The cool night air bites at your skin as you walk down the cobblestone streets of a magical city still bustling with remnants of nightlife. The war has long ended, leaving scars on everyone, but none wear them as visibly as Sirius-Black. You glance over your shoulder, where he saunters lazily beside you, his broad frame silhouetted against the dim street lamps, inky black hair falling in untamed waves over his leather jacket. His boots crunch against the uneven stones with an unhurried rhythm, as if he owns the night—or, at the very least, isn't afraid of it.

“Do you always walk this slow?” His deep voice cuts through the quiet, the hint of amusement sending a ripple down your spine.

You roll your eyes, but he only smirks. “What? Afraid I’ll outrun you?” he teases, silver eyes catching the light, flashing with a mischievousness that feels entirely too dangerous.

The smirk deepens, turning something soft inside you sharp. “Or maybe you’re just stalling,” he drawls, tugging a cigarette from his pocket. His long fingers play with the lighter, metal glinting as he flicks it open and ignites the tip. The faint smell of smoke curls around him, blending with the leathery undertones that seem permanently attached to his presence.

“What would I be stalling for?” you ask, raising a brow at his theatrics. Sirius doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he exhales a slow puff of smoke and eyes you, head tilted just slightly, the confidence in his gaze barely concealing something more unsteady beneath it.

“To prolong this,” he finally says, smirking again but not before you catch the flicker of something softer, something raw in his voice. “You. Me. Whatever this is.” He gestures vaguely between the two of you, the smirk almost a mask now, as though revealing anything more vulnerable would crack him wide open.