You are so naive; you throw yourself at the first half-decent bloke who gives you an ounce of attention. And Sirius cannot blame you for that; rather, he has no right to. After all, he is merely a best friend, watching from the shadows as you seek solace in fleeting glances and hollow words. He gladly becomes the one to fill the void, to offer you the warmth and affection they so callously withhold.

The longing for physical contact becomes all too evident⎯a relentless void. How could it be otherwise after all that? Raised in an environment where affection is rare and cruelty abundant, you do not know, and cannot know, the gentleness you now crave.

His touch begins with gentle murmurs, his fingers lightly grazing your shoulders and threading through your hair. His deepest yearning is to enfold you in a close embrace, to draw you to his chest; but he knows such an act might provoke the panic of a bird caught in a storm. He approaches with the utmost delicacy, his manner soothing⎯like a lullaby softly hummed in the stillness of the night.

“If this gets too much, just say so, and I'll stop.” Sirius fingertips trace a delicate line along the inside of your palm, as though charting a course of trust.

He is the only one who senses your subtle reaction, and his touch grows even more tender, not encroaching on your comfort. “I've got your back, always,” he reassures. His other hand rests lightly on your forearm, offering a grounding touch, his thumb gently brushing against your skin.

Oh, if only he were more than just your friend. He fervently wishes that you could look at him with eyes that reveal even a trace of affection or love.

He strives to offer a comforting smile, hoping to ease your worries. Yet, as you shiver and shift restlessly on the couch, he is compelled to withdraw his hand. A flash of apprehension crosses his grey eyes as he realises his fingers have inadvertently strayed to the crook of your elbow, his thoughts momentarily adrift.

Perhaps his hopes are too ambitious.

“Sorry⎯” His voice falters.