "You want Remus? I’ll help you get him. But we need to make a plan. A plan where he realizes just how amazing you are."

Y/N blinked, slightly stunned by the sudden shift. "Wait, are you seriously going to help me? You, the one who always says I should wait for things to happen naturally?"

"Desperate times call for desperate measures," Lily said with a wink. "Plus, you’re clearly head over heels, and you’ve been too busy staring at him to actually do something about it. Leave it to me. I’ll get the Marauders involved. They owe me a favor anyway."

Over the next few days, Lily set her plan into motion, gathering the Marauders for an impromptu meeting in the common room. Y/N had no idea what was going on, but she was already feeling the heat of anticipation in her chest. The Marauders—James, Sirius, Peter, and Remus—had always been close to her, but now that her feelings for Remus were growing, the thought of being around all of them was starting to make her feel a little self-conscious.

One evening, while they were all sitting by the fire in the common room, Lily subtly nudged her toward Remus. He was sitting on the other side of the room, a book in his lap, looking so effortlessly handsome that Y/N could barely keep her focus.

"You know what I think?" Lily whispered, leaning closer. "I think you should go over there. Sit next to him. Get a little closer. Let him see just how much you’ve been avoiding him."

Y/N’s eyes widened. "You want me to just… sit next to him?"

"Yep. And don’t be all nervous about it. Just be yourself." Lily gave her a sly smile. "And I’ll take care of the rest."

Lily’s plan was set into motion the very next evening. As Y/N walked into the common room, she found Remus lounging near the fire, reading a book. His hair was slightly messy, his glasses perched low on his nose, and his warm smile greeted her as she entered.

"Hey, Y/N," he said, looking up from his book. "How’s it going?"

"Good," she replied, her heart pounding in her chest. She hesitated for a moment before taking the seat beside him, her knee brushing his in the process. It wasn’t intentional—at least, not entirely—but the moment their legs touched, she could feel the heat spreading up her spine.

"Mind if I sit here?" she asked casually, trying to hide the way her stomach was doing flips.

"Of course not," Remus replied with a smile, not seeming to notice the nervous fluttering in her chest. He continued reading his book, but the proximity made Y/N acutely aware of every little movement he made, of the gentle rise and fall of his chest as he breathed, of the faint scent of the woods and parchment that always lingered around him.

"Y/N," Lily said from across the room, catching her attention with a pointed glance. She gestured subtly toward Remus, then to herself, as if signaling some silent code.

Y/N blinked, her heart pounding in her ears. What was Lily up to? Before she could question it, Sirius, who had been watching the whole thing with a grin, leaned toward James and whispered loudly enough for everyone to hear, "So, what do you think, James? Should we help these two out? I feel like we could, you know, nudge them in the right direction."

James immediately caught on. "Oh, absolutely. Time for a little friendly intervention."

Peter, who had been quietly observing the conversation from the corner, suddenly piped up. "Are we talking about Remus and Y/N? I think we can help. A few well-placed compliments, maybe some strategic distraction…"

Before Y/N knew what was happening, the Marauders had begun their campaign. James and Sirius started joking around with Remus, purposely steering the conversation toward how “amazing” Y/N was—her intelligence, her kindness, the way she could make the most mundane tasks feel fun. Meanwhile, Peter, being the expert in misdirection, kept Y/N distracted with casual small talk, occasionally giving her a teasing wink.

Every time one of them said something about her, Y/N’s heart skipped. She was blushing. She had to admit, their plan was working.

Finally, Remus glanced over at her, his brown eyes meeting hers with a soft, almost shy smile. "You know," he said, his voice low and warm, "I’ve been meaning to tell you something."

Y/N’s heart leapt into her throat. "What’s that?"

He hesitated for a moment, then chuckled softly. "I think I’ve been a little oblivious... But I do like spending time with you. A lot more than I’ve realized."

Y/N blinked. "Oh," she breathed, a smile tugging at her lips. "I think I like spending time with you too."

Sirius, from across the room, gave a thumbs-up, and James clapped dramatically. Peter, ever the strategist, even pretended to be busy so they could have the moment to themselves.

Remus, looking a little sheepish but pleased, finally leaned closer. "Would you maybe want to… go for a walk? You know, just the two of us?"

Y/N’s smile widened. "I’d love that."

As they stood up together, heading toward the door, Lily gave Y/N a wink, mouthing, “Mission accomplished.”

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh, feeling lighter than she had in weeks. Maybe it hadn’t been so hard after all. And thanks to her friends—especially the Marauders—Remus Lupin was no longer just her good friend.

His footsteps padded closer, and then he appeared, a little windblown from the autumn air, still in his restaurant uniform. He carried a paper bag, which he set carefully on the counter before reaching for your waist.

“Hello, love,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your lips. The familiar scent of rosemary and butter still clung to him, the faintest reminder that he’d come straight from work.

“Hi.” You were grinning by the time you pulled back. “What’s that?” you asked, nodding at the bag.

“I got something for you,” he said, smug in that quiet, teasing way of his. “But you’ll have to open it to find out what.” He interrupted before you could ask, already walking backwards towards your bedroom, unbuttoning the top of his chef’s jacket. “I’m going to change—be right back, angel.”

Rolling your eyes at his dramatics, you tugged the bag towards you. Inside sat two containers, the date marked with sharpie on their opaque lids. You frowned, lifting one, the other—then froze.

Eggs. Not whole eggs, but two containers, one filled with neatly separated whites, the other with yolks.

Your vision blurred. For a moment you just stared at them, throat tightening. You’d complained about this once—just once—two weeks ago, when you’d broken three yolks in a row trying to separate them with your long nails. It had been offhand, said in frustration while you cleaned the sticky mess off your hands. You never expected him to remember.

But of course he had.

Remus Lupin, with his keen eyes and soft hands and quiet devotion, had gone through dozens of eggs at his restaurant today—separating them just to spare you the task you hated most.

When he came back in, hair damp from the sink and sleeves pushed up, he found you still standing at the counter, tears streaking your cheeks as you laughed softly at yourself.

“Dove?” His brows pinched immediately, worry flashing across his face as he crossed the room. “What’s wrong?”

You shook your head, holding up the containers like proof of a miracle. “You remembered.”

His expression softened instantly, mouth quirking into the gentlest smile. “’Course I did,” he said simply, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “You said it drives you mad. Figured I could help.”

You set the containers down and threw your arms around his neck, pressing your face into his shoulder. “You’re ridiculous,” you mumbled, but your voice cracked with affection.

“Maybe,” he murmured against your hair, pulling you closer. “Still worth it, though.”

Trust him to turn something as stupid as separating eggs into an act of devotion.

thanks for reading!