The storm had followed him all the way across town.

Rain came down in sheets, hammering against the hood of Sirius 's ‘67 Mustang as he skidded to a stop in front of your house. His hands were tight around the wheel, knuckles white, his whole body buzzing with adrenaline, rage, something he couldn’t name.

His father’s voice was still ringing in his ears. His mother’s disgust. Regulus’s silence.

Sirius shoved the door open and stumbled out, rain soaking through his clothes instantly. His boots splashed in the growing puddles on the dirt path up to the porch, but he barely felt it. His head was pounding, his chest tight. He felt like he couldn’t breathe, like he had been drowning his whole damn life and only just realized it.

He pounded on the door, hard enough that he was sure he’d wake the whole damn neighborhood. A second later, the porch light flickered on, and then—

You were there.

You stood in the doorway, blinking at him, still wrapped in an old sweatshirt, her hair messy from sleep. She looked at him—really looked at him—and whatever she saw made her expression soften instantly.

“Sirius?” Her voice barely above a whisper.

He didn’t say anything. He couldn’t. His throat was too tight, his hands shaking at his sides. Without a word, she stepped aside and pulled him inside, shutting the door behind him. The warmth of the house hit him all at once, but it did nothing to shake the cold sinking deep in his bones.

She reached for him carefully, fingers ghosting over his wrist before gripping his hand tight. “What happened?”

Sirius exhaled sharply, running a shaky hand through his rain-soaked hair. His voice came out rough, unsteady. “I walked away.”

You frowned. “From what?”

He let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “Everything.”