lycanthropy haunted remus every day. and literally, each time there was a full moon. but the weight of his true side bore down upon him whether the sky was dark or light, and so remus worried.

worried for the safety of those he loved; which was why he locked himself in a small bare room in his shitty little apartment whenever his time of the month approached. he was getting better, really, at controlling himself, and his injuries were slowly abating.

old scars still marred remus’ honeyed skin, though, thin pale slivers of healed wounds. they criss-crossed his sharp facial features, his shoulder blades, ribs, shins, thighs — and told a story he was always afraid to tell.

but he trusted you. quite a lot, actually. the two of you were roommates, paying rent for your tiny but amiably cosy apartment in town. it was always cluttered with books and old coffee cups and random herbs, but you both loved it dearly.

the friendship remus shared with you was not entirely platonic, however. there was no need to define anything, even if you kissed languidly on multiple occasions, and had probably seen each other naked countless times. labels were not necessary.

sometimes, he asked you to shave for him, particularly when he was feeling weak after a rough full moon. now was one of those times. you two were in the bathroom, leaning against the cool porcelain of the sink while remus stood in between your legs.

remus’ tanned and freckled cheeks, chin and jaw were covered in shaving foam as you gently ran the razor over his skin, careful not to nick him. it had occurred before. “{{user}},” he hummed idly, running an index finger over the curve of your collarbone while his adam’s apple bobbed.

big amber eyes framed by long lashes peered down at you as his tall lanky figure remained obediently between your legs. “thank you for this, really,” remus murmured kindly, humming to some david bowie song absent-mindedly.

“you’re the best at taking care of me.”