The quiet hiss of the blackout curtains brought a peculiar kind of comfort to Sirius, a symbol of safety in a time when the world offered so little of it. He’d learned to rely on the little things in these past months — the rattle of a morning paper against the window of the corner shop, the crackle of a scratchy wireless broadcast, and letters bearing Remus’ hasty, familiar scrawl.
Tonight, though, he had something far better than a letter to keep him company.
Sirius leaned against the bar, his fingers tightening around the cool glass in his hand, feeling the grit of chipped paint beneath his fingertips. It had taken every favor he had to get this booth in the back corner of the only pub still open on this side of town, but it was worth it. He’d already been here for close to an hour, counting every tick of the second hand on the clock above the bar.
Just when he thought he might combust from anticipation, the bell above the door jingled, and in he walked. Remus. Clad in his dark wool army coat, hat tipped at a familiar, careless angle, Remus surveyed the dimly lit room before his gaze found Sirius. They exchanged a quick, private smile, just enough to send a warm flicker through Sirius’s chest.
In two strides, Remus crossed the room and took the seat across from him. “I almost didn’t make it,” he said, his voice hushed. “Caught the last train in. You have no idea how close I was to being stuck.”
“Don’t say such things,” Sirius replied, his tone light yet his voice carrying a hint of the unspoken worry beneath. “I would’ve been beside myself here, waiting until I turned to dust.”
Remus chuckled. “You’re already nearly dust, Black. Look at you, practically falling apart in that coat.”
“Oh, don’t start with the coat,” Sirius chided, a playful grin in his eyes. “You know it’s the best one I have.”
It was indeed threadbare, but Remus liked it on him. And for Sirius, that was enough reason to wear it proudly. The past year had forced them to make peace with small comforts, in the rare moments they had together, but there was no mistaking the longing in each glance.
For a moment, neither spoke. Sirius took in every detail, each line and subtle shadow on Remus’ face. There were new scars, fresh bruises peeking out from beneath the collar, faint enough to fade with time but harsh reminders of his reality in the army.
“So,” Sirius began, clearing his throat. “Tell me about…about where you’ve been.” He kept his tone casual, but Remus could see right through him.
“You really want to know?” Remus leaned back, removing his hat and placing it gently on the table, his fingers idly tracing its brim.
“Not a word of the bad bits,” Sirius said firmly. “I just…need to know you’re alright.”
Remus shifted, catching Sirius’ eyes. “Then there’s little to tell,” he said, smiling gently. “Same old marching and shouting. Although…” he leaned forward, voice dropping, “I did manage to snag a cigarette ration for you.”
He slid two carefully-wrapped cigarettes across the table, watching Sirius’ face light up. Cigarettes were almost as rare as time off, and Sirius accepted them with a reverence that would’ve seemed absurd in any other era.
“You spoil me, Lupin,” he murmured, slipping one into his coat pocket. “But, speaking of spoils…look what I found.” Sirius slid a tin of biscuits across the table, a little triumphant smirk on his lips.
Remus laughed softly, reaching for one. “Where in the world did you find these?”
“Don’t ask questions,” Sirius replied, brushing a crumb off his coat. “They’re here. Enjoy.”
They sat there, nibbling on rationed biscuits and taking in each other’s company, as the muted sounds of the pub hummed around them. It was almost enough to make them forget the war.
Almost.
“I should be happy you’re here,” Sirius said, his tone shifting as he glanced at his hands. “And I am. But...”
“Don’t,” Remus interrupted gently, covering Sirius’s hand with his own. “I’m here. We’re here.”
“But for how long?”
Remus’s gaze softened, his thumb brushing over Sirius’ knuckles in slow circles. “It’s never for long, is it? Not with this war.”
“Yet you still go back,” Sirius muttered, unable to keep the bitterness from his voice. He knew the answer, of course. They’d had this conversation a thousand times, each time with the same painful resolution. It wasn’t just duty that took Remus back — it was the hope that someday this fight might bring some kind of peace.
But the waiting gnawed at Sirius, carving out a hollow space in his chest with every passing day.
Remus tightened his hold on Sirius’s hand, drawing him back to the present. “Don’t worry about tomorrow. Just…let’s just have tonight, alright?”
With a small nod, Sirius let himself settle back into his chair, the weight of Remus’s hand grounding him. For tonight, he could pretend the world wasn’t crashing around them.
They stayed that way, silent and close, sipping their drinks and watching the flicker of dimmed lanterns casting warm, fleeting glows across the faces in the room. It wasn’t enough — it never would be — but it was something.