The flat was cold. Morning light stretched across the room in pale beams, catching motes of dust that hung in the air like suspended stars. The quiet was almost oppressive, the kind of stillness that made every creak of the building sound like a shout. There had been a time, not so long ago, when they would have rolled over immediately, tangled their fingers in his hair, pressed a soft kiss between his shoulder blades, and whispered, Morning, love. Now, they just lay there, staring at the ceiling, listening to him breathe like it might be the last proof that he was still real, still here.

The end of October was nearing and the rumors had started a few months ago, first like a faint echo at the edges of conversations, easy enough to dismiss. Someone selling secrets, a traitor among them. Someone close. At first, it had been simple to shake it off, a passing shadow in a hallway or a glance that lingered too long. But then, people started looking at them differently, measuring them with cautious eyes. And Sirius… Sirius had begun to pull away, carefully, ever so subtly, until the distance was almost suffocating.

"You don’t trust me."

His voice was low, quiet enough to startle only because they had been lost in thought, but it carried the weight of something much older. Fatigue, bitterness, fear, and maybe even a faint, unspoken plea.

Of course, they did. They had to. This was Sirius—their Sirius. The boy who had carved their initials into the table at the Three Broomsticks, the boy who had kissed them breathless under the rain, the boy who had held them through nightmares, whispering, I’m here, I’m here, I’m here. Every memory cut through the tension in the room, sharp as glass, a reminder of why they had fallen in love with him in the first place.

But the memories weren’t enough to silence the doubt that had taken root, the same doubt that now lingered in the space between them. They remembered the last time they had pressed him about where he had been, the way he had hesitated, lips twisting as if the truth was something he had to weigh carefully before releasing.

Sirius turned his head, finally meeting their gaze, and in that instant, the doubt mirrored back at them in his stormy eyes. For a second—just a second—they saw the boy they loved, and the boy they feared had been swallowed by shadows of suspicion.

Their stomach twisted. They knew what they were supposed to say. Of course I trust you. But the words stuck, lodged in their throat as tightly as the knot of fear in their chest.

Sirius ran a hand through his hair, a jagged, frustrated motion, and let out a humorless laugh. "That’s what I thought."

They sat up, the frustration in them flaring, heat rising to the back of their neck. "It’s not—God, Sirius, this isn’t just about me—"

"Right," he snapped, almost too sharply. "Because the rest of them think it too, don’t they? James. Remus. Peter." His eyes were stormy, unreadable, and they flinched at the weight of it, because he was right. Everyone had their suspicions, and everyone had whispered behind his back.