Three: Last Train Home
Remus barely catches the train. He hurries down the stairs to the platform and leaps for the doors, which close directly behind him. With a sigh of relief, he sits down in the nearest seat and closes his eyes, leaning back.
He was at the library late, cataloguing books, and had looking up at the clock to realize he would miss the last train home if he didn’t leave immediately.
So here he is, out of breath and with a disorderly pile of papers under his arm, but safe and sound on the train, headed for home and bed.
He starts and opens his eyes, sitting up straighter, when he hears a voice say, “Hello, Remus.” And there, sitting in the seat across from Remus, is Sirius Black.
“Sirius!” Remus exclaims, terribly surprised. “Fancy meeting you here.”
Sirius shrugs. “I wondered if I’d run into you eventually,” he says. “I heard you worked around here, and I assume you still live in your parents’ old house, so I figured you must take this train.”
“What a coincidence,” Remus says, “that we should happen to take the same train.”
Sirius smiles. “Long time no see, by the way.”
“You look well.” Sirius is wearing nice trousers and a vaguely military jacket, and though his hair is as unruly as ever, it looks just intentional enough not to be called messy. He looks very awake for the hour, but Sirius always was a bit of a night owl.
“You look old,” Sirius says bluntly.
“I am old,” Remus says. “I’m thirty-four.” Sirius’s frankness has never much phased him, and even after such a long time to become unused to it he is still perfectly comfortably with it. “I looked old when I was twenty.”
“What are we doing here, Remus?”
“We’re taking the last train home,” Remus answers mildly.
“I don’t live in this direction.”
Remus smiles. “Then what are you doing on this train? Stalking me?”
“No, actually,” Sirius says. “I’m stalking that bloke over there. You’re just distracting me.” He points at a man across the aisle with a beard like Santa Claus and plaid trousers.
They fall silent. Sirius bites his lip and looks at his hands on his knees, looks up at Remus. “Do you still blame me?” Sirius asks.
Remus answers honestly before he can stop himself. “I stopped blaming you years ago.”
“Then why did we never-“
“Because we’re stubborn old fools, Sirius. I suppose you want to come back to my house and drink all my tea, do you? Our stop’s next.” He stands up and moves towards the door before Sirius has a chance to answer, but Sirius follows him anyway. They go up the stairs to the street, and Remus sets off past the dimly lit windows of shops closed for the night.
“Stop moping, Sirius,” Remus says. Sirius has his hands in his pockets and his head down, following just barely behind.
“But-don’t you ever wish we hadn’t stopped-“ Sirius bursts out, pulling his hands from his pockets and grabbing hold of Remus’s shoulders, turning him.
“I wish things were different, yes,” Remus says calmly, looking straight at Sirius.
“They could be different. They can be different. Damn it, Remus, you’re the stubborn one.” And Sirius pushes him back against the brick wall they are standing against and kisses him on the mouth, years of lost kisses behind it.
“You were stalking me,” Remus accuses, his smile against Sirius’s cheek.
“Yes,” Sirius says. “Yes, I was.”
Remus is very glad he caught that train.