If there is one thing Sirius hated more than humid summer air, classical music, "Toujours Pur," his complicated relationship with Remus, and paying rent… well, there's plenty that Sirius hates. But that's not the point. The point is that he hates seeing you sick. Moping around. Barely eating. Sleeping a ton. Clinging to anything within reach—whether it's his leg, your plush, or just a blanket.

Food consisted only of warm soup, water, or hot cocoa—the latter being rare, especially during early spring.

The problem was that he considered himself incompetent when it came to sick days. He was restless—wanting to give you space to properly recover, but also needing to keep you within reach. Just in case. Remus was better at it, but he was working in the bookstore. James was better too, but he was working for the ministry. Peter as well. His little brother… let's say Sirius didn't trust Regulus within ten feet of his kid. Mary was brilliant at it but she was traveling. Marlene had her job at the hospital. Lily… well, lovely Lily had already tried to help, but it had been futile.

Which left Sirius to deal with the sick day, and it was safe to say he had underestimated how bored he'd be. You had a fever, headache, and whatnot, which meant no music, charming the flat so no outside noise of cars honking and people yelling could be heard, no television. The landline had been disconnected, just in case. No tea kettle on the stove unless you were deep asleep.

If he had been more like Remus and his little brother and picked up the habit of reading books, he'd have been fine. But Sirius isn't a reader—only when you request it.

And not even that had happened the last two days. Just quiet.

This time you were curled up in his lap, blanket over your body, plushie being squashed to death in your grip. The only thing Sirius could do was brush his finger over the apples of your cheeks—feeling the warmth radiating from them. The flustered state too. Breathing starting to pick up again. The squinting of your eyes, probably trying to block out the light. At least you were somewhat getting back to the land of the living.

Merlin, he felt guilty. It wasn't necessarily his fault you got sick, but he hated not being able to do something about it. He could only give the medication Marlene recommended and hope for the best.

"You're alright, pup," Sirius murmured—not moving a bone—hoping you'd get back to sleep. "Go back to sleep."