Smoke curled up lazily from the cherry of Remus's cigarette. He slouched in a creaky chair at a creaky table in his creaky little garret of a flat. He studied a burn mark on the tabletop, and ran his fingers over the many other scars on the surface. He refused to acknowledge the man who was outside his door, waiting patiently like a loyal dog returning home.
This was not home anymore, not for that dog. Remus puffed his cigarette pensively and coughed a little cough. Sirius had said he was not leaving and Remus vowed that he would not let him in. He didn't want to talk to Sirius.
Sure, his first reaction had been to hug the wretched fellow when he turned up in pursuit of his wretched revenge. Remus had always hoped he would come back. But after a night of chasing the moon and subsequent days of recovery, with Sirius far away and safe (or so Dumbledore had assured him), Remus had begun to get angry. How dare he just turn up and expect to go back to the way it was before. Their relationship had always been tentative and fragile as well as intense and violent. It was the way they were, and they had never talked about it.
Now as Remus blew smoke into the air, he realized that he finally wanted to talk about it. He dropped his cigarette into the ashtray, missed, grimaced, shrugged, and got up out of the creaky chair to fling the door open.
Sirius jumped out of his skin. "I thought you said you'd never," he accused, shaken. Remus glared at him and opened the door further in an unspoken command, half invitation, half demand. Sirius stuffed his hands into his pockets and slouched through the doorway, never turning his back to Remus.
"So, what made you change your mind?" Sirius asked, accepting a creaky chair and a smashed cigarette.
"I wanted to talk to you, about, y'know," Remus replied gruffly and then lapsed into stony silence.
"That's how it is; you want me to talk. Fine. I can play this game too." Sirius stared at Remus unblinking.
Remus ground his teeth. "It's my flat! I make the rules."
Sirius sighed and grudgingly gave in. "You act like you hate me. Is that… is it true?"
"What do you want me to do? Throw you a party? A masquerade? A ball with a glass slipper? Let's have a celebration, make a holiday, throw a carnival, and lay out a huge feast, because the prodigal dog is home!"
"No-"
"Shut up. That's exactly what you think you deserve. No, someone else can slaughter the fatted calf, set up a festival, or shindig, or gala, or what have you. I'm through, and I want you to stop looking at me with those puppy eyes and quit standing outside my door and just leave me alone!"
Sirius looked like he wanted to say something for a moment, but then he took a long drag of his cigarette and laid it down in the ashtray. He got up, pushed his creaky chair in, smiled wanly, and commented, "Ever the walking thesaurus, Moony."
Then he left.