The curtains around his bed are drawn, but you can still hear the quiet, ragged sound of his breathing.

You slip through them gently.

He’s sitting on the edge of the mattress, elbows on his knees, face buried in his hands. Blood stains his knuckles. His shoulders shake, just once, and then still.

You don’t say anything at first. You just kneel in front of him, close but careful, your voice barely more than a whisper.

“You don’t scare me.”

His hands drop just enough for you to see the haunted look in his eyes. “You should.”

You shake your head, reaching out slowly — not to touch him, not yet, but just to let him see that you’re here. That you mean it.

“You don’t scare me, Remus. Not even a little.”

He lets out a breath like he’s been holding it since the moon rose.

“Why?” he asks, voice rough. “Why would you stay, knowing what I am?”

You look him in the eyes — soft, unwavering.

“Because I know who you are.”