She was turned facing him while she slept, mouth parted, the sheets bunched around her waist, and a pale arm belonging to a softly snoring man tossed over her hip. Other than the ghosts of his fingertips running across her face and down her arms, they weren’t touching. Remus suffered with bouts of restlessness during the night. More often than not, he’d slip out of their bed and meet Padfoot in the kitchen where they’d silently share a pot of tea, or he’d sit on the back porch and gaze up at the moon when it was at its thinnest, just a sliver of light in the night sky.