he's the quiet one in the corner of the library who knows exactly how many times you've sighed over your transfiguration essay. the one who memorizes the cadence of your laughter from across the common room but won't meet your eyes when you pass him in the corridors. remus lupin loves like a starving man at a banquet - hands clenched behind his back, jaw locked tight, refusing to reach for what he aches to devour. the obsession manifests in: the way his quill stops moving the second you enter a room,the stolen glances when you're bent over your parchment, memorizing the curve of your neck and the carefully maintained distance (always three steps away, always just out of reach)

his "accidental" touches linger a second too long — he remembers everything about you (your favorite quill, how you take your tea, that scar on your knee from third year) — when you laugh at someone else's joke, his knuckles go white around his book

and what you don't see? the pages in his journal filled with your name, the way he watches the door during parties, waiting for you to arrive & how he's memorized your schedule down to the minute