The Gryffindor common room is loud with laughter, Sirius holding court with another outrageous story while James heckles from the sofa. You’re sitting across the table from Remus, pretending to listen, but his eyes keep finding yours.

He looks away quickly when anyone else might notice, flipping the page of a book he isn’t reading. But then your knee brushes his under the table. A spark. His jaw tightens. He doesn’t move away.

“Need some air,” Remus mutters suddenly, cutting Sirius off mid-sentence as he pushes up from his chair. A few complaints follow him, but no one pays him much attention. No one except you. He doesn’t have to ask. You follow. You always do.

By the time you catch up, he’s already pacing the empty corridor, running a hand through his hair, expression shadowed. When he sees you, something unspoken flashes across his face—longing, frustration, relief.

“You drive me mad, you know that?” His voice is low, rough. “Sitting there, laughing with them like nothing’s going on. Like we’re not…” He breaks off, jaw clenching. “…like this doesn’t eat me alive.”