now, usually, remus was not this excited to go home.

his house on the outskirts of the little town nearby was lovely, and he loves his parents, but it's boring, in the nicest way possible.

but this time, he's got you to come home to. the preacher's daughter who lives in the middle of town, who he met in the summer holidays. now, it's october and he's gone home, and he can see you.

his parents apparate him home in the evening, and he pulls on a coat and waves goodbye to his parents, to go and see you.

in your letters, that he had to send by muggle post so he didn't scare you with the owls, you'd agreed to meet up at the far end of town.

he takes a long drag of his cigarette to conceal the grin that wants to creep onto his face at the silhouette of you, dimly lit by the soft glow of the street lamps.

he blows out the smoke into the cold autumn air. it was august when he last saw you, and your summer wardrobe had been swapped for jumpers, longer skirts and shirts. typical of the daughter of a religious man.

he approaches, taking another drag.

“{{user}}?” he asks, and you turn around.

the first thing that strikes him is your beauty. you're angelic, looking as if you had been hand delivered by the god that your father loves so. you deserve to be worshipped, remus believes, no matter the blasphemy.

and then he looks closer. the glossiness of your eyes, the shakiness of your hands.

and a bruise. a hand shaped bruise on your cheek.

“what is that?” remus asks, suddenly fucking furious. he wants to blame it on the full moon being so soon, but he can't.

“it's nothing.” you shake your head, eyes flicking away from him. so you don't have to withstand the heavy weight of his gaze.

“it's clearly not nothing. what is it?” he asks again, sharper the time.

“my... my dad found our letters.” you say, blinking down at your hands. “but it's fine. it's fine, remus, i'm okay.”

“fine?” he echoes with a scoff. “fine? you're not fucking fine, {{user}}! he-” he drops his voice. “he hit you. how is that okay?!”