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Chapter Text

Severus wasn’t particularly unhappy with his life, but he wasn’t happy either.

He supposed that mattered.

By all measurable standards, he was doing fine. He had accomplished one of the very few dreams he’d dared to keep from childhood: he’d become a teacher. Not at the prestigious schools he once imagined, but at a small primary school where the halls always smelled faintly of glue sticks and spilled juice. His salary was comfortably above average.

He had a house of his own, not large but clean, quiet, and filled with things he paid for himself. A kitchen full of neatly labeled spice jars. A living room with overstuffed bookshelves. A small back garden he never had the energy to tend.

Everything in that house belonged to him.

And yet nothing ever felt his.

He would wake up at five in the morning, drag himself into clothes that felt increasingly stiff on his body, commute in the gray dawn, and spend the day corralling children who alternated between affectionate, chaotic, loud, sticky, and on good days, genuinely brilliant. Then he would return home, collapse on the sofa, and stare blankly at the wall until he drifted into sleep. Some nights he woke at two in the morning on the same sofa, realizing he had forgotten to eat again.

He wasn’t living. He was… maintaining.

Surviving the quiet ache of routine.

With both his parents long gone, with no siblings, with no partner, no pets, no one waiting for him at home, there was nothing anchoring him. No small joys to hold on to. No soft reason to stay.

So when the email arrived, a formal invitation from a renowned international academy offering him a teaching position far beyond anything he believed he’d ever be considered for, he didn’t hesitate.

Not for a second.

He didn’t analyze. He didn’t indulge his usual spiral of self-doubt. He didn’t think about logistics or timing or the thousand small things he would be leaving behind.

Because there was nothing here that felt irreplaceable.

What the email offered wasn’t just a job.

It was a fresh start.

A chance to step out of the numbing sameness that had swallowed his twenties whole.

He imagined waking up somewhere new, somewhere no one knew his name or his habits or his history. A place where he wouldn’t be Severus Snape, the quiet overqualified primary teacher who ate lunch alone, who declined every staff outing, who avoided holidays with polite excuses.

A place where he might, if the universe allowed it, become someone he could stand to be.

And so he accepted.

But he didn't tell anyone.

He kept the news locked inside his chest, an ember of something warm he didn’t dare expose to the cold air. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

Because leaving wasn’t the hard part.

Staying always had been.

Especially staying with the only person who had ever truly given him the experience of love.

A love that wasn’t conditional, wasn’t bruising, wasn’t a transaction or an apology.

Lily.

His Lily.

His childhood friend.

She had been the closest thing he’d had to family long before the word “family” ever meant anything good. Lily had been his anchor from the moment she tugged him by the wrist at seven years old and said, “Come on, Sev, you’re sitting with me.” She didn’t care that his clothes were frayed or that he was too quiet or that he flinched whenever someone raised their voice. She simply chose him, and kept choosing him.

She was there the night his mother died.

He could still remember her arms around him, thin and shaking, her face blotchy with tears he couldn’t afford to shed, whispering over and over again, “It’s okay, Sev. I’m here. I’m here.”

She was there through the slow, spiraling collapse of his father, the shouting, the smashing bottles, the trembling nights where Severus hid bruises under long sleeves. Lily never pushed, never pried. She simply stayed. She sat with him on the swings after school. She brought him snacks when she noticed he hadn’t eaten. She held his hand whenever he pretended he wasn’t scared.

Lily had been there for everything.

Even their fallout years-long did not destroy them. They were teenagers then, too young and too raw, both clinging to different kinds of pain. Their fights were sudden and vicious, both of them wounded and prideful, both of them too afraid to say, “I need you.”

But when they were eighteen, somehow, mercifully, it settled. They found each other again. Tentatively at first, then with the same warmth they had as children. They built something new from the scraps of what they used to be.

Severus was twenty when he watched Lily walk down the aisle.

He remembered standing stiffly at the back of the hall, his fists clenched so tightly that his nails left half-moon imprints in his palms. He wasn’t sure whether he was angry, bitter, or simply overwhelmed. Because she wasn’t marrying just anyone-

She was marrying James Potter.

James, who used to shove him into lockers, who mocked his clothes, his hair, his everything. 

James, who became a decent man somewhere along the line, but whose past still stung like a phantom bruise.

Severus didn’t understand it.

Probably never would.

But when Lily turned, glowing in her wedding dress, joy shining so fiercely in her face that it was almost blinding-

Severus felt the fight drain out of him.

If Lily was happy, then who was he to intervene?

Who was he to drag her back into old hurts?

She deserved this.

She deserved everything.

And when Harry was born- tiny and wrinkled, with Lily’s eyes and James’ hair, Severus found himself holding the child with a strange, painful tenderness.

He was still mad at the universe for giving Lily to James, but he wasn’t mad at Lily. He could never be. If Lily was safe, if Lily was loved, if Lily was smiling in her kitchen as she rocked her son to sleep-

That was enough.

Lily had been the one bright, steady thing in the blur of his life. The idea of leaving her, not just the country, but her- should have hurt.

But even that wasn’t enough to anchor him anymore.

Not when the rest of his life was so unbearably empty.

Although, there was another constant presence in his life.

One that he hated more than he cared to admit.

Sirius Black.

James Potter’s best friend. Lily’s supposed “other half” in friendship, though Severus often wondered if that half came with a little too much chaos.

Ever since James and Lily had gotten together, the world he had known, his world, the one where it had always been just him and Lily, had shifted. What had once been a quiet constancy, a friendship that had held him steady through childhood and adolescence, was suddenly shared and divided, crowded out by James and Lily’s lives.

And with that came Sirius.

Surely, as Lily’s best friend, he would get along with her boyfriend’s best friend. They had known each other since middle school, after all. They were both single men navigating life, supposedly on the same side, supposedly capable of finding common ground.

Wrong.

Sirius Black had been, and somehow still was- an unrelenting force of chaos in Severus’ life. He didn’t care about limits, about boundaries or propriety. James had his moments, certainly, but even at his worst, he had limits. Sirius had none.

Where James’ teasing had a ceiling, Sirius’ mischief, his pranks, his constant, subtle, and sometimes not-so-subtle jabs at Severus’ expense had no ceiling. He didn’t care if it was cruel. He didn’t care if it embarrassed him. He didn’t care if it lingered in his mind long after the laughter had faded.

Severus couldn’t remember exactly when Sirius had become a permanent thorn in his life. Perhaps it had begun as early as middle school, when Sirius had first realized that Severus’ quietness, his meticulousness, his small, guarded ways, made him the perfect target. Or maybe it was later, when the dynamics had shifted, when James found someone else, leaving Sirius to redirect his energy to somewhere… or someone.

At James and Lily’s wedding, Severus had watched Sirius cry. And he hadn’t known why. Was it because his best friend was getting married? Or was it because he wasn’t the one walking down that aisle?

Severus had James’ other friends to think about too: Peter and Remus. They had teased him in the past, of course, but never with the relentlessness of the curly haired boy. They had limits, rules, a sense of decency. Sirius had none of that.

Even now, in their adult years, past the petty cruelties of adolescence, Sirius still found ways to insert himself into Severus’ life in ways that were irritating, frustrating, and occasionally infuriating. A smirk at the wrong moment, a teasing comment, a careless grin that seemed to taunt him without effort.

And yet, despite all that, Severus knew somewhere deep down, that Sirius’ presence was inevitable. That no matter how meticulously he structured his life, no matter how far he moved or how carefully he avoided chaos, Sirius would always find a way to stumble into it, uninvited but impossible to ignore.

Luckily… Severus thought, tightening his jaw and clenching his fists just slightly. Soon. Soon he would find a way to escape the man. Soon he would carve out a space that Sirius couldn’t reach. A place where the chaos couldn’t follow him.

That’s what he kept telling himself.

Over and over.

———————————————————

This was not part of the plan.

Severus had a very clear plan for the evening: head home, maybe make a decent dinner for once instead of the usual sad combination of toast and whatever leftovers he could scavenge, and then spend a quiet, controlled hour grading drawings before slipping into bed at a reasonable hour.

Not this. Not being kidnapped by Lily of all people. Not being dragged forcefully into Sirius Black’s birthday party.

He paused in the middle of the living room, blinking at the stream of people passing by him. His eyes tracked a group of overly enthusiastic men clinking their glasses together, a few women laughing too loudly over a joke he didn’t hear, and Harry Potter, the tiny whirlwind of chaos, zooming past him like a miniature hurricane.

Who even threw birthday parties at twenty-seven?

At this age, Severus thought, people should have stopped doing this kind of thing. They should have settled into quiet dinners, maybe a small group of friends, maybe a low-key night out. Not… this. Not music, and balloons, and laughter that bounced off the walls like it was trying to knock him over.

He forced himself to inhale slowly. The smell of cake mixed with the faint scent of alcohol and something floral he didn’t recognize, and it made his stomach churn.

And yet, Lily had dragged him here with a grin that refused to take no for an answer, and somehow, he hadn’t resisted.

Not that he could have.

So here he was, standing in the middle of Sirius Black’s house, in the middle of chaos, feeling far too conspicuous, far too out of place, and yet strangely tethered. Tethered to a world he wasn’t supposed to belong in, pulled into a celebration that had nothing to do with him, and everything to do with the people he had known his whole life.

He really should have said no. He should have.

Severus repeated it to himself like a mantra, trying to carve out some small corner of justification. I should have said no. I could have stayed home. I could have-

But he hadn’t.

Because he couldn’t.

Because Lily’s hand had been warm in his, tugging insistently as if the force of her will alone could override every objection he had in mind. Because her green eyes had sparkled with that familiar, unrelenting brightness, the kind that made him want to bend, to simply follow without question. 

And, deep down, he knew something he didn’t want to admit. This might be the last party he would attend with her.

The last one before he left.

Not a temporary absence, no. He was leaving without a trace, without a word, slipping quietly out of their lives as if he had never been there at all.

It was supposed to be a fresh start, a chance to begin again somewhere far from everything familiar, far from the weight of history, far from the people who had watched him grow up and judged him for it. And yet, even as he clutched the edges of his coat, standing awkwardly in the corner of a crowded room, he felt the sharp tug of guilt curling around his chest.

Because this party, this noise, laughter, this Lily- was a tether he couldn’t ignore.

It would be the last time he saw her smile like this. The last time her laughter rang out around him, unguarded and free. The last time she would include him in a world he didn’t belong to anymore.

And still, he stayed.

Because some bonds, no matter how fleeting, were not so easily broken.

Because some goodbyes, no matter how inevitable, were not so easily spoken.

And because, even in his meticulously ordered life, even in the careful plans he had made to leave without a trace, there remained a tiny, stubborn part of him that refused to let go of this last moment with Lily.

Even if it meant enduring Sirius Black’s house, the chaos, and the noise.

Even if it meant being pulled into a world he didn’t want to be part of, for one last night.

Severus began to wander through the party, moving with careful, deliberate steps as if he were trying to blend into the background. His eyes scanned the rooms, shifting from group to group, avoiding faces he recognized too well, ignoring the laughter that seemed louder with each passing minute.

He had promised Lily he would stay for just one hour. That hour had already passed, and he could feel the tight knot of impatience and fatigue coiling in his chest. The longer he lingered, the more the noise seemed to press against him, each squeal of a child, each clink of glasses, each burst of laughter a reminder that he didn’t belong here.

Children zoomed past him, a blur of energy and chaos, almost knocking into him more than once. He sidestepped them carefully, nodding politely to anyone who attempted a conversation, though he didn’t initiate a single one. Small talk had never been his strength, and tonight it felt like a mountain he had no intention of climbing.

He moved from room to room, quietly inspecting corners, the small gatherings that had formed naturally as though he were some kind of observer rather than a participant. He was searching for Lily, not because he wanted to be here, but because he needed to find her and, as politely as possible, excuse himself.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he spotted her. Lily, bright and radiant, talking with her usual warmth and ease. But she wasn’t alone.

Of course not.

She was talking to Sirius.

The very person Severus had been trying, with all the careful patience he could muster, to avoid.

He felt the familiar, prickling irritation start at the back of his neck, spreading to his shoulders. His chest tightened in that familiar, uncomfortable way. Sirius. Grinning, teasing, effortlessly drawing attention. 

That Sirius. The one who had been a constant thorn in his side since the days he could barely defend himself. The one who seemed to exist solely to remind Severus of every awkward misstep, every failure, every quiet humiliation he had endured over the years.

He wasn’t in the mood for jokes. He wasn’t in the mood for clever quips, for chaos that Sirius carried like a second skin.

And yet, here they were.

Severus paused at the threshold, silent, weighing his options. He could disappear into some empty corner. But he also knew that Lily wouldn’t let him just vanish without a word. She would notice. She would ask. And he was already counting the minutes until he could slip out quietly, without a fuss, without causing anyone more trouble than necessary.

So, silently, he made a decision. He would wait. He would stay just a little longer. Just until he could make his escape.

After a while, Severus quietly slipped away to the backyard.

Good. No one was there. The muffled sounds of the party were still audible through the walls, but out here, in the cool night air, they felt distant, almost unreal. He closed the door behind him with a soft click, the sound satisfying in its smallness, a tiny barrier between him and the chaos he had just escaped.

He walked toward the wooden steps, the familiar creak of the boards under his boots barely audible in the quiet. He needed to smoke.

Yes, as an elementary school teacher, carrying a pack of cigarettes was hardly professional. But really, who could blame him? Eight hours with children every day, corralling their endless energy, cleaning up spilled juice, answering questions that seemed to repeat themselves endlessly, keeping his voice calm when every fiber of his being screamed otherwise.

Some relief, some small escape, was necessary. And tonight, this, the smoke curling lazily into the night air, the solitary act of inhaling and exhaling on his own terms, was enough.

He fished the pack from his coat pocket, lit a cigarette with the practiced ease of someone who had done this countless times before, and inhaled deeply. The smoke filled his lungs, tight and harsh at first, then smooth as it settled, carrying away some of the tension that had been coiled in his chest since he arrived.

He exhaled slowly, watching the thin ribbon of smoke curl and dissipate into the night sky. For a brief moment, the world felt quiet, almost peaceful. No children screaming, no party chatter, no Sirius Black to worry about. Just him, the cold air, and the soft, solitary glow of the cigarette tip.

He took another drag, letting the warmth of it seep into his fingers and his chest, grounding him. The night was still, save for the faint rustle of leaves in the wind, and he let himself linger there, caught between the desire to escape the party entirely and the stubborn pull of staying just a little longer.

For now, this small ritual was enough to keep him tethered to the world outside the chaos of the house. Enough to make the evening almost bearable.

“Didn’t know you were the type to smoke.”

The voice came from behind him, soft but unmistakable, and Severus didn’t even hear the door open or close.

The subtle click had gone unnoticed amidst the quiet of the backyard, but now there was Sirius, like he always did, appearing exactly where he wasn’t wanted, exactly when Severus had been hoping to be alone.

Severus stiffened and muttered without looking over his shoulder, “Sod off.”

Sirius ignored him, of course. He never took hints, subtle or otherwise. He walked slowly across the wooden deck, the boards creaking faintly beneath his boots, and then lowered himself onto the step beside Severus, too close for comfort.

Before Severus could react or protest, Sirius reached over, plucked a cigarette from the pack between Severus’ fingers, and lit it with practiced ease. The tip glowed against the darkness, smoke curling upward like a small rebellion against the night air.

Severus exhaled slowly, trying not to let the tiny rush of irritation creep into his chest. Sirius, as always, had a way of invading his space, intruding in the quietest of moments, and somehow making it impossible to retreat entirely.

“Thought you were allergic to fun,” Sirius said lightly, taking a drag and letting the smoke drift lazily toward the sky. He flicked the ash off the end of the cigarette without asking, as though the act of borrowing it was entirely natural.

Severus glared sideways at him, the faintest twitch of a muscle betraying his frustration. “I am,” he muttered. “And you are oblivious to hints meaning ‘fuck off.’”

Sirius grinned, the corners of his mouth lifting in that infuriating, knowing way. “That’s debatable,” he said. “But for what it’s worth, you’re surprisingly quiet out here.”

Severus exhaled again, smoke curling from his lips, and let the tension drain from his shoulders just a fraction. He didn’t want to admit it, but somehow, the quiet of the backyard, paired with Sirius’ unexpected and irritating presence, made him feel less alone.

Not that he would say that aloud.

“You’re in a dangerous mood, Snape,” Sirius continued, eyes glinting in the dim light. “I can feel it radiating off you like a warning sign.”

Severus huffed softly, flicking the ash from his own cigarette. “Perhaps you should learn to read better.”

Sirius laughed quietly, a low, teasing sound that drifted between them, carrying an ease and familiarity that made Severus’ chest tighten in ways he hadn’t expected. But despite himself, he stayed silent, letting the smoke and the night stretch between them, a fragile truce forming without words.

“You have something on your mind?” Sirius asked, voice casual, but there was a sharpness to it, a way that suggested he already suspected the answer.

“No.” Severus answered immediately, almost too quickly, the single word clipped and precise, designed to shut down any further questioning.

Sirius, of course, ignored him. That was the problem with Sirius, he didn’t take “no” for an answer. He leaned back slightly, one elbow resting on the step behind him, and gave Severus a steady look, the kind of look that felt like it could see right through the walls Severus had spent years building.

“Yes, you do,” Sirius said. “You have that look. Your fingers are twitching, your eyes keep moving, darting from one thing to another like they’re trying to escape something. You’re thinking of something.”

Severus’ eyes narrowed, a flicker of irritation sparking in his chest. How did Sirius always know? He had no idea how the man could read him so easily, how he could tell when Severus was thinking too deeply, when his mind had wandered into places he didn’t want anyone to know existed.

Even now, standing here, cigarette burning slowly between his fingers, Severus felt exposed. Every twitch, every subtle movement betrayed him. And Sirius, of course, noticed it all.

“Even if I am,” Severus said finally, his voice low, deliberately sharp, “it’s none of your business.” He turned his gaze back toward the curling smoke, but not before shooting Sirius a glare intended to warn him off.

Sirius didn’t flinch. Didn’t look away. Instead, he leaned just a fraction closer, enough to make Severus feel the weight of his presence, and smirked. “Everything’s someone’s business if you let them notice it. And I *noticed.*”

Severus’ chest tightened in that familiar, uncomfortable way, the way it always did when Sirius pushed just slightly too close to the walls he had built around himself. And for a moment, Severus wondered if he should have left the party as soon as he entered, if he should have disappeared entirely instead of letting Sirius find him.

But he didn’t.

And now, faced with Sirius’ persistent gaze, Severus felt the quiet, almost imperceptible pull of curiosity, mingled with irritation. Part of him wanted to throw up barriers, to retreat further into himself. Another part… another part didn’t entirely want Sirius to leave just yet.

“Right,” Sirius said softly, almost gently, letting the words linger between them. “Your mind is elsewhere. Fine. But you know, you could tell me. If you wanted.”

Severus stared at him, silent, the smoke twisting in the cold night air between them. He said nothing. And yet, for the first time that evening, he felt a sliver of acknowledgment, a quiet connection that made the backyard feel just slightly less empty, just slightly less cold.

“Why should I trust words from someone who locked me inside the school bathroom?” Severus finally asked after a while, voice low but laced with that familiar edge of frost that people had learned to fear. He kept his gaze fixed on the curling smoke, letting it drift between them like a fragile barrier.

Sirius’ grin faltered just slightly, replaced with a resigned exhale. “It’s been ten years,” he said, “You’re still on that? I apologized!”

Severus turned his head just enough to give Sirius a glare that could have sliced through steel. “Only because Vice Principal McGonagall told you to,” he said, the words clipped, precise, each syllable landing like a deliberate mark. 

Sirius scratched the back of his neck, chuckling nervously, a little embarrassed, yet unwilling to back down. “Fine,” he muttered, “so I didn’t exactly apologize voluntarily. I was coerced. Happy?”

Severus’ eyes narrowed, not in anger this time, but in cautious curiosity. He wanted to sigh. He wanted to tell Sirius to drop it, that it didn’t matter anymore, that the past should remain buried where it belonged. And yet, part of him, that annoyingly stubborn part felt lighter, somehow, hearing Sirius admit even this small fragment of wrongdoing.

“You think that absolves you?” Severus asked quietly, voice steady but laced with a tension that spoke more than the words themselves.

Sirius leaned back slightly, letting the cigarette tip glow in the darkness, smoke drifting between them. “Doesn’t have to absolve me,” he said softly, almost casually, “just… notice that I tried. Sort of. Ten years ago, yeah, I was a prat. And yes, I locked you in a bathroom. But… I’m not that person anymore.”

Severus’ chest tightened, a familiar, uncomfortable warmth spreading beneath his ribs. He wanted to scoff. He wanted to argue that some people never really changed. And yet, there was something in the way Sirius said it, the quiet admission, the faint sincerity hidden beneath the habitual teasing that made Severus hesitate.

He inhaled, letting the smoke fill his lungs and calm the restless pulse in his chest. The night was still, the party behind them reduced to muffled sounds, a distant memory. And for a rare moment, the past, the bullying, the humiliation, felt almost manageable. Distant.

But he wasn’t ready to forgive. 

Instead, he said nothing, letting the words hang between them, suspended in the quiet night air, like smoke curling and twisting into shapes that promised both danger and something he refused to name.

“I won’t make fun of you this time,” Sirius said, his voice lighter than usual, though there was a faint edge of challenge buried beneath the words.

“Hard to believe,” Severus replied flatly, the corners of his mouth twitching as he exhaled smoke, letting it drift lazily into the cold night air.

“Come on,” Sirius said, leaning back slightly, eyes glinting in the dim light. “If I laugh, you can burn me.”

“Fine,” Severus answered, the word clipped, but he didn’t move, didn’t offer reassurance. In truth, he wasn’t sure. Not at all.

Was he really going to tell Sirius of all people? Of all the people in the world, Sirius Black- the one who knew exactly how to push his buttons, the one who had made him squirm and flush and stammer since middle school was hardly the person he should confide in.

He hadn’t even told Lily yet. Not about the offer, not about the plans, not about the life he was preparing to leave behind.

But the words felt like they were waiting to escape. They pressed against his chest, hot and insistent, a weight he could no longer ignore.

Was he really going to tell Sirius he was leaving the country permanently?

He inhaled deeply, smoke filling his lungs, and let it curl out slowly, as though the act itself could steel his resolve.

Well… even if Sirius laughed. Even if Sirius made it a joke, Severus was leaving. And there was no changing that.

So, fine. He would risk it.

The cigarette burned low between his fingers as he drew in one last drag, and then, with a measured exhale, he spoke.

“I’m leaving,” he said, voice quiet, almost fragile, but steady. “Permanently.”

Sirius blinked, startled, his earlier ease faltering as the words settled between them. “What?”

Severus looked up then, meeting Sirius’ eyes, the faintest flicker of vulnerability showing before he masked it with his usual controlled composure. “I got an offer,” he continued, the words deliberate, precise, leaving no room for misinterpretation. “At an academy in another country. In February… I’m leaving.”

The silence stretched, heavy and charged, as the smoke curled lazily between them. Sirius’ usual smirk was gone, replaced with something softer, something closer to concern, or was it surprise? Severus couldn’t tell.

He knew, however, that the moment he had long feared, the moment where his plans and his secret collided with reality, had arrived. And there was no turning back.

“Does Lily know?” Sirius asked quietly, stubbing his cigarette against the step. The faint hiss of embers met the cool night air, and for a moment, the backyard felt heavier, charged with unspoken truths.

Severus hesitated. He had anticipated this question, of course, but now that it had been asked, the words felt heavier than he expected. “…No,” he admitted finally, voice low, careful. “I haven’t told anyone.” He let the words hang in the air for a moment, then added, almost reluctantly, “Except… you.”

Sirius stayed silent, watching him. There was no teasing, no smirk, no usual bravado. Just eyes quietly assessing, as if he were trying to measure the weight of Severus’ confession. The way Sirius looked at him made Severus feel both exposed and oddly unburdened, as if speaking the truth aloud, even to this infuriating man, had already lifted some invisible weight from his shoulders.

“Why, though?” Sirius asked at last, voice soft now, stripped of its usual teasing undertone.

Severus looked down at the smoldering cigarette in his fingers, dragging in a slow, deliberate breath, letting the smoke curl upward before replying. “…I need… a fresh start.” The words were simple, but heavy with everything he hadn’t said, years of monotony, of obligations, of small, daily frustrations.

Years of waking up before dawn, of teaching children who tested his patience beyond reason, of returning home to an empty house that wasn’t truly his own, of carrying grief and loneliness like a silent companion.

Finishing the cigarette, he stubbed it out carefully, pressing it into the wooden step. The tip sizzled faintly, and he drew in a quiet breath, letting it out slowly. The night was calm around them, broken only by the faint echo of party sounds from inside the house.

Yet here, in this small, stolen corner of quiet, Severus felt something he rarely allowed himself: the truth, unvarnished, laid bare, and not yet judged.

Sirius still didn’t speak. He simply regarded him, and in that silence, Severus could sense the subtle shift, the curiosity and the unspoken understanding, the small spark that maybe, just maybe, Sirius might actually get it.

Severus shifted slightly, avoiding the weight of Sirius’ gaze but unable to ignore it entirely. “…It’s all I’ve ever wanted,” he murmured quietly, more to himself than to Sirius. “A life that’s mine. My own. Without reminders of… everything I’ve been running from.”

The night air held the words, heavy and quiet, wrapping around them both. And for the first time that evening, Severus felt a flicker of relief that someone unexpected knew the truth.

“What exactly are you running from, though?” Sirius asked, voice casual, but carrying the weight of curiosity and that sly edge that made it impossible to ignore him. Of course he would ask. He always did. Sirius Black had a habit of digging where it hurt, of pressing just enough to make someone’s carefully built walls tremble.

Severus said nothing for a moment, staring at the embers of his stubbed-out cigarette, letting the faint glow fade into the night. Sirius’ question lingered in the air, pressing against him in a way he wasn’t used to.

He thought about it, really thought about it, and the truth wasn’t simple. It never was. There were so many layers: the grief of losing his mom at a young age, the endless routine that ground him down day after day, the exhaustion of pouring himself into a life that felt preordained, already decided by circumstance, by loss, by expectation.

Sirius, of course, didn’t know any of that. How could he? The man had his own chaos, his own demons, his own ways of running from life that were reckless and brash and completely uncontainable. At sixteen, he had run away from home. He had run from problems, from expectations, from consequences. It had been infuriating, and yet, in his own way, maybe it had been courageous too.

Severus finally spoke, voice low and deliberate, quiet enough that only Sirius could hear. “…I guess… the routine I got used to. Or my past.” The words tasted strange in his mouth, unfamiliar. Vulnerable. He hated admitting them aloud. He hated that they made him sound fragile. Weak.

Sirius shifted slightly, leaning back on the step, and exhaled slowly. The night was cool, the distant noise of the party a faint hum behind them. He said nothing at first, letting the weight of Severus’ words settle, letting the silence stretch long enough that the admission didn’t feel fleeting, didn’t vanish immediately.

Severus felt exposed.

He added quietly, almost to himself, “It’s… not something I can fix by staying. Or by waiting. I need… a change. Somewhere I can be someone different. Or just someone who can breathe.”

The words lingered between them, thin and fragile like the smoke that still drifted faintly from his cigarette.

“And you’re planning to leave… just like that?” Sirius asked, voice quieter now, stripped of teasing, though there was a sharp edge of disbelief in it. 

Severus looked away, toward the darkened garden, the faint outline of the house behind him, the distant laughter of partygoers drifting through the walls. He didn’t answer immediately. Words felt heavy tonight, laden with truth he had buried deep for so long.

And Sirius, Sirius had a way of making everything feel heavier, more urgent, as if his presence alone demanded honesty, whether Severus wanted to give it or not.

Finally, after a slow inhale, he spoke. “Yeah.” The word was flat, simple, unadorned, but it carried the weight of all the decisions, all the planning, all the longing for a life unshackled from routine and expectation.

Sirius didn’t move. He just stared, eyes sharp and calculating, as if he were trying to dissect Severus with nothing but patience and focus. The silence stretched between them, long enough that Severus began to question whether he had made a mistake in speaking at all.

“Just… gone?” Sirius pressed, quieter this time, almost as if speaking louder might make it vanish, as if saying it would make Severus change his mind. “No goodbye, no… anything? Just February, and you’re gone?”

Severus exhaled slowly, letting the smoke drift upward, twisting and fading into the night sky. “Yes,” he said after a moment, voice steady despite the tension coiling in his chest. “No one will know. No one will stop me. It’s… it’s the only way to start over properly.”

Sirius leaned back on his elbows, eyes still fixed on him. He looked frustrated, incredulous, and maybe- Severus hated to admit it, worried. The combination was oddly unsettling. “You’re serious,” Sirius muttered, more to himself than to Severus, as if repeating it aloud might help him accept it.

Severus nodded once, faint, almost imperceptible. “I’m serious,” he confirmed. And in that moment, the night felt colder, the backyard smaller, the distance between them heavier than ever. Amidst the tension, Severus felt a small, stubborn flicker relief, maybe, that the truth was finally out, that Sirius knew.

Whether that knowledge would bring comfort or chaos, he didn’t know. But for the first time that evening, Severus felt lighter. A little freer. Even if the freedom came with the weight of leaving everything behind.

“No, I’m Sirius,” Sirius replied, earning a sharp glare from Severus, but he grinned anyway, unbothered, as though the glare were a badge of honor.

Severus pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling slowly, trying to center himself. He had not expected this conversation to become this. To spiral into philosophical musings about departures, memories, and something as absurd as partnerships. 

Yet here he was, standing- or rather sitting on the wooden steps of a backyard, under a cold November sky, facing Sirius Black, who had an uncanny knack for making the impossible seem casual.

“No, but actually,” Sirius continued, leaning a little closer, voice softening despite the teasing tone, “you’re planning to leave with no… I don’t know, letters? A message? Something for the people you’re leaving behind?”

Severus hesitated. His eyes traced the rim of the cigarette he held loosely between his fingers, letting the faint glow pulse softly in the darkness. “…None of that,” he said finally, voice flat, precise. “I don’t intend to linger. I don’t want reminders. I want a clean break.”

Sirius let out a low whistle, clearly impressed, or maybe exasperated by the sheer determination in Severus’ words. “Not even… memories?” he asked carefully, almost cautiously.

“Memories?” Severus repeated, brow furrowed. He wasn’t sure whether Sirius was mocking him or genuinely curious. He didn’t answer immediately, letting the question hang in the night air like the curling smoke from his cigarette.

“Happy memories,” Sirius clarified, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “Something to remember. Something to make the leaving… a little easier. Or worth it.”

Severus’ lips pressed into a thin line. He had memories. Too many. Painful ones, mundane ones, the kind that gnawed at the edges of his days. Happy ones were scarce. Precious. Fragile. He wasn’t sure he wanted to leave them behind, or whether leaving with them intact was even possible.

Sirius tilted his head, eyes sharp and calculating, and added lightly, almost teasingly, “A partner, perhaps? Someone to remember.”

Severus nearly choked on his own exhale, a faint flicker of disbelief flashing across his face. “…Partner? No. I’ve no time for that,” he said finally, voice tight, careful, trying to mask the strange flutter that Sirius’ suggestion had ignited in his chest. “I have plans to follow.”

Sirius, of course, didn’t look convinced. He just grinned, the way he always did when he suspected there was more beneath the surface than Severus was willing to admit. He leaned back slightly, eyes gleaming in the dim light, and said nothing more, letting Severus stew, as though the silence itself were a question.

And in that quiet, Sirius had a way of asking the right questions, the ones that dug deeper than polite curiosity or teasing. Questions that made Severus feel exposed.

“Well, if you’re so sure you don’t want to leave without memories,” Sirius said, tapping ash off the end of his cigarette with deliberate nonchalance, “why don’t we… strike a deal?”

Severus’ eyes narrowed immediately, suspicion flaring like instinct. “What deal?” he asked sharply. He already didn’t trust Sirius, never had. Likely never would. Deals with Sirius Black were like signing up for emotional whiplash. Or a migraine. Usually both.

Sirius straightened, chest puffing slightly as if he had been waiting for this opening the entire night. “A relationship deal,” he announced proudly, like he’d just invented something groundbreaking.

Severus stared. Blinked. Then sputtered, “Absolutely not!”

He shot to his feet instantly, so fast the wooden step under him let out a startled creak. For a brief and glorious second he fully intended to walk back into the house, grab Lily, and demand to go home.

But Sirius’ hand shot up, gentle but firm, and caught his wrist before he could escape. Not tightly, just enough to halt him. He stood too, closing the distance between them, his face frustratingly close in the dim porch light.

“No, just- listen to me, will you?” Sirius said, breath slightly uneven, eyes locked onto Severus.

Severus yanked his wrist free, bristling. “There’s no need to listen to anything that comes out of your bloody mouth,” he snapped, turning half away, needing space, needing distance before this conversation spiraled into something he couldn’t control.

But Sirius stepped in front of him, not trapping, just… there. A presence. Warm. Steady. Infuriatingly earnest.

“Snape,” he said, voice lower now, stripped of bravado. “Just hear me out.”

The world seemed to still for a moment. The muffled party noise, the cold breeze, the faint glow from the porch, everything blurred at the edges.

Severus hated that. Hated that Sirius could shift from irritating to serious in an instant, hated that it made his heart beat faster, hated that he was still standing there instead of walking away.

Sirius took a breath. “It’s not what you think. It’s not some joke. I’m not messing with you.” A pause. His voice softened. “Not this time.”

Severus swallowed, jaw tight, irritation still burning beneath his skin. “You expect me to believe that? After everything?”

“I’m trying,” Sirius said quietly. “For once, I’m trying.”

The sincerity in his tone, raw and uneasy- made something in Severus tighten in his chest. Something that felt dangerously like longing.

He didn’t step away.

And Sirius noticed.

“Look, you don’t leave a place without at least one happy memory to look back to. And I, sincerely, need to earn forgiveness.” Sirius said, shoulders sinking just a bit, like he hated admitting that out loud.

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Severus snapped, folding his arms tightly over his chest. “Why would it need to be a relationship? Can’t it just be a- a-”

He stopped, jaw clenching.

He was not going to say friendship. He would rather chew glass.

Sirius’ lips curled in an annoyingly knowing smirk. “Well… yes, but- don’t you at least want to experience a relationship before you leave?”

Severus blinked at him, stunned into momentary silence.

Sirius immediately panicked at the expression. “Not- I’m not saying you can’t find a relationship in the new city!” he blurted, hands flying up. “Obviously you could- you absolutely could. You’d probably find someone brilliant and terrifying and mysterious and- stop looking at me like that.”

Severus continued staring at him, unimpressed, unreadable, and so very done.

Sirius swallowed, visibly fighting the urge to pace. “I just meant… you’re leaving, Snape. For good. And after everything I’ve done, everything I’ve ruined- I thought maybe I could give you something good before you go.”

Severus’ expression didn’t soften. Not even a millimeter.

Sirius kept rambling anyway, because Sirius Black had never known how to shut up.

“A proper relationship,” he said, slower this time. “One with boundaries and rules and- and no pranks, fine, where I actually court you the way you deserve. A few weeks. Just so when you look back on this place, you don’t only remember the worst parts.”

“And you think you,” Severus said, voice like a cold blade, “are capable of providing the ‘best parts’?”

Sirius flinched. Physically.

But he didn’t step back.

“I think I can try,” he whispered. “And I think you might let me. For once.”

Severus exhaled sharply through his nose, almost a laugh, almost disbelief. “You are unbelievable.”

“And persistent,” Sirius said with a shrug that tried very hard to look confident but failed miserably. “Mostly that.”

Severus shook his head, staring at him like he was inspecting some strange, malfunctioning creature.

Then, very slowly, “You’re asking for a relationship… not because you want me, but because you want to feel better about yourself.”

“That’s not true,” Sirius said immediately, too immediately. “I mean, yes, I want to stop being a colossal disappointment, but that’s not why I- gosh, Snape, I’ve wanted you for-” He stopped himself with a snap of his jaw, eyes widening, cheeks going faintly pink. “That’s- not the point.”

Severus raised an eyebrow. “Clearly.”

Sirius ran a hand through his hair in pure panic. “Okay, look- ignoring everything I just said, I just… I want you to have at least one good memory here. Preferably one that includes me not being an arse.”

“And you think a relationship with you will fix that?” Severus asked, arms still crossed, but his voice had lost some of its sharpness. Not much. Just a sliver.

“No,” Sirius admitted, voice dropping low. “But it might give you something different. Something… good.”

Severus stared at him for several long, quiet seconds.

Sirius held his breath the entire time, trying not to fidget, trying not to look too hopeful, failing at both.

Finally, Severus said, almost grudgingly, “…You are something else.”

Sirius brightened like a star. “Is that a maybe?”

“It’s a ‘you’re infuriating,’” Severus corrected.

“Okay but- is it a maybe infuriating?”

Severus only sighed, turning away so Sirius couldn’t see the tiny, traitorous twitch at the corner of his mouth.

Just before Severus could form an answer, before even the smallest syllable could leave his mouth- the door swung open with a soft creak.

“Sev! Oh- Sirius!” Lily’s bright voice filled the room, startling both of them back into reality.

She stepped outside carefully, Harry asleep in her arms, his tiny cheek pressed against her shoulder. James stood right behind her, flushed from the cold, one hand stuffed into his pockets, the other pushing his glasses up his nose.

“Severus, I’ve been looking for you everywhere,” Lily said, adjusting Harry with practiced ease. “We’re heading home, and James asked if you wanted to be driven home again.”

Sirius froze, mid-hopeful inhale.

Severus stiffened, all that tense, fragile almost-moment between them shattered instantly like glass dropped on stone.

Sirius turned to him, a silent plea in his eyes.

Just one word.

One scrap of an answer to the ridiculous, desperate deal he had just offered.

Severus glanced back briefly, unreadably.

It wasn’t rejection.

But it wasn’t acceptance either.

It was infuriatingly nothing.

He simply nodded at Lily, arms still crossed tightly across his chest, shutting himself back behind that wall so quickly it made Sirius’ heart lurch.

No goodbye, no answer, not even a glare.

He just walked past them, shoes heavy on the floorboards as he disappeared down the hallway like he couldn’t get out of the house fast enough.

Sirius’ hands curled uselessly at his sides.

Lily blinked, confused. “Did we interrupt something?”

James snorted softly, like he already knew the answer. “Looks like we did.”

They turned to Sirius, offering small, warm smiles.

“Happy birthday again, Sirius,” Lily said gently.

“Yeah, happy birthday, mate,” James added, giving him a light clap on the shoulder as they headed out.

Sirius forced a smile, hollow around the edges. “Thanks.”

The door closed behind them with a soft click, leaving Sirius alone in the quiet of the backyard, standing exactly where Severus had been standing just moments ago.

And all he could think about was the answer he didn’t get.

The answer Severus didn’t give.

And the way Severus didn’t look back.

———————————————————

Severus returned home in stiff silence, muttering a half-forced, half-presentable “thank you” to James as he shut the car door. James gave him a cheerful little wave anyway, blissfully unaware or pretending to be of how tightly wounded Severus was.

The moment the headlights faded down the street, Severus exhaled a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding and walked toward his house. The night air clung to him, cool against his skin, but it did nothing to clear his mind.

He unlocked the door with tired fingers and stepped inside, the familiar creak of the floorboards greeting him like an old, unwanted friend. The house was small, quiet, and dark, exactly what he usually preferred.

But tonight, it felt suffocating.

He threw his coat over the back of the nearest chair and didn’t bother turning on more than one light. Everything felt too loud, too bright, too much.

He walked straight into the bathroom, fingers already tugging at his shirt collar like it had turned into a noose. The moment he closed the bathroom door behind him, he saw it, his reflection in the mirror.

His hair messy from the cold wind.

Eyes exhausted.

And the faintest trace of cigarette smoke still clinging to his clothes.

But that wasn’t what bothered him.

No.

It was the other scent, the one he despised admitting he recognized.

Sirius Black.

It was faint but unmistakable. The smell of his cologne, mixed with the smoke they shared, clinging to Severus like an accusation, like proof of a moment that never should’ve happened.

He scowled sharply at himself and turned on the shower, twisting the knob harder than necessary. Steam began to fill the small room as he practically tore off his clothes, throwing them into a corner like they had personally offended him.

He stepped under the hot water, letting it cascade over him, burning his skin just enough to distract him from the burn in his chest.

He reeked of smoke.

And Sirius Black.

And he hated deeply that he could tell the difference.

He scrubbed his skin until it was pink, dragged his fingers through his hair, stood with his forehead pressed against the shower wall as if he could wash away the memory entirely.

That stupid reckless offer.

A relationship deal.

What kind of ridiculous, childish idea was that?

And worse, why did he not immediately hate it?

Severus growled under his breath and turned the water hotter, scalding even.

This was why he was leaving.

Why he needed to leave.

Because things like this, messy, confusing, dangerous things- had no place in his life anymore.

He wasn’t going to linger.

Nor was he going to hope.

He wasn’t going to stay long enough for Sirius Black to get under his skin again.

He stayed under the spray until the air was thick with steam, until the last trace of cigarette smoke faded from his skin.

But the scent of Sirius, the memory of him that wouldn’t wash away so easily.

——————————————————

Severus stared at the wall, the plain, familiar, slightly chipped wall across from his sofa. He had been staring at it long enough for his tea to go cold on the table, long enough for the house to settle around him in creaks and sighs.

No.

He wasn’t going to go along with Sirius Black’s ridiculous idea.

He wasn’t going to entertain it, consider it, or even think about it.

A relationship deal?

Of all the idiotic, juvenile nonsense-

Severus scoffed silently, rubbing a hand over his tired face.

He didn’t need that. Certainly not now, and definitely not from Sirius. Whatever Black thought he was doing, seeking redemption? entertainment? a last-minute project to fix his own guilt? it wasn’t Severus’ problem.

He already had a plan.

Three months.

That was it.

Three more months of the same tolerable routine, of simply surviving, of holding his breath.

Then, Switzerland.

A new country where no one knew who he was, or who he used to be, or the mistakes he still carried like shadows.

He’d already accepted the offer from the academy. He’d already filled out the papers. He already knew which train station he’d leave from and which city he’d settle in. He had rehearsed the goodbye he wouldn’t say, the lie Lily would tell herself, the absence he would leave behind.

He didn’t need memories.

He didn’t need closure.

He didn’t need Sirius bloody Black waltzing into his last three months and turning everything sideways.

Severus crossed his arms tighter, jaw clenching.

He wasn’t going to let Sirius’ nonsense derail him.

He wasn’t going to let Sirius’ smile or laughter or sincerity- or whatever that strange look in his eyes had been affect him.

He was leaving.

End of story.

And once he arrived in Switzerland, none of this, none of them- would matter anymore.

He would finally be free.

So why did his chest feel tight?

He ignored the feeling, swallowed it down, and closed his eyes.

Three months, just three.

He could endure anything for that long.

Even Sirius Black.

Chapter Text

It was two days later when Severus saw Sirius again.

It had been a peaceful day, well, as peaceful as a day could be when thirty children under the age of nine were involved. The sun was already soft and low, casting a warm honeyed glow through the classroom windows as homing time rolled around.

Usually, Severus waited for the last child to be picked up before he himself locked up and went home, and today, strangely, it was Harry who lingered behind. Unusual, considering Lily or James were always prompt.

Harry sat beside Severus on the small wooden bench just outside the classroom, swinging his legs and excitedly narrating the adventures of his newest toy dragon.

“And then- and THEN, it breathed FIRE and burned the whole mountain! But only the bad guys, not the nice ones- teacher are you listening? Teacher—”

“Yes, Harry,” Severus sighed, adjusting his seat. “I am listening.” Barely.

The child should’ve been picked up twenty minutes ago, yet Harry didn’t seem bothered in the slightest. Children had limitless patience for delays, as long as they had toys and an audience.

Severus checked his watch again.

Of course.

Just as he inhaled, the familiar rumble of a motorcycle cut into the quiet, growing louder until it stopped by the curb. Heavy boots thudded on pavement, followed by a voice he had hoped not to hear again so soon.

“Ah—sorry I’m late. Come here, Prongslet.”

Sirius Black jogged toward them, helmet tucked under one arm, a tiny child-sized one dangling from his other hand. His hair was wind-tossed, his leather jacket unzipped, and his grin entirely too bright for Severus’ taste.

“Uncle Padfoot!” Harry squealed, abandoning Severus and latching onto Sirius’ legs.

Sirius lifted him effortlessly. “You ready to go flying?”

Severus crossed his arms. “You’re picking up today?”

“Yeah,” Sirius replied, setting Harry down to fasten the small helmet under his chin. “James and Lily are on date night.”

Of course they were. Severus had forgotten today was Friday.

Sirius glanced up, then paused. His eyes locked onto something on Severus’ head.

“Also… nice hair, by the way.”

Severus blinked, caught off guard. “My—?”

He reached up instinctively.

Right.

His hair. He’d tied it in a plain ponytail that morning. But then the girls in his class saw it, saw the opportunity, and insisted they “just wanted to make it pretty.” When he said no, three of them cried. Loudly. Loud enough to alert teachers two rooms away.

And so, by the end of homing time, he had flowers. And clips. And glitter somewhere behind his left ear.

He felt the warmth crawl up his neck.

“… Thank you,” he muttered stiffly, shoving Harry’s backpack toward him as distraction.

“Don’t thank me,” Sirius said lightly. “Thank your stylists. They have impeccable taste.”

Severus glared. Sirius only smiled wider.

“So…” Sirius began, rocking back on his heels in what he probably thought was casual charm. “Lovely evening, isn’t it? Perfect weather. Not too cold, y’know, I heard the restaurant down the street is—”

“Your godson,” Severus cut in flatly, “is attempting to launch himself onto your motorcycle.”

“What—HARRY!”

Sirius spun so fast the leather jacket nearly slipped off his shoulder. Sure enough, Harry Potter, that tiny menace  and living proof Lily Evans had truly married James Potter- was wobbling on tiptoe, hands stretched toward Sirius’ motorcycle seat like a pilgrim reaching a holy artifact.

“Harry James Potter, absolutely not- what did we say about jumping on moving things, or non-moving things, or anything with wheels- Gods above-”

The boy only giggled as Sirius swooped him up, scolding him with all the authority of a wet napkin.

Severus crossed his arms and watched with thinly veiled judgment. How these people survived daily life was beyond him.

After wrestling Harry into the smaller helmet and securing him to the motorcycle seat with surprising competence, Sirius finally turned back. His earlier attempt at suave casualness had clearly been abandoned; thank the heavens, he wasn’t good at it.

“Restaurant?” he asked bluntly, as though trying a different tactic.

Severus stared at him. Then at Harry. Then back at Sirius.

This wasn’t subtle. At all.

“What,” Severus asked slowly, “about the child?”

Sirius blinked then turned to Harry, crouching down.

“Hey, Prongslet,” he said, tone suddenly bright, “do you wanna stay with Uncle Moony tonight?”

“Yes!” Harry said, voice loud enough to echo down the hallway. No hesitation. 

“Clear,” he declared proudly to Severus, smug as a man who’d just outsmarted destiny itself.

Severus stared at him for a long moment.

He genuinely couldn’t decide if Sirius was an idiot… or terrifyingly efficient.

Maybe both.

Severus stared at the man in front of him.

Of course it had to be today.

Yes, it was Friday, his Friday, the one sacred evening of the week when he had a system, a routine, a structure that kept his sanity intact. A routine that included a cigarette on the back doorstep, grading overly enthusiastic drawings of cats and dragons, and drinking straight black coffee so strong it could burn through a cauldron.

He even planned to wash the glitter out of his hair, the ones he could still feel gleaming mockingly.

Those were his plans. 

But then Sirius Black had arrived with the subtlety of a street parade and the potential to ruin all of it. Or derail it. Or set it on fire. Possibly all three.

Sirius stood in front of him now, waiting, hopeful, doing that thing with his eyebrows that suggested he was confident Severus would say yes.

Which was infuriating.

Utterly infuriating.

Severus exhaled through his nose.

A sensible man would say no. A self-respecting man would say no. A man who had told himself not to get involved with Sirius Black in any way, shape, or form would say no.

But.

But.

He wouldn’t deny that a free, decent meal sounded… nice. Pathetic to admit, perhaps, but Severus wasn’t exactly rolling in restaurant outings. He cooked. He cleaned. He graded papers. He slept. He repeated.

And Sirius was looking at him like Severus was the final vote on whether a small nation survived.

Ridiculous.

Fine. He’d indulge the man. Once. Only once. His ego would have to tolerate the humiliation.

“… Fine,” Severus sighed, dropping his shoulders a fraction.

Sirius lit up like Christmas had arrived early.

“Great,” Sirius said instantly, as if Severus agreeing had been the most obvious outcome in the universe. He slid his helmet on with practiced ease. “I’ll pick you up at seven.”

Severus blinked. “Seven?”

“Yep,” Sirius confirmed, tightening the strap. “You’re still at Cokeworth, right?”

Severus froze.

His eyes narrowed slowly, then dangerously. “How do you know where I live?”

Sirius paused for half a second, then he shrugged, casual as a man commenting on the weather.

“… Doesn’t matter,” he said quickly, waving a gloved hand in dismissal. “Anyway, seven. Don’t be late!”

“Black-”

But Sirius Black was already revving the engine, the roar drowning Severus out. Harry clung to him gleefully, waving wildly as the motorcycle pulled away from the school gate, leaving Severus standing there with his arms crossed and his entire soul vibrating with disbelief and rising dread.

He stared at the street long after the motorcycle vanished.

Then the realization hit him like a brick.

He had just accepted a date.

With Sirius Black.

He. Accepted. A. Date. With. Sirius. Black.

The man who put itching powder in his gym shoes when they were sixteen.

The man who spilled pumpkin juice on his essay intentionally, Severus was sure of it.

The man who once locked him in a broom closet for forty-seven minutes.

And Severus had just said yes to dinner.

He ran a hand down his face.

Gosh, he had fallen straight into the trap. Into the charm, the persistence, the stupid grin and the stupid hair and the stupid leather jacket. Into Sirius Black’s orbit- again.

Only this time, it wasn’t some accidental social overlap or forced group outing.

This time, he had agreed.

Voluntarily.

Severus groaned.

What on earth had he just gotten himself into?

———————————————————

Severus had been home for about fifteen minutes.

Not doing anything remotely productive.

Just… sitting.

On the floor.

Back against the side of his bed, legs stretched out, coat still on, hair still decorated with stubborn flecks of glitter, staring at absolutely nothing with the blank expression of a man whose brain had not yet caught up with the disaster unfolding in his life.

He should be getting ready.

He should have stood up the moment he stepped inside, showered, dug through his closet for the one halfway decent button-down he owned, and mentally braced himself for the humiliation of being seen in public with Sirius Black.

But instead he sat there, unmoving, caught in the loop of one particular conversation.

“A partner, perhaps?”

Severus dragged a hand through his already messy hair and winced when his fingers caught on a glittery clip shaped like a sunflower. He yanked it out and tossed it across the room.

Ridiculous man. Ridiculous idea. It was absurd. Completely absurd.

A relationship with Sirius Black.

Sirius the chaos engine. Sirius the relentless flirt. Sirius the professional meddler in Severus’ peace since they were twelve.

But-

The sincerity in Sirius’s voice, the softness in his eyes, how infuriating, that sincerity lingered in Severus’s mind like a splinter he couldn’t remove.

Don’t you want to leave with at least one happy memory?

Why had that sentence stuck so deeply?

He didn’t need memories. He needed a plane ticket and a new life. He needed distance. He needed to leave everything behind- every mistake, every scar, every lonely evening grading papers in silence.

He didn’t need Sirius Black complicating things.
 

And yet there he was, sitting on his floor, thinking about it.

Thinking about him.

Sirius, with his stupid smile and stupid persistence and stupid ability to worm his way past Severus’s walls like it was the easiest thing in the world.

Severus groaned, dropping his head into his hands.

He should not have said yes.

He absolutely, unequivocally should not have said yes.

He had fallen straight into the trap, and the worst part was, Sirius hadn’t forced him. Sirius hadn’t cornered him. Sirius hadn’t even truly pushed.

Severus had agreed on his own.

And now he had to prepare for a date.

A date with Sirius Black.

He stared at the ceiling.

Maybe if he faked an illness now, he could still-

No.

Absolutely not.

Severus was not about to back out now, because if he did, Sirius Black would never let him forget it. The man would weaponize it, drag it out at every opportunity, mock him for “chickening out.” Smirk at him in that insufferably charming way until Severus strangled him.

Right.

He was doing this to avoid humiliation, not because of Sirius’ stupid jawline or stupid smile or stupid… everything.

Severus pushed himself off the floor with a sharp exhale, bones stiff from sitting in one spot for far too long. He glanced at the clock on the wall.

5:45 p.m.

Perfect. He had time. Enough time to prepare. Enough time to get himself together. Enough time to not look like someone who spent the last twenty minutes spiraling on the floor like an emotionally constipated cat.

He can do this.

He would get up, shower, pick out something that didn’t make him look like he teaches kids how to sing the alphabet song and how to tell the difference between fruits and vegetables, and he would walk out that door. On time. With dignity intact.

This was not because Sirius Black asked him out.

This was a matter of pride.

A matter of proving that he, Severus Tobias Snape, was not intimidated by a handsome face and a motorcycle.

He was doing this for one reason and one reason only, to save his dignity.

Yes.

That was the story he was sticking to.

Severus began to get ready, slowly, and with the emotional energy of someone preparing for a battle he wasn’t sure he signed up for.

First on the list: his hair.

Merlin, his hair.

Of all the things Sirius used to mock when they were teenagers, his nose, his clothes, his quietness, his everything, it was always his hair that received the most attention. “Greasus Snape,” Sirius would sing-song across the Gryffindor corridor, flicking invisible lint from his own curls.

And as if fate still had a twisted sense of humor, Severus’ hair had only gotten worse today. Not because of oil, but because of the blasted hair clips, flowers, and glitter.

Glitter, for heaven’s sake.

He blamed his students entirely. They had attacked him like a sparkly horde, insisting that “teacher needs flair.” And because Severus needed to grade their work in peace, he’d allowed it. Then gone home looking like a depressed Christmas ornament.

So yes, hair first.

He dragged himself into the bathroom, flicked on the dim overhead light, and stared at his reflection. His dark hair shimmered with tiny specks of rainbow glitter like he’d rolled headfirst through a unicorn crime scene.

He sighed.

Right. Shower.

He could scrub this out.

Severus stripped off his clothes and stepped into the shower, letting the warm water rush over him. Steam filled the small room, fogging up the mirror behind him. Glitter swirled down the drain in surrender.

As he massaged shampoo into his hair, he muttered to himself, because apparently it had come to that.

“It’s just a date. Just a date. With a man who has made your life a spectacle since age eleven. Completely normal.”

He rinsed the soap out, tilting his head back as the water poured over his face.

Because if he showed up to this date looking even remotely disheveled, Sirius would smirk that smug smirk and Severus would never hear the end of it.

He washed the last of the glitter out of his hair and stood there, letting the water run for a few more seconds before finally turning it off.

Severus stepped out, grabbed a towel, and inhaled slowly.

Alright.

Step one complete.

Now, he just had to make the rest of himself presentable.

Which unfortunately, might be the harder part.

———————————————————

Severus finished preparing just in time.

His clothes were carefully chosen, neat, dark, practical, and most importantly, not embarrassing. Hair finally tamed, glitter gone, and his expression somewhere between wary and annoyed.

He had mentally rehearsed every possible scenario in which Sirius would attempt to charm him, tease him, or heaven forbid- laugh at him, and he had made it clear in his mind that he would not give the man the satisfaction.

And then he heard it.

A rumble, low and familiar, rolling through the street outside his house.

The motorcycle.

His stomach sank a little.

Gosh, Sirius really did know where he lived.

Stalker much? Severus thought grimly, resisting the urge to add a trap for trespassing to the mental to-do list.

Taking a deep breath, he smoothed down his jacket one last time, checked that the left cuff wasn’t crooked, and stepped toward the door.

The moment he opened it, there he was.

Already there. Standing in the soft glow of the porch light. Motorcycle idling behind him, helmet tucked under one arm, the other hand resting casually on the seat.

And that grin. That infuriating, cocky, ridiculous, entirely unfair grin.

Sirius Black looked far too pleased with himself, and the way his dark hair fell into his eyes made Severus’ stomach do something he refused to acknowledge.

“Don’t look so pleased with yourself,” Severus said, voice sharp and clipped, though his tone betrayed a hint of disbelief more than irritation.

Sirius tilted his head, grinning wider. “I could say the same about you, Snape. You look… surprisingly presentable. I didn’t think you’d actually put effort into this.”

Severus frowned, crossing his arms, and stepped back slightly. “I don’t put effort into this for you, if that’s what you’re implying.”

Sirius’ smirk only grew. “Sure. Whatever you say. Let’s see if you ride as well as you look.”

Severus blinked, lips pressing into a thin line. The last part, he knew that was meant as a tease.

With a deep sigh and one final glance at the darkening sky, Severus stepped forward.

Fine.

He was not backing down. He was not giving Sirius the satisfaction of seeing him flustered. He was a grown man, a teacher, and perfectly capable of handling one chaotic, ridiculous, impossible Black.

…Even if his heart decided it had other plans.

“Here.”

Sirius tossed the helmet toward Severus with a casual flick of his wrist, like he was handing over a loaf of bread rather than a piece of protective equipment.

Severus barely caught it, fingers tightening around the hard plastic as he weighed whether to throw it back in protest or put it on and face the inevitable.

He glanced up at Sirius, who was already straddling the motorcycle, one boot planted firmly on the ground, the other tapping impatiently against the frame. That grin, the infuriating, impossibly smug grin was aimed squarely at him, daring him to falter.

Severus’ jaw tightened. He was not going to let Sirius see that.

He lifted the helmet slowly, examining it like it were hazardous. The gloss of it caught the dim porch light, reflecting a distorted image of his own annoyed expression. He adjusted the straps, muttering under his breath, though Sirius either didn’t hear or pretended not to.

“You know,” Sirius said lightly, the grin never fading, “most people actually put it on instead of just staring at it.”

Severus glared, tugging the straps under his chin and tightening them until the plastic pressed just slightly too firmly against his temples. “Yes, well, most people aren’t about to get themselves humiliated by a reckless motorcycle-riding lunatic.”

Sirius laughed, a low, teasing sound that made Severus feel a surprising twitch of… something in his chest. He shook his head. He would not acknowledge that. He would not.

Severus took a careful step forward, balancing the helmet as though it were a live creature. He was not going to fall. He was not going to scream. He was not going to give Sirius the satisfaction of witnessing the absolute chaos swirling in his brain.

He was doing this.

Because he had dignity to uphold.

And because, no matter how much it infuriated him to admit it, he was utterly incapable of looking away from Sirius Black.

But it seemed the man was the same way.

Because those eyes, those impossible, infuriating, entirely too aware eyes- never left him. Not for a single second.

No matter how Severus adjusted the helmet, no matter how he shifted on the edge of the seat, Sirius’ gaze followed him with a precision that made his chest tighten. It wasn’t just observation, it was calculation, curiosity, amusement, and something else he couldn’t quite name, all rolled into one.

He tried to focus on the straps of the helmet, on the leather of the seat, anything besides those piercing, relentless eyes. But it was impossible. Sirius Black had that effect on him, always had. It didn’t matter that Severus had spent years telling himself he would never, ever, give him the satisfaction.

Those eyes didn’t just see him.

They knew him.

And it made him want to grind his teeth in frustration.

Severus swallowed hard, tightening his grip on the helmet. He would not, could not, allow himself to falter.

Because he was leaving in a few months.

Because, no matter how much Sirius’ eyes seemed to undress his very thoughts, he was determined to keep control.

———————————————————

They had arrived at the restaurant a few minutes ago, and Severus finally understood the full extent of why he had been dragged into this evening.

The reason that had been lingering beneath every word, every grin, every ridiculous insistence from Sirius:

The relationship deal.

Again.

Severus let out a soft, exasperated sigh, pressing a hand to his forehead.

Oh, he was determined.

Too determined.

Too determined for someone who, during their teenage years, had made an entire sport out of mocking Severus’ hair whenever Lily tried to make it look decent, mocking it mercilessly, laughing until his friends joined in, all while Severus stood there wishing for the floor to swallow him whole.

But also… that same man had thrown a massive tantrum when Severus finally removed the offending hairdo. A fight, a shouting match, a ridiculous display of indignation that had left both of them red-faced and furious.

And now here he was, all grown up, well, relatively grown up, and using that same old stubbornness, charm, and complete disregard for boundaries to pull Severus into a date that had a very specific purpose. A purpose Severus had refused to acknowledge before.

And, somehow, Severus found himself resisting the urge to glare.

Partly because he didn’t want to ruin his dignity.

Partly because, undeniably, Sirius was… infuriatingly compelling.

Severus shook his head slightly.

He had come, he had agreed, and now he was sitting in a restaurant with Sirius Black, the man who had been chaos incarnate in his life since middle school, staring at him with those irritatingly earnest eyes.

Severus refused to admit, even to himself, that part of him was… willing.

But of course, he wouldn’t give Sirius the satisfaction of knowing that.

Now Sirius was launching into a full-on sales pitch, grinning like he had discovered a loophole in the universe itself.

“It’s simple, really,” he said, leaning back slightly in his chair, voice smooth and teasing. “Three months, maybe a little over, and you get to leave with at least one happy memory. You’ll have someone to talk to, someone to annoy, someone to share dessert with.”

Severus said nothing, well, not out loud.

I don't like dessert.

He stayed quiet, arms crossed loosely on the table, eyes trained on the menu he wasn’t really reading. His mind was doing flips, arguing with itself about how infuriating Sirius was being.

You do not negotiate with chaos incarnate.

Despite all that reasoning, Severus couldn’t quite ignore the way Sirius’ eyes lit up as he spoke, the subtle tilt of his head, the way he leaned forward just slightly when emphasizing a point. Infuriating. Absolutely infuriating.

Sirius continued, undeterred by the silence, as if it were merely a challenge to overcome. “I mean, c’mon, Snape. You’ll have a taste of something different. You’re leaving anyway, right? Why not enjoy yourself in the meantime?”

Severus’ lips pressed into a thin line. He can’t be serious. He can’t really be doing this.

But Sirius kept going, voice smooth and insistent. “And, honestly, you’re going to like it, I just know.”

Severus’ mind started ticking, begrudgingly calculating the consequences of refusing outright. Three months. A finite amount of time to resist… whatever Sirius was offering.

And despite himself, despite the lingering thought consumed him. What if he's right?

Severus shook the thought away as quickly as it came. No. Sirius wasn’t right. He was never right.

“Black,” Severus said, voice sharp enough to cut through the air, carrying that unmistakable weight of command he always reserved for people who tested his patience.

Sirius paused mid-gesture, eyebrows raising in that infuriating way, head tilted slightly. “Yes?” he asked, his voice casual, almost too casual, as if he didn’t expect a reprimand from Severus.

Severus took a deep breath, steadying himself as he tried to maintain a level of calm he didn’t fully feel. “…I… appreciate… the enthusiasm,” he said slowly, measuring every word like it was a potion ingredient, “but… it’s a no.”

Sirius blinked, just once, as if the world had tilted slightly off its axis. Then he leaned back, folding his arms, eyes studying Severus carefully, as if trying to understand what had just happened. “Oh,” he said softly, more curiosity than disappointment in his voice.

Severus felt a flash of triumph, quickly squelched by the small twist of discomfort that Sirius’ silence always seemed to bring. He pressed on. “I’m not into relationships at the moment. And… I probably never will be.” His words were firm, but there was an undercurrent of something he didn’t quite recognize, a little ache, maybe.

Sirius looked at him for a long moment, scanning Severus’ face, those grey eyes searching, calculating, but not mocking. Slowly, deliberately, he nodded. “…Right,” he said, tone measured, soft, carrying neither insult nor challenge.

Severus’ chest tightened slightly at the nod, though he refused to let it show. The silence stretched between them, filled with unspoken thoughts, memories, and the faint, invisible tension that had always existed whenever Sirius Black paid him full attention.

Finally, Sirius leaned back a little further, a small, almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Not smug. Not teasing. Just… acknowledging.

Severus stared at the table, pretending not to notice. He had made his point. He had his boundaries.

And yet, somehow, the world still seemed just a little off-balance when Sirius Black was sitting across from him, calmly.

“So…” Sirius leaned back in his chair, elbows resting lightly on the table, eyes fixed on Severus with that infuriating mixture of curiosity and mischief, “…how’s Harry doing at class?”

Severus looked up from his water glass, eyes narrowing just slightly. Of course he’d ask about Harry first. Because no matter how much Sirius tried to act casual, he always found a way to insert himself into every important or mundane aspect of Severus’ life.

“He’s… managing,” Severus replied carefully, “Participates when he feels like it, distracts the others when he doesn’t. Standard behavior for a seven-year-old.”

Sirius’ grin widened, as though that answer delighted him. “Ah, so chaos runs in the family, then,” he said, voice teasing, tapping the table lightly with one finger. “Good to know. Makes him… relatable.”

Severus frowned, lips pressing into a thin line. “I fail to see the humor,” he said, tone dry, though his mind couldn’t help noticing the little spark of energy Sirius always seemed to bring into even the most mundane conversation.

“Oh, come on,” Sirius said, leaning forward slightly, elbows now on the table, hands clasped loosely, “don’t be so serious. I’m just asking. I want to know how my godson is doing, that’s all.”

Severus’ eyes softened imperceptibly, but he blinked quickly, refusing to let the softness show. “He’s fine,” he said simply, returning to the careful neutrality he cultivated like armor. “A handful, yes, but otherwise… fine.”

Sirius’ grin didn’t fade, but it shifted, just slightly- a little softer, a little warmer, though still entirely Sirius. “Good,” he said. “That’s good to hear. I like knowing he’s surviving his year under your… careful supervision.”

Severus’ lips twitched. Not a smile. Just a twitch. A small, almost imperceptible victory. At least he’s acknowledging the effort.

And, of course, Sirius noticed that too. The faintest flicker of triumph in Severus’ stance. The man grinned wider. “See? You can’t hide anything from me, Snape.”

Severus rolled his eyes, but the twitch remained. Because maybe, just maybe, having Sirius ask about Harry… didn’t feel quite as infuriating as it usually did.

“Oh,” Severus began, his tone neutral but carrying a hint of exasperation, “Harry got into a small fight with a new kid just earlier.”

Sirius’ head snapped slightly toward him, eyebrows rising. “He did?” His voice held a mix of curiosity and that infuriatingly protective undertone that Sirius somehow always managed to convey. He leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on the table, eyes fixed on Severus like he was trying to extract every detail.

Severus took a deep breath, forcing his mind to remain calm. “Draco. I’m sure you know him. His mother is your cousin, isn’t she?”

For a brief second, Sirius froze, his expression shifting. The grin faltered. A flash of something almost pensive crossed his features. Severus realized, with a slight frown, that Sirius hadn’t really been in contact with his family for a long time. Somehow, amidst all the teasing, chaos, and drama of life, he had lost touch with that part of his world.

“…Right,” Severus muttered, his tone softening. “Sorry. I forgot.”

Sirius waved his hand, brushing it off like it was nothing, and his grin returned, though it was slightly gentler this time. “It’s quite alright,” he said, voice easy, casual, but there was a hint of something in his eyes- nostalgia, maybe, or regret. “Go on. Tell me about the fight.”

Severus leaned back slightly, folding his hands in front of him, and tried to suppress a small, reluctant smile. Sirius’ sudden change in tone, the fleeting softness under the usual teasing, caught him off guard. Not that he would admit it, of course.

“Well,” Severus started, forcing his voice to remain factual, “Harry was building with blocks in the classroom when Draco came over, started knocking over some of the structures. Harry predictably- reacted poorly. A shove, some yelling, and eventually a small scuffle. Nothing serious, but enough for the teacher to step in.”

Sirius’ eyes sparkled, leaning forward just enough to look more engaged than Severus thought necessary. “And how did our young hero handle it?” he asked, voice teasing but soft at the edges.

Severus let out a dry, almost inaudible sigh. “He’s stubborn. He held his ground, of course. But… well, he also got scolded. Not severely, just enough to remind him that not every battle is worth fighting.”

Sirius’ grin widened again, and he leaned back slightly, clearly enjoying the story as much as the reaction from Severus. “Sounds about right. That’s my godson. Brave, determined… probably stubborn as a mule.”

Severus’ lips twitched into the faintest semblance of a smile, though his expression remained otherwise stoic. “Yes. Very stubborn. Just like someone else I know,” he muttered under his breath, not quite looking at Sirius.

Sirius tilted his head, catching the faint murmur. “Oh?” he asked, voice light, teasing, curiosity in every syllable. “And who might that be?”

Severus met his gaze for just a moment, expression unreadable, before looking away again. “Never mind,” he said firmly, voice sharp enough to end the conversation, but not quite enough to erase the unspoken challenge lingering in the air between them.

Sirius chuckled softly, clearly satisfied with the tension he’d just sparked. “Alright, alright,” he said. “But I’ll get it out of you eventually. Don’t think I won’t.”

Severus huffed silently, pressing his lips together as he stared at the table.

You really don't change at all, he thought.

And somehow, despite himself, he wasn’t entirely sure that was a bad thing.

The rest of the dinner continued surprisingly well. The initial tension, that careful, taut edge in the air, gradually softened. Sirius seemed to have let go of the “relationship deal” entirely, or at least set it aside for now.

They spoke about Severus’ job, the long hours with children, grading endless assignments, the tiny victories when a student finally grasped a difficult concept. Sirius listened with genuine interest, leaning forward, occasionally asking pointed questions that showed he was actually listening.

They talked about how Sirius handled babysitting Harry, the chaos of trying to corral a seven-year-old who had more energy than a tornado. Severus found himself quietly impressed by the man’s patience, though of course he wouldn’t admit it aloud.

And then, somehow, the conversation shifted to the past. The old memories, the battles and the blunders, the teenage years that seemed both impossibly far away and painfully recent all at once.

“I still remember,” Severus said quietly, voice low but steady, “when you caused a fight because you thought James gave me a love letter. But it was supposed to be for Lily.”

Sirius blinked, a small smirk tugging at his lips, and shook his head slowly. “Ah, yes. That… that was quite the mess, wasn’t it?” His voice carried amusement, tinged with a touch of nostalgia. “I thought I was defending your honor!’

Severus’ lips pressed into a thin line, a mixture of exasperation and faint amusement tugging at the corners. “Defending my honor by punching James in the middle of the courtyard? Brilliant strategy, truly.”

Sirius chuckled, the sound low and easy, and leaned back slightly in his chair. “Well, when you put it like that… maybe not my finest hour. But it was the thought that counted, wasn’t it?”

Severus allowed himself the smallest, almost imperceptible smile. He remembered the whirlwind of emotions that had come with being thirteen. But sitting here now, across from Sirius, he could see it differently, less as chaos and more as- history. Shared history, messy and infuriating, but theirs.

“And you always made everything so… dramatic,” Severus continued, a faint edge of fondness in his tone despite himself. “Every little thing turned into a spectacle with you around.”

Sirius leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table, eyes glinting with mischief. “Dramatic? Me? Surely you exaggerate.”

Severus rolled his eyes, though the motion was softer this time. “Do I? You nearly got expelled over a misunderstanding about a letter, and yet somehow, you always made it look… effortless.”

Sirius laughed, the sound filling the small space of the restaurant, warm and unapologetically free. “Effortless, eh? I like to think of it as… talent. Pure, unrefined talent.”

Severus shook his head, the corners of his lips twitching upward despite his best efforts. “Pure chaos, more like it.”

Sirius grinned, leaning back in his chair again, and for a moment, they both fell into a comfortable silence, the kind that comes from shared history, from knowing each other better than either wanted to admit.

And for the first time that evening, or maybe even that week, Severus felt… lighter.

Just a little.

———————————————————

Sirius pulled up outside Severus’ small, modest house, the engine’s purr fading into the quiet of the street. The air was crisp, the evening settling around them like a soft, comforting blanket, and for a brief moment, neither spoke, caught in that fragile space between endings and beginnings.

Severus unbuckled his seatbelt, his movements deliberate, precise. He stepped down from the motorcycle, feet hitting the pavement with a soft thud, and turned to Sirius.

He held out the helmet, his fingers brushing against Sirius’ as he handed it over. “Thank you… for tonight,” he said, his voice controlled, but carrying an undercurrent of something he refused to define. Gratitude. Maybe even… enjoyment.

Sirius accepted the helmet, the familiar grin tugging at his lips, though tempered with warmth this time. “Of course,” he said, voice casual but with a subtle softness. He glanced at Severus, then laughed lightly, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Though… your hair is kinda ruffled.”

Severus instinctively reached up, smoothing the front of his hair with a sharp, efficient motion, cheeks heating despite himself. He muttered under his breath, “…thank you for noticing,” though it came out more like a growl than a true acknowledgment.

Sirius tilted his head, clearly amused by the reaction, leaning casually against the bike. “You’re welcome,” he said, voice low and teasing, as if daring Severus to react further. “But really, I think it suits you. A little wind makes you look… human.”

Severus froze for a heartbeat, lips pressing into a thin line. Human? What was that supposed to mean? He blinked but said nothing. 

“I’ll… see you around,” Severus said finally, voice clipped, holding the helmet tighter in his hands than necessary. He started to turn, adjusting the strap on his bag as if to anchor himself back in familiar territory.

“Yeah,” Sirius said, voice softer this time, almost catching him off guard. “See you… soon.”

Severus paused, hand on the door, but didn’t turn back. Instead, he stepped inside, closing the door with a quiet click, the faintest echo of Sirius’ presence lingering in the air.

And as he leaned against the door for a moment, Severus realized he hadn’t expected to enjoy the evening, or feel that strange flutter in his chest when Sirius grinned at him.

Damn Black, he thought. Infuriatingly impossible. And somehow… not entirely unbearable.

Severus finally reached his bedroom, the soft click of the door behind him echoing faintly in the quiet of the house. The day had stretched long, but somehow, the evening still left him restless. He moved methodically, shedding his coat, undoing the tie that had felt constricting all day, the stiffness in his shoulders slowly giving way as he finally started to relax.

And yet, his mind refused to let him rest.

He recalled the evening in fragments, the motorcycle ride, the laughter he hadn’t expected to share, the way Sirius had leaned forward, that infuriating grin on his face, and the teasing tone that had somehow felt different tonight. Different, yes, but in a way he couldn’t quite place.

And then there was the inevitable thought, one he tried hard to push down, he had gone out with Black. Sirius Black. The same man who had made his life miserable during school years, who had teased, mocked, and infuriated him with surgical precision. But tonight, it had been pleasant, even if Severus would never, ever admit it aloud.

He climbed into bed, the covers cold against his skin, and stared at the ceiling. The room was silent, but his thoughts were anything but. He had rejected him, yes, firmly, unequivocally. And yet, for all his carefully constructed defenses, the memory of Sirius’ eyes, the soft teasing, the warmth in his voice- no, not warmth exactly, but something near it- made Severus’ chest tighten in a way that felt entirely new.

Why does this man always… he thought, letting the question trail off into the quiet.

Severus rolled onto his side, pulling the blanket a little closer, trying to anchor himself in reason. He reminded himself: he had boundaries. He had plans. He had a future waiting in another country. Nothing that happened tonight would, could, and should change that.

And yet, he couldn’t deny it completely. There was something thrilling in defiance, something almost satisfying in seeing Sirius caught off guard, something dangerous about how alive it had made him feel.

“Damn Black,” Severus muttered under his breath, lips twitching despite himself. 

He finally closed his eyes, but sleep came slowly, the lingering traces of Sirius’ presence and laughter weaving into his thoughts, leaving him restless, unsettled, and he would never admit it, wanting more.

When sleep refused to completely claim him, Severus finally gave up, letting out a quiet, exasperated sigh as he rolled onto his side. The room was dark and silent, except for the faint ticking of the clock and the occasional hum of the city outside. Every shadow seemed too still, every creak of the house too loud, reminding him that his mind wouldn’t stop replaying the evening.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat there for a moment, staring at the floor. Fine. If sleep wasn’t coming, he would at least do something productive. Slowly, deliberately, he rose, feet touching the cool wooden floor. The quiet of the house seemed to welcome him, though he knew it wouldn’t be long before his thoughts caught up again.

Downstairs, he moved with precision, the ritual familiar and grounding. He flicked on the small kitchen light, the warm glow cutting through the darkness, and set about making himself a strong cup of black coffee. No sugar, no cream, nothing to soften it. Bitter, like his thoughts sometimes, but honest.

While the coffee dripped, he collected the stack of papers he had been grading earlier.

Settling at the table with his coffee in one hand and a pen in the other, he opened the first paper. He scribbled notes, evaluated drawings, occasionally letting out a quiet murmur of critique or faint approval. The familiar routine should have calmed him, anchored him in normalcy.

But Sirius, Sirius lingered at the edges of his thoughts. The memory of his teasing, the glint in his eyes, the unexpected softness, the way he had leaned closer than necessary, it all refused to be dismissed. Severus scolded himself mentally, telling himself to focus. This is just coffee and grading papers, Severus. Nothing more. He’s Sirius Black. Nothing more than a complication you don’t need.

He inhaled sharply, the bitter steam of the coffee filling his senses, and tried again to concentrate on the papers. Though, even as he did, the corner of his mind stayed alert, anticipating, replaying, the smallest gestures, the faintest inflections from the evening that should have been simple, mundane, but weren’t.

He sighed, shoulders tensing and relaxing in rhythm with his thoughts. Fine. If he couldn’t sleep, if his mind refused to rest, he might as well do something useful. At least here, at the table, with the coffee, and the papers, he could pretend that life was predictable, that he was in control.

For now, that would have to be enough.

———————————————————

The shrill ringing of the landline cut through the quiet of Severus’ house, echoing sharply in the small, dark rooms. He held the receiver tightly, staring at it for a moment, fingers curling around the cold plastic as though gripping it could somehow steady his nerves.

He shouldn’t be calling. Not at this hour. Two in the morning. Rational Severus, the part of him that loved schedules, routines, and rules, was yelling at him to hang up, to wait until morning, to do anything but this.

But the other part, the part that had been simmering all night. Every detail of the evening, every glance, every word from Sirius, every tiny infuriating smile had crawled into his thoughts and refused to leave. He couldn’t let it go without saying something.

So he dialed. Each beep of the line felt impossibly loud in the silence.

“…who is it?” A groggy voice answered after the first few rings, thick with sleep, low and tired, but unmistakable. Sirius.

Severus’ throat went dry. He’s asleep. He’s definitely asleep. He’s going to yell at me… But no. There was no turning back.

“..Black…” Severus muttered, voice quieter than he intended, hesitant, uncertain. His fingers tightened on the receiver. “…I… accept.”

There was a pause, filled with a few heavy, uneven breaths. Sirius’ voice wavered, caught somewhere between confusion and disbelief. “…Severus? Wha—”

“I accept the relationship,” Severus finished, forcing each word out slowly, deliberately, as if the careful pacing could somehow make them feel less… vulnerable. Less final. Less terrifying.

The silence stretched for a heartbeat, and Severus felt his chest tighten, a mixture of relief and panic twisting inside him. He could hear Sirius shifting on the other end, probably sitting upright now, probably wide awake, probably utterly speechless.

“…You… you what?” Sirius finally said, voice incredulous, a mix of disbelief, amusement, and something deeper that Severus refused to identify.

Severus’ jaw tightened. “…I said, I accept. You made tonight… bearable. More than bearable. And… I suppose… I’ll give this… a chance. For the duration. Until February.”

Another pause. Sirius’ breath was audible now, shallow, and Severus realized, he had expected mocking. Or laughter. Or a long lecture about the absurdity of calling someone at two in the morning.

But instead, “…Right,” Sirius said finally, voice lower, slower, more deliberate. “Then… we’ll do this. We’ll… try it.”

Severus swallowed, feeling heat rise to his cheeks despite the dim darkness around him. “…Yes,” he muttered, almost to himself. “…We’ll try it.”

And just like that, the impossible, infuriating, chaotic Sirius Black had officially been granted an opening into Severus’ carefully controlled life.

God help him, Severus thought, placing the receiver down and sitting back, I’ve made the most ridiculous decision of my adult life.