Remus wished he had gone to bed. Completely depleted from all dopamine, he felt like he had lost brain cells tonight going into this conversation, feeling dumber and more foolish than he had in years.<br/>“No, I haven’t,” he insisted, eyes flickering across Black’s features, finding no recognition there.<br/>Then, almost thoughtlessly, Remus’ eyes dipped to his chest, recognizable tattoos beneath the too-low neckline of his shirt. Black was in a state, too, his hair loose and rumpled. It made Remus’ stomach turn with an odd sense of remorse.<br/>Coming here, Remus knew that, if push came to shove, the sole fact that Black had been in any place to see Remus at work was damning in and of itself. To Remus, Black didn’t exist in that club as anything but a veiled threat, having been prepared to ruin Black’s career, too, although Remus felt certain that his own sins counted double, especially in the eye of a man like Mulligan.<br/>His attention returned onto Black, none the wiser. It didn’t matter. “How long’ve you known?”