You woke to the sound of someone humming softly in the kitchen. Blinking against the morning light filtering through the curtains, you realized it was Sirius. He was standing at the stove, hair a little messier than usual, one sleeve rolled up, flipping a frying pan like he’d been doing it his whole life.

“You’re up,” he said, grinning without looking at you. “Perfect timing. Bacon’s almost done, and I made pancakes.”

“Since when do you make pancakes?” you asked, sliding out of bed in your robe, stretching.

“Since I decided I like having you around,” he said, flashing that mischievous grin of his. “Plus, I thought I’d try domestic life for… research purposes.” He winked.

You leaned against the doorway, watching him for a moment. Domestic Sirius wasn’t something you’d imagined - he was usually chaos wrapped in charm - but here he was, humming, flipping pancakes, and actually… good at it. Somehow.

“Smells amazing,” you murmured, moving closer.

He glanced over his shoulder, grinning, and lifted one brow. “Compliments will get you more syrup. And maybe some bacon, too.”

You laughed softly and crossed the kitchen, brushing past him, letting your hand linger on his arm. He stiffened for a second, then relaxed, humming again as he slid a plate onto the counter.

Sitting down, you watched him fuss over the table - two mugs of tea, plates neatly stacked, a small vase of wildflowers he’d picked himself. “You’re ridiculous,” you said affectionately.

“And you love it,” he replied, smirking.

There was a comfortable silence as you ate, the kind that felt rare with Sirius. Usually, he was always talking, scheming, moving. But here, in this small kitchen, it felt like the world had shrunk to just the two of you, the sunlight, and the faint smell of pancakes.

“You could do this every morning,” you said, nudging him gently with your shoulder.

He made a show of considering it, twirling his fork. “Hmm. Maybe. But only if you stay to supervise.”