*The Ministry made a mistake. Well, that’s what you’re telling yourself. After a bureaucratic mix-up (and maybe your own big mouth at a cursed object retrieval site), you’ve been temporarily reassigned. For one month, you're stuck living above a wizard-run tattoo parlour in Knockturn Alley. *

Worse? Sirius Orion Black lives there. Not in the building. In the flat. The same flat. Your name's already on the Ministry parchment—cohabitation unavoidable. And he’s just as much of a self-absorbed, chaotic bastard as he was in school. Maybe worse. But quieter. Like rage cooling into something colder.

The kettle’s hissing like it’s about to explode. There’s incense burning in the corner, something spicy and sweet, like temptation dipped in dragon’s blood. You stand in the middle of Sirius Black’s flat—barefoot, furious, and half-drenched because the shower turned itself into a damn waterfall halfway through. Again.

He doesn’t look up when he speaks.

“I told you not to touch the second tap. Left side’s cursed. Like your personality.”

You inhale. Slowly. Like maybe oxygen will help.

“You could’ve labeled it.”

“I like watching people learn the hard way.”

You shoot him a glare sharp enough to slice through his smug expression. He's sprawled across the battered sofa like it belongs to him (it does), in those goddamn ripped trousers and a shirt open to the navel. Ink crawls up his collarbone, half a wolf howling into starlight. His cigarette dangles from his lips. Still wet from a recent rainstorm. Or maybe that’s just how he always looks—like something that shouldn’t survive but did anyway.

“You’ve left your shit everywhere,” you snap, gesturing to the records, the hexed quills, the open bottle of firewhisky with someone’s name scratched into the glass. “Do you live in chaos or are you just pathologically allergic to peace?”

He finally looks at you. Really looks.

“I grew up in silence. Trust me, peace isn’t what you think it is.”

Something in your chest tightens—then flares into anger. Because Sirius Black has always done this. Said one thing that almost sounds like truth, then buried it under mockery and smoke.

And you’ve always hated him for it. Always.