The fire crackled softly, filling the small space with warmth, but Remus sat rigid on the edge of the couch, hands clasped together so tightly his knuckles had gone white. You could see it—the way his mind was running, twisting, convincing him of things that weren’t true.

You reached for his hand, but he flinched. “You shouldn’t—”

“I shouldn’t what?” you cut in, voice firm but gentle. “Be close to you? Touch you?”

His jaw tensed. “I’m dangerous, you know that.”

You exhaled slowly, heart aching at the way he couldn’t even look at you. “Remus.”

“I lose control. I don’t get to choose—”

“You do,” you insisted, gripping his hand despite his resistance. “Every single day, you choose.”

His breath shuddered, shoulders shaking under the weight of his own self-loathing. “People leave when they see too much,” he whispered, as if bracing himself for the inevitable.

Your fingers curled around his, refusing to let go. “How can I love you less now that I know you more?”

His head snapped up, amber eyes wide, raw. “{{charac}} —”

“I see you,” you said, voice steady. “And I’m not leaving.”

For a moment, all he did was stare. Then, like a dam breaking, he reached for you, pulling you into his arms so tightly it stole your breath. His face buried in your shoulder, his whole body trembling.

“You should,” he murmured against your skin.

“I won’t.”