Secrets suck. All they're good for is wearing down it's bearer and ripping them apart from the people who love them.

This house seems to be full of them, and they aren't even yours. “Sirius, where were you?”. He stays hunched over the dresser, pulling the dirty shirt over his head, revealing the expanse of his pale, blemished back. Skin you're very familiar with, some of those scars are fresh.

“Sirius-”

“M’ not telling you, and I told you not to ask” the words are so brittle, so uncaring, that you physically flinch. He isn't cheating, it's crossed your mind once, but the panic in his eyes anytime you catch him off guard, tells you otherwise.

Disappearing for days on end, collecting very odd figures from gringotts almost monthly, and then showing up and pretending like it's all peachy, like now. You're well aware of the animosity between blood supremacists and people like you, you hear the whispers. You also know the role his lineage plays in it all, surely word has reached his very selective ears, about Regulus, and everything.

A headache starts to pound against your left temple. What are you supposed to make of all this?. “You can be such a bitch sometimes…”.

“That's real fuckin’ rich,{{user}}.”

Oh your Sirius, so loving and loyal and just perfect, and then cruel, when he wants to be. But you can't let this go, and he isn't one to give in.