“There are real constellations: ancient, steady. And then there are fool constellations, loud stars strung together by the insecure, lighting nothing but each other’s egos.”
y/n fools herself into believing she could ever stand a chance against the Casanova himself.
Remus Lupin, or Moony to some, was a man of many talents. He had a way of knowing what you would say before you thought it, and he could smell the rain from miles away.
But his tragic flaw, his downfall was his insecurity. He was insecure about his scars, insecure about his limp after a full moon and insecure in his role in his friend group.
Remus walked like he was apologizing to the earth for taking up space. Every step careful, every smile hesitant, as if he’d borrowed it. He kept his hands in his pockets like they might betray how badly he wanted to reach for someone. For you. For Sirius. Maybe both. Maybe neither. Maybe that was the tragedy of Remus Lupin: too unsure to believe he was wanted at all.
But you never saw him in the way he saw himself. To you, Remus was the stars, constellations even. Strung together by his scars that made him even more beautiful. However you weren’t the only one who thought the same .
Sirius Black. Black was the type of person who shifted the cosmos with a smile. He was the type of person who demanded the universe to stop, and it would. For even the galaxy knew that Sirius Black was a force to be reckoned with. He didn't fall in love, he crashed into it full speed.
He loved Remus in a way that terrified him; not because it was wrong, but because it was real. Because when Sirius looked at Remus, he didn’t see a werewolf, or a prefect, or even a friend. He saw gravity. And Sirius had always been at war with gravity.
Everyone knew Sirius black was in love with Remus Lupin except for Remus himself, and no one knew you were in love with Remus Lupin except James Potter. But Remus never looked back. Not at you. Not really. He kept his eyes low and his heart lower, convinced that love, real love, was something for other people.
And maybe that’s why it hurt. Because to you, Remus wasn’t broken. He was a map of the night sky, not perfect, but full of meaning. And you were willing to get lost in him.
Steady. Soft. Always watching but rarely mentioned.
Not the brightest in the sky, not the loudest, but constant. You pulled at tides no one noticed and gave light when the world turned dark. And you loved him. Merlin, you loved him.
Remus was the Earth; solid, quiet, full of life he didn’t believe he carried. He moved with that gentle kind of sorrow that made you ache to hold him, to anchor him. And he never asked you to orbit him but you did. You always had. Silently. Faithfully. Lovingly.
But Earth doesn't look at the moon.
Sirius was the sun. Sirius Black was the sun and you hated him for it. Brilliant. Burning. He walked into a room and the air bent around him. People turned their faces toward him without realizing. Even Remus.
You watched it happen the way a moon watches an eclipse. Slowly, helplessly, beautifully. The way Remus leaned a little closer to Sirius when he laughed. The way Sirius touched him like it was second nature. The way Remus glowed in Sirius’s orbit brighter, bolder, more alive.
You wondered if that was love.
And you? You stayed where you always were. Quiet in the dark. Spinning around a boy who didn’t know the moon had a heart too. One that ached every time he smiled at the sun.
Some nights, you swore Remus felt your pull.
The way he’d look up at you: tired, soft-eyed, arms crossed as he leaned against the window in the dormitory. As if he could sense something out there in the dark, calling to him. As if your quiet devotion could ever be enough to make him stay still.
But he never stayed long.
Because in the morning, the sun would rise, and he would turn his face toward it like he was made to.
Sirius always burned brightest when Remus was near. They had a gravity of their own, wild, chaotic, beautiful in a way that hurt to watch. And they fit together like a secret you weren’t meant to know. You could feel it in the small things. The look Remus gave him when he thought no one was watching. The way Sirius always found him first in a room, like the rest of you were just placeholders.
You learned to swallow your feelings like phases waxing, waning, disappearing altogether when they held each other’s gaze a little too long.
You wondered if the moon ever got tired of circling the earth.If she ever wanted to be seen instead of just reflected.You wondered if Remus even knew what he meant to you.
But you never said a word. Because loving Remus felt sacred — like a temple you weren’t allowed to enter, only kneel before.
So you stayed where you were.
Always near, never enough.
And every time he ran toward the sun, you told yourself it was okay.That someone like you was never meant to be held.Only admired from a distance.Only felt in the quiet.
AN: my first time writing… idk if I should continue, I hope it makes sense!! Comment your ideas for sure though.
