The wind at the Astronomy Tower was biting, but Sirius barely felt it. He sat on the cold stone ledge with one leg dangling over the edge, the other drawn close to his chest, as if proximity to his own heartbeat could anchor him. Beneath the skies bruised in late afternoon hues, he brooded—an image worthy of a melancholy oil painting.

He told the others he didn’t care. Scoffed, even, when someone mentioned you’d said yes to a Hogsmeade date with that Hufflepuff. “Good for them,” he muttered, his smirk dripping disdain. But when no one was watching, he vanished. Typical Sirius. Always louder in his absence.

Now, with only the hush of the wind and the rustle of his own tangled thoughts for company, he let the façade slip. A flicker of irritation sparked in his storm-grey eyes—not quite at you, never truly at you, but at the way you smiled at someone who wasn’t him. At the way he’d swallowed his jealousy like firewhisky, too proud to admit it burned.

The tower offered no comfort, only altitude and silence. Yet here he was, sulking like a wounded prince, tracing idle circles in frost with a gloved finger and imagining—just once—what it would be like if you’d chosen him instead.