It scares him how quickly she falls into place in his world. There’s an order to these things, he muses to the unnatural coolness of a summer’s night. We’re opposite—

—her face’s soft and comfortable against his sharp lines.

(She clutches him tight, doesn’t say we were never opposite enough)

Remus pretends to move on, and laughs – and sometimes he thinks too much, about this world ravaged by war. If the world wants to fall apart, he’ll be there to catch it—

—but sometimes it’s too much, and his voice cracks, like ice, like a curse – like someone else’s entirely.