A/N: This is an odd piece for me to post. I started it ages ago, but didn't finish it until recently. It still feels a little disjointed, but part of me likes the contrast. I hope the timing makes sense - the second part does NOT immediately follow the first, some time passes. Please enjoy and review!

Words: 879
Characters: Remus, Tonks
Time: Between OotP and HBP, when she's in the hospital and after she gets out
Genre: Angst/Romance

Disclaimer: Everything you recognize belongs to J.K. Rowling, not me. Also the lyrics and title are from Trading Yesterday's song.

"If right is leaving
I'd rather be wrong
She is sunlight,
The sun is gone.

And if holding her means
I have to bleed
Then I am the martyr
And love is to blame.

She lives in a daydream
Where I don't belong.
She is the sunlight,
The sun is gone."

- She Is the Sunlight, Trading Yesterday

The flowers in his hand sparkled and seemed almost to smile. She would like them, wouldn't she? He hoped so. This was what a person was meant to do, right? Bring flowers to a bedridden friend. It meant nothing more than that, surely. It was just the thing to do. He did hope she would like them. They'd reminded him of her: their effervescency and softly shifting shades of pink and purple. They hadn't lost their shine even in the dreary London drizzle on his way to the hospital.

Remus shook his cloak dry when he entered and slowly made his way to her ward. She had a room to herself. Taking a deep breath, forcing his face to remember how to smile, Remus knocked and waited for her voice.

"Come in!"

Even two simple words from her made the tight knot inside him loosen the tiniest bit.

"Good afternoon," he said. "I… I brought you some flowers. I thought they'd brighten the room a little."

"Oh, Remus, they're lovely," she said as he handed them to her and took a seat at her bedside. "Look - "

She closed her eyes and concentrated for a second, and her hair turned the same shimmering pink-purple as the petals. With a grin, she held them right next to her face, like she was posing for a photograph. Remus laughed. It came out a bit scratchy – he cleared his throat, but didn't try again.

"I'm glad you like them."

Picking up her wand from the bedside table, Tonks conjured a vase and settled the flowers inside with unusual care. Her hands lingered on their vivid blooms for a moment. "I'm glad you came to visit," she said gently. "I… Well, I just missed you. That's all."

"I should have come sooner."

But I didn't. Because I'm broken, and a coward. I'm afraid every time you look at me with those eyes that it will be the last. I'm afraid I'll tell you to leave here, to get out of all this madness, before you die like so many others. I'm afraid I will hurt you, and yet I am too weak to resist you.

He didn't say any of that, though.

"Well, you came, that's what matters."

A moment of silence fell between them. Hesitantly she offered him her hand. Remus stared at it, then at her, at the gentle plea that shone within her eyes.

So he took it, despite his better judgment. It was very small, but warm and strong, too.

During the day, things were easy. Everything was bright and in the open. He was safe in the sunlight. Right there, clearly visible, were all his carefully outlined arguments for why this couldn't happen. He could find them effortlessly with so many reminders. There, in the reflection on the window – his scars. There, someone who knew him once and knew what he is, scurrying to the other side of the street. There, his next mission assignment from Dumbledore.

Most nights, too, he had the moon. Creeping toward full, his heart calling to it, or slipping toward darkness, full of memories.

Then there were these nights. He was alone save for the stars, and he had nothing. Not even a sliver of the moon remained to remind him of what he stood to lose.

His door swung open; there was no knock. She stood there, fully healed, restless and bold, and with a look in her eyes that burned him straight to the core, like staring too long at the sun.

"I wanted to see you," she said flatly. "There's something I need to know."

He took a step toward her. Even if he had known what to say, his throat could not have formed the words. Before he knew what was happening, he had crossed the room and was standing before her, so close that she had to tilt her head back to see him. Her lips were parted slightly, her pale cheeks flushed.

This is not the right thing to do.

It had taken only one touch. One glance. One brushing of fingertips, of lips, to tell him that she was here, she was real, she was safe and his meager defenses crumbled. He had lost too much lately to lose her too.

His hands explored every inch of her, desperate to make sure she truly safe and whole. Her hands on him moved with equal fervor, lighting a fire in a soul, a fire that burned away any lingering anguish, misgivings, control.

This is not the right thing to do.

But he wanted her, no, needed her, and he could feel in his entire body that she needed him too, and it was intoxicating, so much so that doing the right thing became impossible, impossible.

Their eyes met in brief breaths between kisses. He had never seen hers so dark, flickering now between each of his. When she kissed him again, she spoke against his lips, her quivering voice both heated and hesitant.

"Do you… do you love me, Remus?"

This is not right.

He kissed her back deeply, running his hands across her back, the desire welling up inside him so fast that he was overwrought, overpowered, lost.

I would rather be wrong.

"I love you."