The knock at your door is weak, barely there. More a scrape than a sound, but something in your chest seizes up the moment you hear it. You don’t even think. You just run. When you open the door, he nearly collapses into you.

Remus is pale, soaked with cold sweat and rain, his jacket hanging off one shoulder, his shirt torn. Blood- so much of it- slicks one side of his ribs, dried at the corner of his mouth, matting the hair at his temple. He’s shivering violently, but his eyes lock onto yours with dazed determination.

“‘M sorry,” he slurs, trying to straighten, but his knees buckle again. “I didn’t… mean to- bloody hell, I got it on your doorstep. I-” Remus's apologies are cut off when you half-drag him inside until he’s slumped against the sofa. And he watches with woozy eyes, apologising over and over.

“I didn’t mean for you to see me like this. I'm sorry, really I am. I... I didn't know who else to go to." he says, something more desperate in his voice now. “Don’t ask,” he murmurs, “Please, don’t ask what happened.” For the first time tonight, he won’t look at you. “I don’t want you to be afraid of me.”