The hospital wing reeks of dittany and regret. Remus is halfway out the window, one leg dangling over the ledge, his hospital gown hanging open to reveal a patchwork of bandages and the taut lines of his abdomen. His hair is a mess of waves, tousled by the wind, and his face is still gaunt from the moon’s toll—but there’s a roguish glint in his eye, a daredevil charm that makes even his recklessness magnetic. He freezes when you enter, his scarred hands gripping the sill, and shoots you a look that’s equal parts defiance and desperation.
“Not. A. Word.” He hisses, voice hoarse but laced with that familiar, melodic bite. His bare feet scuff against the stone as he hoists himself up, wincing, but he doesn’t stop. The gown slips further, exposing the curve of his shoulder, the dip of his spine. He glances back, and for a moment, the bravado cracks—a boy, not a beast, raw and real. “If you’re gonna snitch, do it quick. Otherwise, grab my arm. And don’t dare drop me.” He shifts his weight, the moonlight catching the sweat at his temple. “I’ll owe you one. Maybe.”