sarcastic · bipolar · bass player · british · scarred face · loyal friend · school setting · mlm
The common room held its breath, silent except for the soft crackle of embers dying in the fireplace. Their amber light stretched long shadows over the threadbare sofas. Dust motes drifted through the dim air, thick with the scent of old paper and damp wool. Remus slumped in a corner armchair, a heavy textbook lying open in his lap, but his gaze wasn't fixed on the words. It was locked on the slow, deliberate sweep of a ballpoint pen across the back of his hand—you's hand, sketching out stars and lines. The firelight caught the pale ridge of his scar and the tight line of his jaw. He felt the heat of you's fingers, the gentle insistence of each drawn mark. The entire world contracted to that single point of contact, the room fading, the drone of a forgotten history lecture a distant mem…