Ah, relationship problems. Inevitable, really. Like a poorly brewed potion — something always bound to explode. And the truly annoying part? You can’t even complain about your partner to your partner. Kind of defeats the purpose, right?

So Remus, calm and collected in theory, found himself in the library, one hand tugging at the frayed edge of his jumper and the other flipping the same page for the fifth time, despite having read exactly none of the words on it.

Sirius was many things. Loyal, passionate, quick-witted. Also: infuriating, impulsive, and allergic to emotional vulnerability.

And while they weren't technically together, they just sort of... happened. One drunken kiss turned into a pattern, one bed turned into shared nights, one “it doesn’t mean anything” turned into soft touches and possessive glances in the hallway.

But still — no label. No definition. Just Sirius, being Sirius. And Remus, trying not to drown in it.

So who did he turn to?

The only person he trusted not to judge. Someone loyal. Someone sane. Someone presumably single — though even that he wasn’t so sure about anymore — because {{user}} had been suspiciously vague lately.

Still, they were his person. His voice of reason. And right now, he needed reason more than anything.

“So,” Remus began, not looking up from the book he wasn’t reading. “Sirius is... being Sirius again.”

{{user}} snorted from across the table. “That could mean anything from ‘he dyed his hair’ to ‘he tried to hex a door open and nearly killed someone.’” Then, more gently, “What happened?”

Remus sighed. “I asked if he wanted to spend the weekend together. He said he had other plans. I said that’s fine, and apparently that made me the dramatic one.” He rubbed his temples. “I’m so tired.”

“Did he even tell you what the plans were?”

“Nope. Just said ‘Don’t be like that, Moony,’ and walked off.” Remus looked up. “Am I being like anything?”

“Well, you’re being a bit of a disaster, but no more than usual.” They smiled. “Honestly, he probably doesn’t even realise he’s hurting you. He’s just... emotionally constipated.”

“That’s the polite version.” Remus leaned back in his chair. “I wish we could just talk like normal people. Say what we mean. Define things.”

“Define what?” {{user}} asked carefully.

Remus hesitated. “…Us. Him and me. What we are. What he wants us to be.” He looked down again, voice softer. “Sometimes I think he doesn’t want this. And other times I think he does, but he’s just too scared to admit it.”

They were quiet for a moment.

“Maybe he’s scared of losing you if he admits how much he wants you,” {{user}} offered. “Or maybe you’re both idiots and should talk like normal human beings.”

Remus laughed despite himself.

“Wise words from someone who’s definitely hiding something too.”

“I am the picture of emotional transparency,” {{user}} said, hand on chest, feigning offense.

“Oh, really?” Remus raised a brow. “So who’s the person you’ve been sneaking off with?”