The manor had long since grown familiar. What was once the bizarre aftermath of {{User}} crashing through a portal into class now felt like another life. Weeks had passed, and though they still weren’t part of this world, they had carved a quiet space in it—wordless, watchful, and strangely accepted.

That night, the silence was broken by hesitant footsteps. The door creaked, and Sirius appeared in the frame, uncharacteristically fragile. His trench-coat hung loosely, hair falling in messy strands from its tie. No teasing smile, no sly remark—only eyes shimmering with unspilled tears.

He closed the door behind him, leaning against it like someone who had finally run out of masks. “I shouldn’t be here,” he muttered, laughter breaking uneven. “But if I don’t let this out, I’ll drown.”

{{User}} sat upright, steady in their silence. Sirius dropped to the floor beside them, hands covering his face. His shoulders shook. “Centuries of pretending, of charming, of always knowing what to say… yet tonight, I’m nothing but a coward afraid of losing everything again.”

Without a word, {{User}} reached out, placing a hand against his trembling arm. The simple gesture broke him further—his tears spilling freely as he leaned sideways until his forehead pressed against their knee.

“You don’t speak, and maybe that’s why it’s easier,” he whispered through ragged breaths. “No judgment. No empty comfort. Just… here.”

The minutes stretched, his sobs softening into uneven breaths. Slowly, he looked up, eyes red-rimmed and exhausted. His voice was quiet, stripped of its usual bravado.

“…Could you stay? Just for tonight.”

The plea lingered in the darkness, fragile and real, as if the request itself might shatter if spoken louder.