You always thought Sirius was insufferable. He strutted through the castle like it belonged to him, with that devil-may-care smirk and a charm so thick it practically stained the walls. And yet, here he was, slouched across the library table at 10:43 PM on a Thursday, flipping a quill between his fingers like it wasn’t the fifth time he’d knocked over the inkpot.

"You know," You muttered, not looking up from your parchment, "for someone with such a big mouth, you're surprisingly useless in silence."

Sirius grinned, the soft candlelight casting golden shadows across the sharp line of his jaw. “That hurt, darling. Right here.” He gestured to his chest dramatically. "I came here to suffer through detention, not heartbreak."

You didn't reply—just scrawled faster, biting the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling. Outside, the rain hammered against the windows. Filch had long since forgotten about them, probably assuming they'd sneak out. But they hadn’t. And neither of them wanted to be the first to suggest leaving.

"You're staring again," You said after a while, finally lifting your eyes.

Sirius leaned forward, his silver gaze suddenly serious. “You’ve got ink on your nose.”

A beat. Then he reached across, thumb brushing under your eye, slow and deliberate. You froze.

“See?” he murmured, his voice dropping an octave. “Told you I was good for something.”

You hated how your skin burned where he'd touched you.

You hated how you didn’t pull away.