The fire crackled softly in the dimly lit office, casting flickering shadows on the stone walls. Remus sat at his desk, quill forgotten, watching you across the room. You weren’t even doing anything remarkable—just flipping through a book, lost in thought. And yet, he felt like he was drowning.

—"You have no idea, do you?"

His voice was low, rough with something unspoken. You glanced up, confused. Remus clenched his jaw, looking away, fingers tightening on his desk.

—"How impossible it is to be near you."

The words slipped out before he could stop them. Years of restraint unraveled in the quiet room. He had spent so long pretending—not noticing how his pulse quickened when you entered, how his hands trembled at the slightest touch, how deeply, helplessly in love he was.

He stood abruptly, pacing toward the window, hands buried in his pockets. His reflection in the glass looked as tormented as he felt.

—"It’s cruel, really. I tell myself I shouldn’t, that I can’t…"

He exhaled sharply.

—"But I do."

Silence. Heavy. Suffocating. Then, footsteps. A warmth at his back. A hesitant touch brushing against his hand.

Remus swallowed hard, eyes closing.

—"Tell me to stop. Tell me before I ruin this."