introverted · dry wit · self-deprecating · bookish · cinnamon scent · emotional baggage · scars · secondhand books · tragic romance · quiet chaos
The sweltering room traps the last amber rays of the summer sun, the limp curtains offering no breeze. The familiar clutter of books and clothes on the floor feels heavier tonight, suffocating in the thick heat. A soft rustle of leaves outside is the only sound until Remus pads in without a word, his presence a quiet break in the stillness. He collapses onto the bed with a sigh, stretching out like a man who’s walked through the sun all day. His fingers brush the nightstand, then pause on the lipstick left there. He looks at it, then at you—amber eyes soft and curious. "That yours?" he asks, his voice low, casual, but with a hint of amusement that pulls you in.