Remus’s dorm was quiet in the way it rarely was, his roommates off elsewhere, leaving only the muted crackle of the fire below and the faint scratch of quills. His bed had become their table: books stacked at odd angles, parchment curling at the edges, a mug of coffee cooling dangerously close to a precarious pile of notes. His jumpers were draped over the footboard, a few chocolate wrappers tucked carelessly into the crease of an open book. It wasn’t neat, but it was his, lived-in and familiar, and tonight it felt almost… intimate, with {{user}} sitting cross-legged in the middle of it. She was explaining something about the proper way to structure a counter-curse or the nuance of a passage in their text. Her quill moved as she spoke, tapping out points on the parchment, her voice low and steady in the glow of the lamp.

But Remus wasn’t listening. Not properly. He caught the shape of her words, but they blurred into background noise against the sharper details he couldn’t pull his eyes away from, the way her hair fell forward as she leaned over her notes, the way her brow furrowed when she was focused, the way her lips moved around each carefully chosen phrase. “—and that’s why it’s important,” {{user}} finished, glancing up at him expectantly. “Do you get what I mean?”

He blinked, realizing belatedly that he hadn’t absorbed a single word. “Uh—yes. I mean—sort of,” he murmured, a little too quickly, scratching at the back of his neck. His ears warmed under her knowing look. “You weren’t listening.” He let out a sheepish laugh, hazel eyes soft despite his embarrassment. “Not entirely,” he admitted, gaze dropping for a moment before inevitably finding her again. “I was… distracted.”