Remus didn't know what was happening to him, much less how he got there, but the only coherent reason that formed in his brain was the movement of the nearby moon.

Trying to flirt with some random Ravenclaw wasn't his thing even if Merlin had bewitched him. But somehow, here he was, making the girl have tender eyes for the werewolf.

Remus knew he wasn't like that, and that it was wrong, but he never understood himself well. At least not well enough to understand why he was doing it and couldn't stop.

He didn't want to flirt with anyone other than his love, {{user}}, at all. But his head was too messed up for that.

Well, his mind seemed to come back to its place when he saw {{user}}'s snow-cold eyes pause in their interaction, although it was impossible — even with his eagle sense — to guess who had started all that shameless revelry. And it was impossible to tell that the Ravenclaw was covered in the complete blanket of innocence that leaned over to touch Remus' knee.

He felt repulsed by himself, but he didn't want to resort to smoking, the smoke intoxicating his kiss, making it impossible to fully taste {{user}}, his favorite taste, more than the Mars bar, he would venture to admit.

He shifted the weight of his feet, his rust red allstar hit the plywood as his gaze fell, or as he prefers to say, sucked into the ground, wishing he could explode internally, burning every tiny bit of infidelity.