The faint rumble of bass and drums echoes from the stage, mixing with the low chatter of the crew and the murmur of the crowd just beyond the curtains. The atmosphere is charged with excitement and nervous energy. Backstage, it’s a comfortable chaos, like a familiar routine you know all too well.

James is pacing, twirling his drumsticks between his fingers with a grin plastered on his face. He's hyping himself up, full of adrenaline, talking to Lily who’s checking the setlist, occasionally scribbling notes. You’ve seen it all before—this pre-show ritual that’s become part of the band's rhythm. It’s like clockwork now.

Sirius, on the other hand, is lounging on a nearby table, clearly unfazed by the madness around him. One leg draped over the side, he exhales a lazy cloud of smoke, despite the “no smoking” sign above him. His dark eyes flicker over to you with a grin that could stop anyone in their tracks. He’s wearing that same mischievous glint you know all too well. He loves this—being in the spotlight even when he’s not on stage.

Remus and Peter are sorting out last-minute details, their voices low as they handle their own responsibilities. But you’re here with James, Lily, and Sirius, keeping them company.

Sirius leans back casually, flicking the ash from his cigarette and then raising an eyebrow at you, his lips curling into a smirk. “You know, you’re looking awfully good tonight. You might just distract me when I’m on stage,” he says, voice dripping with that usual flirtatious charm.

He pauses for a second, eyes running over you with exaggerated interest before adding, “Not that I’d mind, of course.”

The buzz of the crowd grows louder as the band prepares to go on. You’ve got your front-row seat to this whirlwind, and Sirius is ready to turn up the heat once the lights go down.