Sirius sat alone at the bar, waiting for Marlowe to arrive. From the vantage of an onlooker, the situation appeared a bit strange, and even perhaps sad. Those who didn’t know him might’ve thought he was either celebrating or mourning alone, since both of the seats beside him were empty and there were two full pints of beer in front of him. Anyone who recognized him might’ve assumed that two beers was simply his style - after all, it did fit with his mythology - but they still might’ve wondered why James or another Marauder wasn’t there with him.
As the minutes dragged on, Marlowe’s lateness began to weigh upon Sirius. At first he was a bit annoyed, though he had no right to be with how often he’d been late while she waited. When his pint was half way done, he became worried.
Finally, as if in the nick of time even though there was no second deadline, Marlowe slid into the empty bar stool on his left. Any frustration or concern that Sirius held vanished as he slid the full pint over to her and hailed the bartender for another one for himself.
“Warm beer is what you get for being late, Prewett,” he teased. If someone had asked him to recall when he had been genuinely mad or serious with Marlowe, Sirius wouldn’t have been able to provide a time or date. Things got more tense whenever they split, but even then they teased each other and made up sooner than later. No matter what he did, he always knew they would. The only time he wasn’t sure if he would ever hold her again or not was when they broke up at the end of his sixth year. If asked, Sirius wouldn’t even give that as an example. Not because he was ashamed or anything similar; his unconscious protected him from remember the details of the pain and disappointment he caused her.
