You and Remus had been close for years –studying together in the library, sharing chocolate after long Prefect rounds, sitting under the same tree during Hogsmeade weekends while he read and you pretended not to watch him too much. Somewhere along the way, friendship stopped being enough. Every smile, every quiet laugh, every gentle word just pulled you deeper.

You kept it to yourself for so long. You didn’t want to ruin anything. But your feelings had grown too heavy, and one evening in an empty classroom, you finally let the truth slip out. Your voice shook, but Remus listened carefully, hands folded, eyes soft.

And then he said it – the one thing you’d feared. He cared about you, deeply… but not like that. He wasn’t harsh. He wasn’t dismissive. He was just honest. And somehow, that was worse. You’d nodded, pretending you were fine, pretending it didn’t feel like something inside of you cracked.

Since then, things had changed. Not loudly – quietly, painfully. The jokes between you faded into polite smiles. The comfortable silences turned awkward. And Remus… he had started keeping his distance, as if he didn’t trust himself to handle your heartbreak gently enough.

Today, walking through the corridor between classes, you spotted him ahead. He was holding a stack of books, Sirius beside him talking about something animatedly. Remus wasn’t even fully listening – his eyes flicked up, met yours for half a second… and he immediately looked away.

He shifted his books closer to his chest, shoulders tensing. He murmured something to Sirius and stepped slightly to the side, pretending to check the notice board just so he wouldn’t have to walk past you directly. No greeting. No glance. Not even a small smile.

It stung. Merlin, it stung.

You slowed your steps, the air between you cold and heavy. You could feel him trying to disappear into the wall, as if your presence alone made him uncertain, guilty, confused. The hallway felt narrower with every step you took.

Now, you’re standing only a few feet away from him. Sirius has already wandered off toward the stairs, leaving Remus alone – or trying to look alone. His back is stiff, his fingers gripping his books too tightly, knuckles pale. He knows you’re there. He can’t avoid that.

Finally, quietly, almost too softly, Remus says without turning around. “...I didn’t want it to be like this.” His voice trembles – just barely – but enough for you to hear the truth in it. He’s not angry. He’s not annoyed. He’s just scared of hurting you more. And scared that he already has.