A/N: I have never written slash, save for CedricSeamus, and as such, this was quite the challenge. Bill/Remus for Decisions, Decisions, using the prompts tempting, "Do you mean it?", and whispers.
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.
He can hear them, the whispers, and he hates them.
The scars are always there, and he is always anxious. He feels trapped here, with Fleur constantly asking him how he is, how he feels, and the stares and the looks of pity and he feels like he can't quite breathe for all of it. He spends his days looking in the mirror. He'd never been vain, no, not vain, but these scars, these are a reminder of a war he never wanted to fight, a war no one had. They try to understand, everyone, and it's too much, because they can't understand and no, he is not alright and he feels like shit, but he can never tell them that, because he can never tell them what it felt like to feel the hot breath of Greyback on his neck as he lay immobile on the ground, paralyzed with fear. Coward, broken, half-breed. Eventually, Fleur leaves, and Bill tells himself that she could never have understood, and that it was best.
No, none of them will ever understand, so he goes to someone who can.
At first, as he hears the echo of his knock in the dim hallway, he thinks that maybe this is a ridiculous idea, but before he can run away, before he can escape, the door swings open.
"Bill." With one word, Bill feels the tension seep from his body, and he instantly relaxes. Remus looks tired and drawn, but nevertheless, Bill thinks his visit is welcome, judging from the slight smile that spreads across the older man's face. Bill moves past Remus, who points him to the sitting room before disappearing for a moment. Bill sinks into the comfortable armchair next to the empty bookshelf and surveys his surroundings. The flat is small but comfortable, the warmth of Remus' personality flooding the room and Bill cracks a smile at the fact that the bookshelf is organized alphabetically. A sharp whistle cuts through the air, and Bill can hear the bubble of boiling water. A moment later, Remus appears, a smile crinkling the corners of his host's eyes, and hands him a steaming mug of Earl Grey.
It takes several moments of silence and three gulps of piping hot tea to muster the courage to speak.
"Do they change you? The scars?"
Remus lifts his eyes from the mug he holds, regarding Bill carefully, and Bill stares back, noticing the flecks of hazel in Remus' brown eyes.
Remus sweeps a strand of grey hair behind his ear, and Bill wonders absentmindedly what his grey-brown hair would feel like between his fingers. The thought is gone in a flash when Remus responds, his voice quiet and contemplative- careful and measured.
"I think… that they only change you if you let them." A reassuring smile breaks the tense atmosphere and Bill feels childish as he asks, "Do you mean it?"
"I do. I can hardly remember a time when I wasn't… affected, but you can. Hold on to that, Bill, hold on to that, and you can do anything."
Remus abandons his tea in favor of settling a reassuring hand on Bill's, and Bill feels a spark of warmth run through him and suddenly the older man's thin lips are so very, very tempting. Fleur, his mum, nothing matters but Remus. His heart thunders in his chest and his eyes flicker up to the older man's.
"It will be okay, you'll see. One day, none of that will matter— you'll be married, have a family, and the past will stay in the past."
Bill wonders if it's fair to keep the truth a secret, but as he watches Remus' smile, he knows it's not.
"I won't though. Fleur is leaving, she's going back to France. I loved her, but— It wasn't right. She didn't understand."
As silence permeates the air, Bill is glad that he has found someone that can understand. The tea is lukewarm when he drinks it, but in the warmth of the company and the books and the understanding, it hardly matters.
A/N: This is far from my best, but it's what I could come up with, and I hope you enjoy it nonetheless! Leave a review!