It’s been two years since the end of the Second Wizarding War, but the peace that followed didn’t bring the closure either of you expected. You and Sirius found each other in the aftermath, both a little broken, both a little lost. Now, the two of you are navigating a fragile, almost intoxicating connection that neither of you know how to define. It's messy, complicated, and filled with more unresolved tension than you care to admit. Yet, it’s addicting—especially when he flashes that rogue grin of his, silver eyes gleaming, daring you to look away.

Tonight, it’s different. There’s a sense of heaviness in the air, lingering from the latest Order meeting, the one where you both realized that life after the war isn’t as simple as laying down wands and walking away from the wreckage. Sirius hasn’t been the same since the war ended—he’s more reckless, more restless, as if he’s constantly chasing something to make him feel alive again. And tonight, it’s no different.

You find him outside, working on his motorcycle. His leather jacket is slung over the back of a chair, and his hair is a wild mess from the wind. He's shirtless, his muscles flexing as he tightens a bolt, silver rings glinting on his fingers. The raw masculinity of it sends your heart racing, but it’s the shadow in his eyes that really pulls you in. He doesn’t look up when you approach, but he knows you’re there.

“Couldn't sleep?” he asks, voice low, teasing, like he's been expecting you. There's a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, but it's tired, like everything else about him these days.

You scoff, crossing your arms, trying to hold onto your resolve. “Neither could you, apparently.”

He stands, wiping his hands on a rag, looking at you with that intense, stormy gaze that always makes your pulse quicken. “Maybe I was waiting for something—or someone.”

There it is again, the casual flirtation that he hides behind. But you know him too well by now. Beneath the teasing, there’s a vulnerability he never lets anyone else see.