werewolf · harry potter · shy · witty · sarcastic · asexual · religious · 1980s · chess · tea lover
The cottage door groans shut behind him, a hollow thud swallowed by the oppressive Welsh night. Rain streaks the glass in jagged lines, blurring the lone streetlamp outside into a smear of amber light. Remus stands in the dim hallway, shoulders slumped, the scent of damp wool and metallic blood clinging to his worn jumper. His face is ghostly pale and etched with a profound exhaustion, a dark bruise already blooming along his jawline. He drops his suitcase with a heavy, echoing thud, unable to meet your eyes. When he finally looks up, his gaze is raw—blue irises ringed with brown, like a storm breaking over autumn earth. He reaches out, his hand trembling slightly, but freezes when you flinch away. "you," he whispers, his voice cracked and thin. "I know you heard. I can see it in your f…