She's nailed him, perfectly, across all time and space.
How awful that the result is for him to demonstrate and prove it.
He should lean into that kiss, blushing deeper and not knowing what to do with himself, but it's okay; Remus is not the kind of teenage boy [not necessarily through fault of their own] whose ego violently abhors embarrassment; he cherishes her laughter, this unique moment, something that's never happened to him and he never thought he'd get to be a part of, and how joyful to do so with specifically her, this moment of wonderful befuddlement.
Instead the kiss—that should feel electric and magnetic—feels like electric shock. Antimagnetism repulses him to jolt, even microscopically, back, craning his neck away to stare at her.
Nothing in his body language or expression are negative about her. No hostility, no judgment, no antagonism. But, no less devastating (and misguided precisely fornot being about her, not allowing her choice and agency and impact on the situation): horrified, on the defense (of him and her both), trying to solve every puzzle at once, like he's woken from sleep at the wheel just shy of a crash.
Apparently no matter your age indeed.
"Auribus tenere…?" he asked, voice suddenly very… not cold, no, but… coming from far away.
…but wait just a fucking minute… WAIT.
If she knew in the future and was treating him like this.
That could only mean good things.
Right?
I don't know what happened, what's still happening. And you don't have to tell me. But please tell someone. Don't carry it alone. There comes a point, when people love you, that trying to protect them becomes itself a harm. Trust them to decide if they need to protect themselves. —or, more likely, if protection will only work mutually. By protecting each other.
I'll bet you everything I own, that's what they want.
You are the wisest person I know but sometimes it's bigger than just us
Unless he was about to screw it up right now.
"…what things?" he says instead, trying too hard, too late, not to show too much.
no subject
She's nailed him, perfectly, across all time and space.
How awful that the result is for him to demonstrate and prove it.
He should lean into that kiss, blushing deeper and not knowing what to do with himself, but it's okay; Remus is not the kind of teenage boy [not necessarily through fault of their own] whose ego violently abhors embarrassment; he cherishes her laughter, this unique moment, something that's never happened to him and he never thought he'd get to be a part of, and how joyful to do so with specifically her, this moment of wonderful befuddlement.
Instead the kiss—that should feel electric and magnetic—feels like electric shock. Antimagnetism repulses him to jolt, even microscopically, back, craning his neck away to stare at her.
Nothing in his body language or expression are negative about her. No hostility, no judgment, no antagonism. But, no less devastating (and misguided precisely for not being about her, not allowing her choice and agency and impact on the situation): horrified, on the defense (of him and her both), trying to solve every puzzle at once, like he's woken from sleep at the wheel just shy of a crash.
Apparently no matter your age indeed.
"Auribus tenere…?" he asked, voice suddenly very… not cold, no, but… coming from far away.
…but wait just a fucking minute… WAIT.
If she knew in the future and was treating him like this.
That could only mean good things.
Right?
You are the wisest person I know but sometimes it's bigger than just us
Unless he was about to screw it up right now.
"…what things?" he says instead, trying too hard, too late, not to show too much.