The mention of Sirius' departure made Remus' stomach turn. Though there was nothing in Sirius' voice that made him sound like he blamed Remus for the way their friendship ended, Remus probably still did. Sirius' letter had always felt like a balm to that hurt.<br/>"Yeah," he replied with a smile, his voice as gentle as the alcohol in his system permitted. It was an entirely different conversation to what they had yet held, finding they were inevitably dancing around subjects that, albeit deeply suppressed, still felt tender to the touch when brought to the surface.<br/>Regardless, Sirius' note was still one thing eternally present in Remus' consciousness, his heart still full by the sentiment. "I did."<br/>Remus had inattentively ducked his gaze, shifting in his seat; he stretched his legs another bit, and when he looked back up at Sirius, he was grinning.<br/>"I went out there - I don't know, by August -" Remus offered, the details lost to him. It had been an awful summer, and Remus doubted he would ever share any specifics with Sirius. By the height of summer, the news of Sirius' disappearance had made it into town, mrs. Black speaking of her oldest son as if he was dead and buried without prompt; Remus had only returned to the hunting post to mourn the loss of his friend.<br/>Mixed in between the intoxication, there was a look of pure bliss in Remus' eyes as he looked over Sirius. Remus had felt incredibly lucky not only that the letter had made it through a month in the woods, but that Sirius had even thought about writing one. Remus had never since felt such a sense of relief.<br/>It made Remus' smile widen, heart overflowing almost to the point of laughing, knowing Sirius would probably never understand how important that letter had become to him. "It was like getting a letter from beyond the grave - it was perfect."