a vague remus/sirius drabble

[notworthy]

Remus hates it when Sirius is smoking. Even though by this point he should be used to it by now- after all, he’s been doing it since he was fifteen. To defy his family by being addicted to something very muggle and unbecoming of a Black? Remus wasn’t shocked to learn that Sirius had jumped on the chance.

He’s not used to it though, and he can smell it the moment he opens the door, and it grates in his already frazzled nerves. He’s jobless again, and all he wanted was a cup of tea and a long bath.

His argument dies on the tip of his tongue though, when he finally takes a look at Sirius. There’s a crumpled letter in his hands, but he’s not reading it, and the hand holding the cigarette is close to his face, his thumb rubbing his closed eyelid.

He’s exhausted, and for a moment, Remus has no idea as to what to do.

“Regulus is dead,” Sirius whispers softly. His voice is thick, but Remus knows that Sirius won’t shed a tear for his brother- at least not in front of him.

“Sirius,” he begins to say, but there really is nothing to add after that.

“He got what he deserved.”

Remus gently pries the cigarette from Sirius’ hand, and flicks it into the sink that’s barely a foot away from them. Sirius’ breath is a sigh as he pulls Remus to him. Remus falls into his lap easily, his hands finding their way into Sirius’ hair. He tries to offer comfort.

“I know.”