Remus hated lying. It wasn’t in his nature, and it never came easily. But what choice did he have? The truth was something ugly — dangerous — and he was terrified of what would happen if {{user}} ever found out. Not just the shock or disgust, but the leaving. The silence that would follow. The absence of those secret smiles, soft kisses, whispered promises exchanged in quiet corridors and moonlit halls.

He couldn’t lose that. He couldn’t lose them.

His steps were heavy as he climbed the narrow stairs to the astronomy tower, hands shoved deep in his pockets, his head down as if guilt might be lighter that way. Each footstep echoed like a reminder of all the things he hadn’t said. Every lie stacked on the last until they felt like a weight strapped to his chest.

But then he reached the top and looked up — and there was {{user}}, bathed in starlight and silver moon glow. Their face softened everything. Made the fear flicker. Made the guilt dim. It was only a crescent moon tonight. A small mercy. At least for the next two weeks, he could pretend a little longer.

He leaned against the low stone wall, exhaling slowly, letting the cool air bite at the edge of his nerves. He was running out of time, out of reasons, out of ways to hide the truth of his monthly vanishings. The full moon would return soon, and with it, the questions he couldn’t keep dodging.

But for now… he let the lie breathe just a little longer.

“Hi, sweet,” he said gently, the smile he wore soft and quiet — the one reserved just for {{user}} and {{user}} alone.

“It’s a nice night, isn’t it?” he said, voice light, casual. “Clear skies. Have you spotted any constellations?”