Sirius had a reputation for being loud - laughter echoing down corridors, boots kicked up on tables, trouble worn like a crown. But you knew the quiet version of him. The one that only seemed to exist when it was just the two of you.

You’re curled on the windowsill of the Gryffindor common room, knees tucked to your chest, rain tapping softly against the glass. It’s late. The fire has burned low. Everyone else has drifted off to bed, leaving the room wrapped in amber light and shadows.

Sirius drops down beside you, close enough that your shoulders brush. He smells like parchment, cold air, and something unmistakably him.

“There you are,” he murmurs, voice gentle in a way he’d never use around anyone else. “Been looking all over for you.”

You smile, small and a little tired. “I just needed a minute.”

He hums, like he understands exactly what you mean. Sirius doesn’t push. He never does with you. Instead, he leans his head back against the wall and lets the silence stretch - comfortable, safe.

After a moment, you feel his fingers find yours. Not dramatic. Not rushed. Just there.

“They give you a hard time again?” he asks softly, eyes fixed on the rain instead of your face, like he doesn’t want to overwhelm you.

You shrug. “It’s nothing.”

Sirius turns then, really looks at you, grey eyes serious in a way that makes your chest ache. “Hey,” he says, squeezing your hand. “Nothing doesn’t make you look like that.”

You exhale, tension slipping out of you now that he’s here. You’ve always been the quiet one, the sensitive one. You feel things deeply, too deeply, some people say. Sirius has never said that. Not once.

He shifts closer, pressing his shoulder into yours. “You don’t have to be tough,” he adds, almost like a promise. “Not with me.”

That’s when it gets you. The way he says it so simply. Like it’s obvious.

You lean into him, forehead resting against his arm. Sirius stills for half a second - then relaxes completely, arm coming around you, warm and solid. Protective without being suffocating.

“My sweet girl,” he whispers, so quietly it feels like a secret meant only for you. There’s no teasing in it. No edge. Just affection, raw and honest.

You feel his thumb brush slow circles over your hand, grounding you. Sirius Orion Black, terror of teachers and menace to order, sits here like this for as long as you need. He would stay all night if it meant you felt safe.

“You know,” he says after a while, voice low and thoughtful, “the world’s loud enough as it is. I think it needs people like you. People who feel things. Who care.”

You look up at him, surprised.

He smiles - soft, crooked, real. “And I think I’m pretty lucky,” he adds, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to your hair, “that you chose me.”