Remus thought about Felix's reaction, about his and Sirius' rather complicated history. (History. Ha.) He left further musings on parallels between the two of them - or was it the four of them? - Remus didn't want to muse too deeply, that way lay madness. Or a lot of brooding. Possibly both.

"Like I said: he always comes home." There was a touch of sadness in his eyes as he said it, an admission that in the times he and Sirius knew best that coming home wasn't always a given. To have lived through the War and not be grateful for life and love - well, Remus wasn't capable of it. And that Sirius came home, to him, always had, always would - that had made the furious jealousies and the curdling self-loathing enough to bear, most of the time. The jealousy, at least, had been quiescent since they'd gotten together. The self-loathing had not.

"...Obviously, this conversation never happened," Remus murmured, offering Felix a warm, dry salvation he didn't know how to offer himself. "I wouldn't want either of us to get in trouble."