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Sirius,
It had been six months since you had left. Not only had I lost a significant amount of weight during that half year but I had also neglected the sun. I only went out to buy essentials and go to work. My friends understood that I needed space and time to heal. But they couldn’t bear to watch me wither away. They had a sense of responsibility to take care of me and cheer me up. I had promised them to go out more, feeling that I owed them that least that.
Which is why I was out on a Saturday night. To be completely honest The Battleship wasn’t the best pub in town and didn't have many people inside, but it had alcohol and that was sufficient enough for me. Three pints had gone through my system as I sat there. The sound of slurred laughter and cups clattering together kept me company. I looked up and at that moment I thought I saw you alone, but it was only a look alike. He was nothing but a vision trick. The warning lights went off in my head. I stood up and slowly walked to the other side of the bar, to him. As I neared, I realized he was close, close enough to be your ghost. But as he turned to look at me all my chances turned to toast when I asked him if I could call him your name. The night ended with a hazy walk home.
The following weekend I went to a pub a few miles from home, The Rusty Hook. Three more pints were purchased and the talkative bartender was getting the hint that it was a one sided conversation. Soon enough, he left. Once again, I thought I saw you huddled up in a wicker chair. I wandered over for a closer look and kissed whoever was sitting there. He was close, you know. And he held me very tightly. Until I looked into his eyes and asked awfully politely, “Please. Could I call you his name ?” That night ended by hopping into the backseat of a cab by myself. It was quiet unlike the bar. I elongated my lift home, only because I smelt your scent in the seat belt. I let him go the long way around and I kept my shortcuts to myself. I wanted to savor the moment.
The next Saturday came around much faster than before. My friends were glad to hear that I was finally going out again and recommended me a pub farther away than the last one. It was The Parrot's Beak and it was one of those pubs that always seemed busy. Manchester United was playing on the telly against a less known team. This time cheering and grunts of frustration were my friends. Feeling a bit more bold than usual, I had four pints this time. I instantly regret it because I thought I saw you all over again. He was having a cheeky cigarette, I guess he was messing with the smoke alarm. But he had a broken arm and it was close, so close that the walls were wet. I didn’t realize that I had already asked my question, but it was too loud for me to hear him speak. He wrote his answer out in Letraset, “No, you can’t call me his name.” That night ended with another elongated ride home and maybe it’s the booze, but seat belts love your scent.
And when I got home, I realized that I had to face my demons all over again. Now love, it’s been months and I need you to tell me where’s your hiding place. Tell me where you are cause I’m worried I’ll forget your face. And I’ve asked everyone you know. I’m beginning to think I imagined you all along.
Finally, on the fourth weekend I saw your brother in The Cornerstone. This pub is hours away and it’s not the kindest one around and it doesn’t have the best reputation. He was on the phone to the middle man and I saw that he was on his own. I had not had a single drop of alcohol and I thought he might understand. He was close, well you couldn’t get much closer. With a smirk, Regulus listened to my burning question. He said, “I’m really not supposed to but yes, you can call me anything you want.”
Love,
Remus