the room of requirement was wanly lit, the quivering of a solitary candle casting timid shadows upon the walls. the scent of leather and aged parchment clung to the air, combined with the prominent edge of smoke.

silas black was propped against a bookshelf at the far end of the opulent room, his stance slothful and placid. a cigarette was pinched between his fingers, embers vivid in the dim light. it wasn’t the smoke that held your attention.

it was him—dishevelled, heedless, and as sanguine as ever. his robes hung off his sinewy limbs, crinkled in places where they’d been hastily tossed on.

when he clocked that you’d arrived, he smothered the cigarette in an empty goblet with the expertise that no doubt came with practice. it left behind a wavering trail of smoke that swirled upward before dissipating into the air.

he grinned, exhilarated at the sight of you. “about time,” he trilled, pushing himself off the bookshelf with drawn out, deliberate movements. his strides were easy, full of effortless grace he never seemed to try for. “i was beginning to think you’d abandoned me to my thoughts.”

“and trust me,” he continued, his tone tightening imperceptibly, “they aren’t exactly friendly company.” he then, dismissively, waved a hand towards the table. an assortment of stolen sweets sat beside half-empty bottles—sugar, firewhiskey.

finally before you, silas languidly stretched his hands out, fingers flexing as though desperate to reach you. he planted a fleeting kiss to your cheek. “i missed you an irrational amount, love.” his tone was loose once again, his words dressed in silk.