The city skyline stretched before you, a patchwork of glowing windows and shadowy rooftops. You were perched on the edge of one such rooftop, high above the world, the cool night air brushing against your skin. It was supposed to be a quiet evening—just you, the stars, and the thrill of being somewhere you weren’t supposed to be.

Then he appeared.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Sirius drawled, his deep voice cutting through the quiet. He strolled towards you, hands stuffed casually in his jacket pockets, his silver eyes gleaming in the moonlight.

You didn’t turn around. “Go away, Black. I was here first.”

“Technically, no one owns rooftops,” he replied, settling down beside you despite your glare. He was annoyingly graceful, even when sprawling like a cat. “But if you want to claim it, I’d love to see you fight for it. Winner gets bragging rights. Loser has to buy dinner.”

You rolled your eyes. “Do you ever take anything seriously?”

“Sure,” he said with mock solemnity. “Quidditch, chocolate frogs, and making your life difficult. Oh, and eyeliner. It’s an art form.”

You couldn’t help the snort that escaped you, but quickly masked it with a glare. “What are you even doing up here?”

“Same as you,” he said, shrugging. “Thinking. Avoiding people. Enjoying the view.” He tilted his head toward you, his smirk softening into something more sincere. “And wondering why you always look like you’re about to hex me, even when I’m being charming.”

“Charming? That’s what you call it?”

“Well, what would you call it?”