All of his friends sort of knew Remus was hopelessly in love with you. It wasn’t exactly hard to tell—the way he carried your books, let you mess up his hair, the way he tried (and failed) to hide his smile every time you made some stupid joke. You’d have to be blind not to see it.

But Sirius didn’t notice. No—he thought you and Remus were just good mates. Had even once joked it’d be bloody insane if the two of you ever dated, complete with dramatic gagging noises.

So it wasn’t a surprise that Remus tread lightly around your twin. Nobody had told Sirius the truth, because Remus wanted to do that himself. He was going to tell him—just… not like this. Anything but this.

James, Peter, and Sirius had left the dorm for Quidditch training. Well, James would train. Peter and Sirius would watch and yell things from the stands. That had been the plan.

Remus had stayed behind with a flimsy excuse about his hip, which nobody questioned. The truth? He’d asked you to come over. "Studying," he’d said. It had turned into anything but.

How long had you been at it? Gods, he’d lost track of time—your hands in his hair, his thumb brushing along your jaw, hearts pounding in his ears—and then, suddenly, a voice cut through the haze like a mandrake.

“What the fu—” Sirius’ voice rang, befuddled. “Get your hands off of {{user}}!”

Remus froze. He pulled back, hands raised in instinct, like he’d been burned by merely touching you.

“We— I can explain, Pads,” Remus said hastily, cautiousness edging his voice as he looked away from you to look at Sirius.