The first birthday Sirius Black ruined, you were seven years old.

You remembered it because your mother had spent the entire morning baking a strawberry cake with pink frosting, because James had been unusually well-behaved—which, in hindsight, should have worried everyone far more than it did—and because you had insisted on wearing a cream dress embroidered with little daisies since birthday girls were obviously supposed to look like princesses. Everything had been perfect. You had blown out your candles, squeezed your eyes shut while making the most important wish seven-year-old you could possibly imagine, and had just opened them again when Sirius, already grinning like someone who knew something the rest of the room didn’t, announced that birthday wishes only came true if everyone had blue hair. James believed him immediately. Remus looked deeply unconvinced. Peter looked curious. Your parents barely had enough time to exchange one tired look before James and Sirius disappeared upstairs and returned carrying one of Euphemia Potter’s experimental colour potions. Less than a minute later, Remus’s fringe was turquoise, Peter’s eyebrows had turned an alarming shade of green, James somehow managed to dye only his ears blue, and your carefully braided bangs had become violently, unmistakably purple. You cried for an hour. Sirius laughed for two.

The truly unfortunate part was that everyone assumed he’d eventually grow out of it.

He didn’t.

By the time you turned ten, your parents had actually believed James when he promised that he and Sirius would behave. They were older now, apparently. Mature. Responsible. Remus had looked at them with the exhausted expression of someone who already knew exactly how the afternoon would end. Somehow, against every law of probability, they behaved for almost three whole hours. You opened presents, ate cake, thanked your relatives, and fell hopelessly in love with the tiny cream-coloured kitten curled up inside a little basket lined with blankets. She purred the moment you picked her up. She rubbed her nose against your cheek. She looked impossibly sweet until Sirius disappeared for all of five minutes and returned carrying one of James’s old Quidditch capes, declaring, with the confidence of a man presenting royalty, that everyone should bow before “Lady Whiskerton, Protector of Birthdays.” The kitten wore the cape for approximately six seconds before launching herself up the sitting room curtains. Your father climbed after her. The curtain rod surrendered almost immediately. Your father landed safely. The curtains did not. Sirius laughed so hard he couldn’t stand.

You started expecting something after that.

Not because you wanted to.

Because experience had taught you it was safer.

Your twelfth birthday was suspiciously quiet. There were no explosions before lunch, no whispered conversations disappearing upstairs, no missing household objects, no suspicious smoke drifting beneath bedroom doors. You remember actually thinking, perhaps foolishly, that Sirius had finally outgrown whatever part of his brain convinced him birthdays needed improving. Then your mother walked into the kitchen and screamed. Six garden gnomes tore through the house as though they owned the place, one somehow wearing James’s old Gryffindor tie, another triumphantly dragging away an entire dinner roll, while a third attempted to climb the grandfather clock. No one admitted responsibility. James looked genuinely bewildered. Peter looked moments away from confessing to crimes he hadn’t committed. Remus apologised despite having absolutely nothing to apologise for. Sirius, meanwhile, was trying so desperately not to smile that the corners of his mouth kept twitching upward every few seconds, which only confirmed what everyone already knew.

As he got older, the pranks became less destructive and somehow much more elaborate.

For your fourteenth birthday, every single present waiting for you had been enchanted. You discovered this the moment your fingers brushed the ribbon on the first neatly wrapped box. It immediately burst into a booming operatic rendition of Happy Birthday. Before it had even reached the chorus, the second present joined in. Then the third. Then every single gift beneath the table. Within seconds, the sitting room sounded like it was hosting a full magical choir. The books sang bass. The perfume somehow managed soprano. Even the tiny jewellery box found harmony. The socks were the worst offenders. Every time you picked them up, they enthusiastically restarted the entire performance from the beginning. Your father nearly spilled his tea. Your mother laughed until tears streamed down her cheeks. James collapsed dramatically onto the carpet, unable to breathe from laughing, while Remus hid behind his own birthday present in a completely unsuccessful attempt to disguise his smile. Sirius simply leaned against the fireplace with his arms folded, looking unbearably pleased with himself before casually mentioning that enchanting every gift individually had taken him nearly three weeks.

You should have realised that giving Sirius Black more time to think only made him more dangerous.

Your sixteenth birthday proved exactly that.

To this day, no one quite understood how he’d managed to convince James that magical fireworks belonged inside a house, but somehow he’d done it. The first rocket shot into the air before anyone could stop them, exploding into glittering scarlet phoenixes that swooped beneath the ceiling while silver dragons chased each other through the hallway and tiny constellations burst across the sitting room in showers of gold. Peter vanished beneath the dining table. Remus already had his wand out attempting damage control before the second explosion. James looked as though he were witnessing the greatest achievement in wizarding history. Your father spent the next ten minutes extinguishing curtains, rescuing smoking portraits and muttering words you were fairly certain your mother wished you hadn’t heard, while black scorch marks remained stubbornly burned across the ceiling for months afterward. Sirius maintained they added character. No one else agreed.

By the time your seventeenth birthday arrived, the routine had become so familiar it felt almost comforting. You woke to your mother’s gentle kiss against your forehead and your father’s impossibly tight hug. James still tackled you onto the sofa before breakfast despite repeated warnings that one day he would actually break something. Remus handed you a carefully chosen book with a note tucked inside the cover because he always remembered exactly what you liked to read. Peter brought homemade sweets because he knew your favourite recipe by heart. And then, almost without thinking, you waited.

Because there was always one more present.

Not necessarily wrapped.

Just…something.

Something ridiculous and infuriating.

Something that would almost certainly leave your parents sighing, James laughing until he couldn’t breathe, Remus rubbing his temples, Peter trying very hard to look innocent, and you swearing that Sirius Black was the single most insufferable person you had ever met.

It never mattered that he ruined every birthday.

Because somehow, every ruined birthday became everyone’s favourite story.

Years later, no one remembered what books Remus had given you, or what sweets Peter had baked, or even what your parents had wrapped in pretty paper. They remembered the purple bangs, Lady Whiskerton, the garden gnomes, the singing socks, the scorch marks on the ceiling. They remembered Sirius laughing so hard he could barely stand while you promised, every single year, that this time you were absolutely going to hex him.

You never did.

And somewhere along the way, without either of you noticing exactly when it happened, your birthdays stopped feeling complete until Sirius Black had ruined them first.

Until your eighteenth birthday arrived warm and golden, wrapped in the kind of lazy summer afternoon that seemed determined to stretch on forever.

The Potter house was overflowing long before lunch. Every window had been thrown open to let the breeze carry the smell of freshly cut grass and Euphemia’s cooking through the rooms, while enchanted fairy lights drifted lazily above the garden despite the bright sunlight, twinkling simply because they could. Someone had charmed a wireless to play softly in the background, the music weaving through conversations and bursts of laughter as neighbours, relatives, old friends, and half of Gryffindor House seemed to wander between the house and the garden carrying plates piled embarrassingly high with food. Children darted between tables, chasing one another through flowerbeds despite repeated warnings from their parents, while James and Sirius were, unsurprisingly, encouraging them instead of stopping them.

You stood near the back garden with a glass of lemonade in your hand, absentmindedly smoothing invisible wrinkles from your dress for what had to be the hundredth time that afternoon.

“Eighteen,” James announced dramatically as he appeared beside you, throwing an arm over your shoulders with enough force to nearly spill your drink.

“I’m ancient.” you said, fixing your hair again.

You laughed despite yourself.

“You are.”

“I’m practically ready for retirement.”

“I’ve already picked out a lovely nursing home for you.”

You elbowed him sharply in the ribs.

He yelped loud enough for several guests to turn around before breaking into laughter, pulling you briefly into a side hug that smelled faintly of sunshine, grass, and broom polish.

Across the garden, Sirius was helping Remus carry a tray loaded with glasses balanced far too precariously for anyone’s comfort. He looked up almost absently, caught your eyes across the crowd, and immediately smiled, that effortless smile that always looked like he knew something no one else did.

You rolled your eyes on instinct.

He answered with an exaggerated wink.

You shook your head.

Everything was perfectly, wonderfully normal.

Dinner disappeared beneath conversation and laughter. James told the same embarrassing childhood stories he’d told every year despite your increasingly theatrical threats against his life. Sirius interrupted every single one to make them even less flattering. Your father claimed none of them were remotely true. Your mother insisted they all were. Remus quietly corrected everyone’s timelines with remarkable patience, Peter laughed a little too loudly at every joke, and for a while you found yourself thinking that perhaps this birthday would simply be...peaceful.

It should have felt strange.

Instead, it felt almost unsettling.

After dinner, everyone gathered in the sitting room, presents stacked neatly beside the fireplace in brightly coloured paper and crooked ribbons. Your parents insisted on going first, your mother fastening a delicate gold necklace around your neck herself while your father pretended very hard not to become emotional about the fact that his little girl was somehow an adult. Remus handed you a carefully wrapped first edition of your favourite novel, complete with tiny notes he’d pencilled in on scraps of parchment marking his favourite passages because, of course, he had. Peter shuffled awkwardly toward you next, cheeks pink as he admitted he’d completely forgotten to wrap your present before producing a slightly squashed Honeydukes box from behind his back. James, naturally, made an entire performance out of his gift, dramatically presenting a broom maintenance kit with a flourishing bow.

“Your current one,” he declared gravely, “looks tragic.”

“It does not.”

“It cries every time you fly it.”

You laughed so hard your sides hurt, clutching the broom maintenance kit to your chest while James looked unbearably proud of himself, as though he had personally invented gift-giving. He accepted your laughter as the highest form of praise, taking an exaggerated bow that earned him a chorus of groans from everyone in the room. Your mother affectionately rolled her eyes. Your father muttered something about raising a menace. Sirius snorted into his drink. Even Remus, who had been quietly sipping tea in the corner, couldn’t quite hide the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

You thanked your parents first, hugging them both tightly, your fingers lingering for a second longer around your mother’s shoulders when she reached up to straighten the delicate gold necklace she’d just fastened around your neck. You crossed the room to Remus next, wrapping your arms around him while he awkwardly returned the embrace, mumbling something about hoping the book wasn’t already on your shelf. Peter visibly relaxed when you hugged him too, laughing sheepishly as he admitted, for what had to be the fourth time, that he really had intended to wrap the chocolates before remembering approximately ten minutes before dinner.

For a moment, the room settled into that comfortable sort of chaos that always followed presents. Wrapping paper littered the floor. Empty teacups sat forgotten on every available surface. Your aunt had already started another conversation across the room. Someone reached for another slice of cake. James was still dramatically explaining why broom maintenance kits were deeply sentimental gifts, despite absolutely no one asking him to.

Then…nothing.

Your eyes drifted over the room almost instinctively, waiting for him to interrupt the moment the way he always did. Waiting for the inevitable chaos. Waiting for Sirius to produce something ridiculous that would leave everyone laughing and your parents questioning why they continued allowing him inside the house.

But the interruption never came.

You glanced around once more, slower this time.

“…That’s everyone?”

James frowned, looking around as though he, too, felt something was missing.

“I…” He counted silently on his fingers before shrugging. “I think so.”

Your gaze settled on Sirius.

He was sitting across the room with one ankle resting on his opposite knee, a half-empty glass dangling loosely between his fingers. The moment he noticed you looking at him, his attention shifted with remarkable speed toward the stack of empty dessert plates on the coffee table, studying them with such exaggerated concentration that it would have been convincing if you hadn’t known him your entire life.

“Black.”

“Hm?”

“You forgot.”

That finally made him look up.

“What?”

“My birthday.”

There was no accusation in your voice, mostly confusion.

Because forgetting simply wasn’t something Sirius Black did.

Not when it came to this. To you.

His eyebrows lifted slightly.

“I didn’t forget.”

A tiny knot tightened somewhere beneath your ribs.

“You didn’t get me anything.”

Silence settled over the room so quickly it almost echoed.

The conversations nearby faltered one by one until even the wireless seemed strangely loud in the background.

Remus’s eyes moved slowly between the two of you, the faint crease between his brows deepening as though he were trying to solve a puzzle that suddenly didn’t make sense.

Peter became intensely interested in the patch of grass visible through the open French doors, studying it with the dedication of someone hoping to disappear entirely.

James blinked once.

Then frowned.

“…Pads?”

Sirius shifted in his seat.

For the first time all evening, for perhaps the first time you had ever seen, he didn’t have an answer ready.

His fingers tightened almost imperceptibly around his glass before he set it down on the table.

He rubbed the back of his neck.

Opened his mouth.

Closed it again.

“I…”

His voice came out quieter than expected.

“…I didn’t.”

You stared at him.

Waiting.

Surely this was the joke. Surely in five seconds he’d pull something absurd from behind the sofa or announce that your actual present had escaped into the garden or somehow transformed itself into a goose.

Five seconds passed but nothing happened.

Your smile disappeared before you even realized it had.

“Oh.”

It was barely louder than a breath.

Not because you cared about a present.

Merlin, Sirius had spent years giving you things that couldn’t even be considered presents. Purple hair wasn’t a present. Singing socks weren’t a present. Garden gnomes certainly weren’t presents.

But there had always been something.

Always.

“It isn’t—”

“No.”

You interrupted him gently, almost automatically.

“It’s fine.”

The words left your mouth almost automatically, polished by years of pretending you were far less affected by things than you actually were. Even your voice cooperated, betraying nothing except perhaps a slight hesitation on the second word. But the silence that followed was immediate, suffocating. No one believed you. Not your mother, whose smile had vanished so completely that she was already twisting the edge of her napkin between nervous fingers. Not your father, whose expression shifted into quiet concern as he looked from you to Sirius. Not Remus, who had lowered his teacup without taking another sip, watching you with the kind of careful attention reserved for injured animals that might bolt if approached too quickly. Peter stared helplessly between the two of you, opening his mouth once before deciding against whatever he had been about to say. James looked genuinely horrified, his eyebrows drawn together so tightly they nearly touched, as though he couldn’t quite process what he had just witnessed.

“It doesn’t matter.”

The sentence came more quickly this time, almost tripping over itself in its desperate attempt to sound convincing.

James shook his head immediately.

“What?” he blurted, taking a step toward you. “No—it does matter.”

His voice was louder than anyone else’s had been all evening, sharp with disbelief as he looked first at you and then at Sirius, waiting, almost expecting his best friend to burst into laughter and reveal whatever elaborate joke this had all been leading toward.

Sirius didn’t.

“No,” you replied before your brother could speak again, forcing the corners of your mouth upward into something that vaguely resembled a smile. It felt unnatural the moment it settled on your face, thin and fragile enough that you were certain everyone could see straight through it. Unable to bear the weight of Sirius’s gaze any longer, you dropped your eyes to the delicate gold necklace resting against your collarbone instead, absently running your fingertips across the tiny pendant your mother had given you only minutes earlier. “Apparently…” You swallowed, your throat suddenly unbearably tight. “…apparently it doesn’t.”

The words lingered in the room long after you’d spoken them.

No one interrupted them.

No one tried to fill the silence they left behind.

Even the wireless seemed quieter now, its cheerful melody drifting in faintly through the open windows with an almost cruel indifference, as though the rest of the world hadn’t noticed that something had quietly gone wrong.

You stood very still for a moment, staring at the collection of presents scattered across your lap.

The first edition Remus had spent months searching for.

Peter’s slightly squashed box of Honeydukes chocolates.

James’s ridiculous broom maintenance kit.

Your parents’ necklace catching the warm evening light.

Your fingers closed around the handle of the maintenance kit first. You carefully placed it back onto the pile beside you with far more care than necessary, adjusting it until it sat perfectly straight. Then you smoothed invisible wrinkles from your dress. Once. Then again. Then a third time, simply because your hands needed something to do before they started shaking.

Only then did you stand.

The scrape of the chair legs against the wooden floor sounded impossibly loud.

Nobody moved.

Your mother looked instinctively toward your father, her eyes silently asking whether one of them should say something, anything, to stop you before this moment settled into something much harder to fix. Your father hesitated. Remus leaned forward in his chair, his elbows resting on his knees as though he were only a heartbeat away from getting up, but years of knowing you kept him rooted where he was. He knew that reaching for you now might only make you retreat further. Peter looked miserable. James took one uncertain step in your direction before stopping altogether, glancing helplessly between you and Sirius with an expression that bordered on panic.

“…Pads?”

His voice was quieter now.

Confused, almost pleading, but Sirius didn’t answer him.

He didn’t answer anyone.

He simply sat there, his forearms resting on his knees now, his hands loosely clasped together, staring at the floor for a long second before finally lifting his eyes toward you.

You couldn’t look back.

Because somehow, after eleven birthdays spent bracing yourself for absolute chaos...you had never once imagined having to prepare yourself for nothing at all.

Not from him. Never from him.

So you turned before anyone could see your expression change any further.

The sitting room suddenly felt far too small, every pair of eyes following you as you crossed it in slow, measured steps. The laughter that had filled the house only minutes before had vanished so completely that all you could hear was the quiet creak of the old floorboards beneath your feet and the distant clink of someone’s forgotten teacup settling onto its saucer.

You heard Sirius inhale.

As though he were finally about to say something.

Your name, perhaps.

An explanation. A joke. Anything.

You didn’t wait to find out.

You slipped through the doorway and into the house before anyone could think of the right words to stop you.

The hallway beyond felt strangely cool after the warmth of the crowded sitting room. The sounds of the party continued outside, muffled now by thick stone walls and closed distance. Laughter drifted faintly through the open windows downstairs. Someone in the garden started another story. Glasses clinked together in celebration. The wireless kept playing the same cheerful tune.

The party hadn’t stopped.

The world hadn’t stopped.

Only you had.

You climbed the staircase almost without thinking, each step carrying you farther away from the warmth and laughter still filling the Potter house. Your hand skimmed absentmindedly over the polished wooden banister your father had spent countless weekends refinishing, the familiar grooves beneath your fingertips grounding you just enough to keep putting one foot in front of the other. The music from the wireless drifted faintly through the floorboards beneath you, accompanied by bursts of laughter from the garden every few seconds, muffled now into an indistinct hum that felt strangely distant. It was odd, you thought. Only moments ago you had been sitting in the middle of it all, surrounded by people who loved you. Now it sounded as though it belonged to someone else’s birthday entirely.

Halfway up the stairs, your vision blurred.

Not enough to cry.

Just enough that you had to blink twice before the hallway came back into focus.

You swallowed hard.

The knot in your throat refused to move.

By the time you reached the landing, the noise downstairs had softened into little more than voices blending together beneath the music and the evening birds singing outside the open windows. The upstairs hallway was quiet, washed in the warm amber light of the setting sun pouring through the long window at the end of the corridor. Dust floated lazily through the golden light, undisturbed.

You stopped without meaning to.

It was as though your body had simply decided it couldn’t carry you another step.

The strength drained from your legs so suddenly that you leaned sideways until your shoulder met the wallpapered wall with a soft, dull thud. You closed your eyes immediately, pressing the heel of your hand against your forehead, fingers disappearing briefly into your hairline as though you could somehow massage away the tightness gathering behind your eyes. A slow breath filled your lungs. Then another. You held each one for a second before letting it escape just as carefully, willing yourself to calm down, willing your heartbeat to slow, willing the ridiculous sting behind your eyes to disappear before it became something you couldn’t hide.

It didn’t.

The ache remained lodged stubbornly beneath your ribs, heavy and uncomfortable in a way that had nothing to do with birthdays and everything to do with expectations.

A quiet laugh escaped through your nose.

“This is ridiculous,” you whispered into the empty hallway, shaking your head at yourself. “Honestly…”

You let your hand fall back to your side.

You were eighteen years old. An adult. Standing alone in your parents’ hallway, trying not to cry over a birthday present.

The thought sounded almost laughable.

Pathetic, even.

If anyone else had told you that story, you would have rolled your eyes and told them they were being dramatic.

“You walk fast.” His voice broke the silence so gently that, for a heartbeat, you wondered whether you’d imagined it.

Your entire body stiffened but you didn’t turn around.

Didn’t move. Didn’t even open your eyes at first.

For one brief, cowardly second, you considered pretending you hadn’t heard him. Pretending the hallway was still empty. Pretending that if neither of you spoke, this evening could somehow rewind itself back to before he’d looked at the dessert plates instead of at you.

Instead, you opened your eyes slowly and kept them fixed on the floorboards beneath your feet.

“Go away.” Your voice came out far quieter than you intended. “I really don’t want to do this right now.”

“I know.”

“Then don’t.”

Another silence followed, and this one felt heavier than the first.

“I can’t.”

You heard him begin walking before you saw him.

The old floorboards announced every careful step with familiar little creaks, each one echoing gently through the empty hallway. They weren’t the confident strides Sirius usually had, the ones that filled every room before he even opened his mouth. These were slower. Hesitant. As though he was measuring every step, giving you every opportunity to tell him to leave again.

He stopped a few feet behind you, close enough that you could hear the quiet rhythm of his breathing but far enough that he wasn’t cornering you.

The silence stretched between you until it became almost unbearable.

Outside, a breeze stirred the leaves beyond the open window.

Downstairs, someone laughed.

Life carried on.

“You forgot my birthday.” The words slipped out before you had fully decided to say them.

Behind you, Sirius answered immediately. “I didn’t.”

You let out a slow breath, your fingers curling slightly against your palms.

“You forgot a present.”

“I…” His voice faltered.

It wasn’t hesitation born from annoyance.

It sounded almost like he’d run headfirst into a wall of words he suddenly couldn’t climb over.

Slowly, you turned your head just enough to see him from the corner of your eye.

His hands were shoved deep into the pockets of his jeans. His shoulders, usually so relaxed they bordered on careless, looked strangely tense. His jaw was tight, his gaze fixed somewhere near the floor rather than on you, as though looking directly at your face required more courage than he currently possessed.

“You gave everyone something,” you said quietly, every word slow and deliberate, as though speaking too quickly might make your voice betray you. “You spent nearly a month’s allowance tracking down that fountain pen Remus mentioned once in passing. You searched half of Diagon Alley with Peter because he couldn’t stop talking about that camera he wanted. You bought James those Quidditch gloves before he’d even realized they were being released.” Your eyes finally lifted to meet his, and whatever little composure you had left seemed to disappear beneath the weight of his silence. “And me?” you whispered, almost afraid of the answer. “What did I get?”

Sirius inhaled sharply, his brows knitting together almost immediately.

“You don’t understand.” The words came too fast, almost stumbling over one another in his rush to stop you from believing whatever conclusion you’d already reached.

“Then explain.”

You gave him every opportunity to do exactly that.

His lips parted. He looked at you as if the answer was already there, waiting to be spoken. Nothing came. His jaw tightened, and he swallowed hard enough for you to see the movement in his throat. He tried again, quieter this time.

“I…”

The word died before it became a sentence.

His eyes searched yours helplessly, almost pleadingly, as though somehow you might understand what he couldn’t bring himself to say.

The silence that followed said far more than either of you wanted it to.

A sad smile tugged at your lips.

“…That’s what I thought.”

You pushed yourself away from the wall, brushing invisible dust from your skirt before stepping past him. Your shoulder barely grazed his arm as you walked by, determined to keep moving before your emotions caught up with you.

You had only managed two steps.

Warm fingers closed gently around your wrist.

Not enough to hurt. Not enough to trap you.

Just enough to ask you to stay.

His grip was unbelievably careful, almost hesitant, as though he expected you to pull away the second you realized he was touching you. For someone who had never doubted himself a day in his life, Sirius looked strangely fragile.

“Please,” he said quietly.

The single word stopped you more effectively than if he’d shouted.

You turned slowly.

His hand was still around your wrist, though his fingers had already loosened slightly, silently giving you the choice to leave if you wanted to. He looked nothing like the Sirius everyone downstairs knew. There was no crooked grin, no effortless confidence, no spark of mischief dancing in his grey eyes. Instead, he looked completely lost, standing in the middle of the hallway as though he’d reached the end of a map he’d always assumed he understood.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke.

“I…” Sirius started again, his voice catching almost immediately. His gaze flickered across your face, lingering on your eyes before dropping to your wrist in his hand, then back again. He looked as though he was searching for permission, for forgiveness, for any sign that he hadn’t already ruined something he couldn’t bear to lose.

“Sirius…”

You hadn’t meant for your voice to soften.

Something shifted in his expression.

You saw it happen.

It wasn’t dramatic. There was no sudden realization written across his face, no grand declaration waiting behind his lips. It was quieter than that. Almost imperceptible. His shoulders, held tense since he’d followed you upstairs, relaxed by the smallest degree. His eyes searched yours one last time, lingering there as though silently asking a question he was too afraid to voice.

Then he moved.

The distance between you disappeared in a single hesitant step.

His hand left your wrist slowly, almost reluctantly, as though he wasn’t entirely convinced you wouldn’t vanish the moment he let go. For the briefest second, his fingers hovered uncertainly in the space between you before finding your cheek instead. His palm settled against your face with remarkable gentleness, warm and slightly trembling, his thumb brushing the soft curve beneath your eye in a touch so careful it almost felt accidental. Sirius Black had always touched the world with confidence: clapping James on the back hard enough to make him stumble, ruffling Peter’s hair just to annoy him, throwing an arm around Remus’s shoulders without a second thought. But he touched you like you were something infinitely more fragile than glass.

His breathing faltered, and so did yours.

For one suspended heartbeat, he simply stood there, close enough that you could see the tiny flecks of silver hidden inside his grey eyes, close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath ghosting across your lips. His gaze drifted down to your mouth before returning to your eyes again, giving you every chance to stop him.

You didn’t.

And maybe that was all the courage he needed.

Sirius leaned in so slowly it almost hurt.

The tip of his nose brushed yours first, an impossibly soft, almost clumsy touch that made both of you pause instinctively. You felt him hesitate there, close enough that your breaths tangled together, as though he were memorizing the distance before crossing it forever. Then, with all the caution of someone handling something precious, he closed the final inch between you.

His lips met yours.

The kiss was impossibly gentle.

It carried none of the reckless confidence that seemed stitched into every other part of Sirius Black. There was no urgency, no arrogance, no triumphant certainty. Instead, it felt almost like a confession, one he’d been writing silently for years without ever finding the courage to read aloud. Every birthday prank, every ridiculous joke, every stolen glance across the Potter dining table, every excuse to make you laugh seemed to gather quietly into that single moment until the kiss became all the words he had never managed to say.

Time seemed to fold in on itself.

The laughter downstairs dissolved into a distant murmur. The music from the wireless blurred into something soft and unrecognizable. Even the birds outside the open window faded beneath the sound of your own heartbeat, loud enough that you wondered absurdly whether he could hear it too.

You didn’t know who moved first.

Maybe it was him. Maybe it was you.

All you knew was that somehow the hesitation melted away. Your fingers, which had hung uselessly at your sides only seconds before, found the fabric of his shirt almost without your permission, gently curling into it. Sirius exhaled against your lips, the smallest, quietest breath of relief, and you felt his shoulders finally loosen beneath your hands as though he’d been carrying this moment for far longer than either of you realized.

He kissed you again, just a fraction deeper this time, still impossibly careful, still giving you every opportunity to pull away. There was something almost reverent in it, something that made your chest ache. As though he couldn’t quite believe he was allowed to be this close to you. As though this wasn’t something he had taken, but something you had given him.

When he finally pulled away, it was only by the smallest fraction. His forehead came to rest against yours, both of you breathing the same stolen breath, neither willing to move any farther than necessary. His hand never left your face. His thumb continued its slow, absent-minded journey across your cheek, brushing back and forth in tiny, almost nervous strokes that betrayed everything the rest of him was trying so desperately to hide. He had never looked uncertain a day in his life, yet now, standing in the golden light spilling through the hallway window, his grey eyes searched yours with an unfamiliar vulnerability. There was no trace of his usual smug grin or playful arrogance. No spark of mischief waiting to ruin the moment with a joke. Just a boy looking at the girl he’d spent years making laugh, silently wondering whether he’d made the biggest mistake of his life.

A soft smile, small enough that it almost disappeared before it fully appeared, pulled at the corner of his mouth.

“Happy birthday.”

You blinked.

“What?”

His smile grew by the tiniest amount, though it remained painfully uncertain.

“That’s your birthday present, love.”

You stared at him for several long seconds, searching his face for any hint that he was joking.

There wasn’t one.

“Sirius.”

“Yes?”

“You…”

You laughed quietly in disbelief, shaking your head.

“You kissed me.”

“I did.”

“And that’s supposed to be my birthday present?”

He let out a slow breath through his nose, wincing almost immediately.

“When you repeat it back to me…” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand, “…it sounds significantly less romantic than it did inside my head.”

Against every bit of your better judgment, a tiny laugh escaped you.

You watched the tension melt from his shoulders almost instantly, as though that one small sound had untied a knot he’d been carrying since he followed you upstairs. The anxious crease between his brows eased, and for the first time since the sitting room, you caught a glimpse of the Sirius you knew hiding beneath all the uncertainty.

“I didn’t forget,” he said again, this time so quietly you almost missed it. The smile faded from his lips as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by something earnest enough to make your chest ache. “I swear to you…I didn’t.”

Your amusement softened into curiosity.

“Then why?”

He sighed, his gaze falling to the wooden floor between you. His fingers disappeared into his dark hair, pushing it back only for the untidy curls to fall stubbornly into place again a second later. He looked strangely embarrassed, as though admitting this somehow frightened him more than kissing you had.

“Because I couldn’t think of anything.”

You frowned.

“Anything?”

“Anything good enough.”

His eyes finally returned to yours, hesitant, almost embarrassed. A small smile tugged at one corner of his mouth, the kind that appeared only when he was remembering something fondly.

“Every year…” he murmured. “Every year I gave you something completely ridiculous. Purple hair. Singing socks. Garden gnomes. Fireworks that nearly got me permanently banned from your house.”

“They did get you banned.”

“For two weeks.”

“My mother wanted to make it permanent.”

“I know,” he laughed softly. “She looked at me like she was deciding whether Azkaban accepted sixteen-year-olds.”

Despite yourself, a quiet laugh slipped from your lips.

It lingered only for a moment before the silence returned.

Sirius lowered his gaze again, absentmindedly tracing invisible patterns against the sleeve of his jumper with his thumb.

“I always did those things because…” He hesitated, exhaling through his nose as though the words felt strangely vulnerable. “Because I liked being the reason you laughed.”

You didn’t interrupt him.

“I knew your parents would always give you something beautiful. Remus would find you a book you’d treasure forever. Peter would bring sweets because he knows you can’t say no to Honeydukes.” Another tiny smile crossed his face. “Everyone always gave you things you could keep.”

His grey eyes lifted to meet yours again.

“So I figured…” He shrugged, suddenly looking far less like the boy who laughed his way through life and far more like someone afraid of being misunderstood. “If I couldn’t give you the nicest present…then I’d give you the one you’d remember.”

Your heart squeezed painfully.

“This year…” His voice softened until it was almost swallowed by the quiet hallway around you. “I wanted to do better.”

You watched him carefully.

“I spent weeks wandering around Diagon Alley.”

Your eyebrows lifted.

“Weeks?”

“Weeks,” he repeated with a defeated sigh. “I must’ve walked into every shop at least twice.”

“And?”

“I hated all of it.”

A smile tugged at your lips.

“You hated every single present in Diagon Alley?”

“It all felt…” He lifted one hand helplessly before letting it fall again. “Small.”

The word hung gently between you.

“I’d pick something up,” he continued quietly, “and then I’d imagine giving it to you…and it never felt right. It was always just another necklace, another book, another box tied up with ribbon.” He shook his head almost imperceptibly. “You’d smile because you’re kind, but it wouldn’t be you.”

He stepped a fraction closer without even realizing it.

“I kept thinking that after everything we’ve done together…” A soft laugh escaped him. “…after seventeen birthdays of ruining your life, how was I supposed to compete with all those memories using something I bought off a shelf?”

Your heart softened before you could stop it.

His thumb brushed gently beneath your cheekbone, lingering there with quiet affection.

“And then it finally hit me.”

He smiled, a nervous, almost boyish smile that made him look younger than ever.

“The only thing I had left to give you…”

His eyes searched yours.

“…was something that actually belonged to me.”

Your breath caught.

“So…” His ears turned the faintest shade of pink, something you would have missed if you hadn’t been standing so impossibly close. He let out a quiet, almost embarrassed laugh, lowering his gaze for the briefest moment before looking back at you. “…I kissed you.”

For several long seconds, you simply stared at him.

You should have been annoyed.

You should have reminded him that making someone think they’d been forgotten all evening was an absolutely terrible way to confess feelings.

Merlin, you should have made him suffer at least a little for the emotional torture he’d put you through downstairs.

Instead, the tightness in your chest slowly unraveled.

Like sunlight melting frost.

Your eyes drifted almost involuntarily to his lips, still close enough that you could remember exactly how they had felt against yours only moments ago. When your gaze lifted again, you found him watching you with cautious hope, as though he was waiting for the inevitable moment you laughed in his face or shoved him away.

You did neither.

Without saying a single word, you closed the tiny distance between you once more.

This kiss was different, it wasn’t born from years of hidden feelings finally spilling over. It wasn’t hesitant. It wasn’t an apology.

It was light.

Your lips brushed his in a kiss so brief it barely lasted longer than a heartbeat, yet somehow it made Sirius freeze far more completely than the first one had. You smiled into it before slowly pulling away, though not nearly far enough to break the space between you. Your noses still brushed lightly, your breaths mingling in the warm evening air filtering through the open window.

“So…”

His eyebrows lifted almost immediately, the corners of his mouth twitching with cautious curiosity.

“So?”

A smile slowly found its way onto your face, not a big one, not yet. Just enough for something to click behind his eyes. You watched the exact moment recognition dawned on him, watched his shoulders tense ever so slightly as he realized that expression had nothing to do with forgiveness and everything to do with the fact that you were about to make his life considerably more difficult. Sirius had known you long enough to recognize that smile instantly. It was the one that usually appeared moments before you proved him wrong in an argument, stole his wand after he’d annoyed you, or spent an entire afternoon refusing to speak to him simply because he’d deserved it.

“You still have to buy me something.”

For one perfect heartbeat, he simply blinked.

His mouth opened.

Closed.

Then opened again.

“You cannot possibly be serious.”

“I absolutely am.”

He stared at you in complete disbelief, bringing one hand dramatically to his chest as though you’d physically wounded him.

“I’ve just poured my heart out to you,” he said, gesturing animatedly between the two of you. “I confessed feelings I’ve been bottling up for Merlin knows how long. I kissed you.” He paused, looking personally offended by your lack of appreciation. “I’ve spent weeks emotionally suffering.”

You nodded with exaggerated sympathy, gently patting his arm.

“That sounds incredibly difficult, Black.”

“It was.”

“I’ll light a candle for you.”

“You’re mocking me.”

“A little.”

His expression became even more dramatic.

“I’ve been through an emotional ordeal.”

“And yet…” You tilted your head with practiced innocence, your fingers absentmindedly reaching forward to tap the front pocket of his jacket as though checking whether a mysteriously forgotten present might suddenly appear there. “…I still don’t have a birthday gift.”

Sirius looked down at where your finger had poked his pocket before looking back up at you, scandalized.

“I am deeply offended.”

“You should be shopping.”

“Come on,” he protested, throwing both hands into the air. “I just gave you the most meaningful gift I’ve ever given another human being.”

“You gave me a kiss.”

“The best kiss of your life, Potter.”

You rolled your eyes so dramatically it earned exactly the grin he’d been hoping for.

“Very romantic,” you admitted.

“I knew you’d see reason.”

“…And extremely convenient.”

His mouth fell open.

“You kissed me because you had nothing else.”

He gasped so theatrically that you almost expected him to collapse onto the floor.

“I kissed you because I have impeccable instincts.”

“You kissed me because the shops were closed.”

“The shops were not closed, love.”

“They may as well have been.”

“I refuse to accept that version of events.”

“It’s the only logical explanation.”

He narrowed his eyes at you, trying very hard to look offended while fighting a smile that refused to stay hidden. The silence stretched between you for only a second before he let out an exaggerated groan, dropping his forehead gently against yours once more.

“You’re impossible.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“No,” he murmured, laughing under his breath as his nose brushed yours. “I think you’re actually getting worse.”

“I learned from the best.”

“Well, that’s unfortunate for me.”

“It really is.”

He sighed with theatrical defeat, letting his shoulders slump dramatically as though accepting the outcome of a battle he’d fought bravely but inevitably lost.

“…Fine.”

Your eyes lit up immediately.

“Fine?”

“I’ll buy you something.”

“Good.”

“But,” he added, lifting a finger between the two of you with all the seriousness of someone negotiating an international treaty, “I’m still counting the kiss as the main present.”

You looked at him for a long moment before your smile softened into something so bright it made him forget, if only for a second, that he had just lost the argument entirely.

After eighteen years of trying to make your birthdays unforgettable, Sirius Black finally realized the truth: he had been the unforgettable part all along.

Roronoa Zoro

As the dust settled, Zoro sheathed his swords and immediately swept his gaze over the battlefield searching for you. As he checked his surroundings, however, his stomach sank. He couldn’t find you anywhere.

He had been sure to check on you during the battle. He knew you could hold your own, but if you ever needed help he didn’t want to be the last to know. So, as the battle came to a close he had expected you to be with Nami and Usopp, where you had been the last time he had seen you out of the corner of his eye. As he watched you use your Devil Fruit powers to protect your friends he found himself brimming with love. Seeing you in battle had made him proud.

Not seeing you after the battle was making him sick.

He immediately called out for you as he began to search the area. When no answer came, he called out again, louder. This time, he gained the attention of the others.

“Wait, they’re not with you?” Usopp spoke, concern, lacing his words.

“They were heading your way last time we saw them,” Nami confirmed, already joining the search.

Zoro’s heart was going to beat out of his chest. He began lifting debris and throwing it without hesitation or concern for its landing, searching desperately for you. The others followed suit, though with more strategy than just tossing pieces of building around. Zoro didn’t care to take his time. He would tear this island apart if it meant bringing you back into his arms.

“Zoro, wait!” Nami yelled after a minute of the search. “Listen.”

Zoro stood still, listening for any sign of you. After a few seconds, he was growing impatient and was about to return to his rampage before he heard it. A small cough coming from the edge of the woods.

He ran. The crew could barely keep up. Making it to the edge of the woods, Zoro slowed and called out once more.

In reply, he heard a small, nearly broken voice say, “Here. Zoro, I’m here.”

Following the voice, he found you leaning against a tree, barely conscious and seemingly struggling to breathe. He collapsed to his knees at your side. Scared to cause you any more pain, his hands hovered around your face and body, searching for signs of injury. “What happened?”

Another cough racked your body. “Caught off guard. They got a few,” coughs interrupted you, “good kicks in. Ribs broken for sure…” Seeing his worry, you continued with a smirk, “But you should have seen the other guy.”

He let out an annoyed sigh, but could not deny the pride he felt. “I’d expect nothing less from my girl.” He placed a delicate kiss on your forehead, treating you like the most fragile object he’d ever seen. “Never do that again.”

“No promises,” your smirk stayed.

“Tsk. Now, stop talking so we can find Chopper and  get you fixed up.” He picked you up as carefully as he could.

“Aye, aye, sir,” you replied feeling secure in his arms.

Trafalgar Law

As his Room collapsed at the end of the fight, he surveyed the area. One by one, his crew came into view, bruised up a bit but safe. As the scene settled around him and people started to check on the status of one another, however, you still hadn’t come into view. After another minute, he called out your name. After two, he went into a state of minor panic.

Calming his mind as best he could, he immediately began giving orders. “Shachi, Hak, take the West side. Uni, Jean Bart, you’ve got the East. Bepo, Cl—”

“Captain, I found them!” Ikkaku called out from the edge of the battlefield. You had your hand over her shoulders, leaning your weight onto her as you both stumbled your way towards the rest of the crew.

Law rushed to your side, grabbing your face in his hands as he checked you over for injuries.

“Law, Law! Hey, I’m okay, just a couple bruises, a sprained ankle, and probably a concussion.” You tried to speak with a light tone. As you saw his concern, you continued more softly, grabbing one of his sleeves. “I’m sorry I scared you.”  

He let out a heavy sigh as he pulled you into him, embracing you in the tightest hug he felt he could give without causing you discomfort. “Never do that again.” He pulled back, taking your face in his hands once more, ensuring you were listening. “Never. I— I can’t lose you.”

“You won’t lose me, Law,” you brought your hands up to cover his own, giving them a small squeeze. “I’m not going anywhere. Besides, you really think you could get rid of me.” You sent him a playful smile.

With a soft sigh and a slight smirk, he replied, “Says the one who got lost at the market literally yesterday.”

“HEY!”

Black Leg Sanji

Lowering his leg, he watched the final enemy shoot off to the other side of the battlefield. As the man landed with no sign of getting back up, Sanji immediately turned to head where he had last seen you.

“Ma cherie,” he called out as he made it to the spot where you had stood your ground. Confusion flooded his body with worry following quickly after. Around him lay the broken bodies of enemies you had single-handedly taken down, but you were nowhere to be seen. His heart nearly stopped in his chest as he called out your name, panic stirring in his chest.

“Sanji?” A soft voice spoke out from a few feet away.

Turning a small corner, Sanji found you sitting on the ground, leaning against the side of a crumbling building.

“Mon amour! Are you hurt?” He practically teleported to your side. “My angel, what’s wrong? Where does it hurt?” He looked over your body, scanning for any signs of serious injury. He gently held your face in his hands, “I’m so sorry I wasn’t here to protect you.” Guilt instantly ate away as he imagined you in pain, alone.

“Sanji, I’m fine! Not even a scratch, see.” You held out your arms, turning them over to show your injury-free skin.

“You— You’re not hurt? Then why are you hiding behind this wall?” He asked, puzzled by the circumstances, but elated to see you unharmed.

“You protected me, silly.” You grabbed his cheeks in a playful manner. “You kept taking out everyone heading my way, and I, after I took care of the few that did make it, just kinda got bored and came to take a nap.” You let out a small laugh at the confused look he gave. “Figured my hero had it all under control.”

He let out a shaky laugh at your compliment, but the fear he felt only moments ago still lingered. “I didn’t see you, and I thought something happened…”

“Oh,” your face fell slightly as you reached out to hold his gently, “Oh, Sanji no. I’m okay. I’m sorry I scared you.”

Looking into your eyes, he said, “Of course, you are dear. You’re the strongest woman I know after all.”

Wiping away a smudge of dirt from his face, you placed a kiss on his cheek, instantly turning him red. “Ready to head back my prince charming.”

He lifted you up into his arms, “Only if you are my princess.”

"...her anatomy is remarkable."

the heart pirates exchanged confused glances.

law continued as if discussing the weather.

"minimal scar tissue despite the injuries they survived. her liver regenerated cleanly. the blood vessels are intact where they should be, and her lungs are... surprisingly healthy."

he adjusted a clamp with surgical precision.

"i've operated on countless people. pirates, marines, civilians." his golden eyes briefly flickered toward [redacted]'s unconscious face. "very few have organs this resilient."

bepo blinked. "captain... are... are you complimenting her organs?"

"they deserve it."

the room fell silent.

law continued stitching.

"her heart rhythm is stable even under severe blood loss. efficient. strong." a faint pause. "it's a good heart."

shachi snorted. "captain, you make that sound romantic."

law ignored them completely.

"her kidneys show no long-term damage despite chronic dehydration." he examined another monitor. "healthy pancreas. excellent spleen. her body recovered from malnutrition far better than expected."

he nodded to himself in quiet approval.

"i'd give her organs a perfect score."

"CAPTAIN," bepo whispered, horrified. "normal people compliment someone's eyes..."

law didn't even glance up.

"i notice organs first."

You stab another piece of gnocchi, then slam your fork down. "You know what? I'm going to go wait in the car. Get another drink. Take as long as you want."

You rise from the table, but Rafayel catches your wrist, and tries to pull you back towards him. You glower at him, but don't pull your hand away.

"Okay," he says gently. "Let's leave. I'll just take the rest of this to go."

He glances at the dessert, then at the server's station, then at you.

"On second thought, I'll leave it. I can get something else on the way home."

---

You try to reach for the driver's side door, but Rafayel beats you to it. Actually, he lets you get to it before he pushes in past you and swipes the car keys from your hand.

You stare at him inquisitively.

"What?" he chuckles. "Just because I prefer it when you drive, doesn't mean I actually can't."

You narrow your eyes at him, but then head to the passenger's side door. He rushes past you again, reaching for the door, and opening it for you. You roll your eyes, but can't stop the smile from tugging at the corners of your lips. Rafayel makes his way to the driver's side again, and before you can even buckle your self in, he starts the car and takes off, making you lurch back into your seat.

"Jeez, Rafayel!" you gasp, grasping at the seatbelt. You hurriedly clip yourself in.

"Sorry," he laughs, sheepishly. "Just got excited to drive. I promise, I'm good."

One of your hands grips the handle above the door, and the other is gripping the seatbelt. After a few minutes of driving, you start to relax - it's evident that Rafayel knows what he's doing.

The ride is mostly silent, with the radio softly playing as background noise. You stare out of the window, watching the street lights blur past. Rafayel continues driving, missing the turn he was supposed to take to bring you back home. You turn in your seat and start to protest, but he shushes you.

"I know where I'm going!" he insists. "Just enjoy the ride. We'll be there soon."

---

The car stops at an empty parking lot, facing the shoreline. There are no street lights around - there weren't any for the last few minutes of the drive towards wherever this was - but the entire place is illuminated by the half moon in the sky.

"Where are we?" you ask Rafayel, peering out of your window.

"Stay there," he instructs, getting out of the car. Within a few seconds, he's at your door, pulling it open, his hand extended out to you. You take it, and let him lead you out of the car.

"Come on," he tells you, pulling you along. "I have something to show you."

Both of you head down to the shore, his hand tightly clasped around yours. You make your way to the boardwalk, which extends past where the tide is coming in. Rafayel leads you down, towards the end of the boardwalk, where there is a railing, facing out to the sea. You stop at the railing, watching the moon's reflection rippling on top of the waves.

"Look up," Rafayel whispers, your hand still in his. "Tell me what you see."

You turn your gaze upwards and see a sea of stars, painted across the sky. "I see... the stars?"

"How many?" he asks you.

You shake your head. "Too many to count."

"Yes. That's how many people are going to try to flirt and get my attention while we're together."

You consider tossing Rafayel over the edge of the railing and into the water, but you opt for a dramatic turn and storming back towards the car instead. You're considering leaving him there and just taking the car home without him when he grabs at your wrist again. He pulls you in, and wraps you in an embrace, so tight that you can feel his muscles tensing underneath his jacket. He holds you, one arm wrapped around your waist and the other around your shoulders. His cheek is pressed against yours, and you feel his breath brush against your ear, warm and ticklish. For a few moments, you're both still, locked in this embrace, and you feel his heart pounding against your own chest. Then, he speaks in a gentle whisper.