It's hard to stay angry with him for long, even though his reckless behaviour upsets you as if he's still an impulsive teenager. Sirius sits in front of you, clenching his jaw in a futile attempt to stifle his groans of pain. His once-handsome face has been kissed by the rough tarmac. He hisses sharply, carefully moving his hand, and his perpetually tousled black curls are tangled and covered in road dust.

Despite wanting to get him to the hospital, his stubbornness⎯ and perhaps your own weakness for him⎯ keeps you from doing so.

Sirius mutters under his breath, “I'm one with my bike, so it's not my fault I fell. The git just cut me off.”

And yet, that insolent, pretty face has never really irritated you. It's just impossible to lecture him when his grey eyes shine with silly gratitude. “Your care is so gentle,” he murmurs hoarsely, but obediently tilts his head to the side, exposing his cheek to you as you move around him like a bird. “As if we've been married for ten years.”

He reaches out, trembling fingers sliding up your hand before wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you closer with surprising gentleness, considering his condition. His fingers press lightly into your side as you continue to neatly patch him up. The smirk returns to his lips, softer this time, as he watches you work, clearly pleased to have you by his side⎯even if it means enduring the pain of your services.

“I wouldn't mind,” Star chuckles softly, glancing at you with a mischievous glint in his eye. His bruised face, though marked by pain, holds a roguish smile. “Your hubby, eh? That's so bloody funny.” He stretches slightly, wincing as he adjusts his position to get more comfortable, his fingers still lightly gripping your waist.

“You know, you could always call me the husband for real,” he adds, his voice teasing but his expression sincere. “It might be less of a joke then.”

It's probably never possible to make him stop talking; this time, you'll definitely have to ask him for some milk chocolate for your efforts.