Sirius

Another fucking year.

The thought hit me harder than the icy wind biting at my face as I walked aimlessly through the empty streets. The air was sharp enough to cut, but compared to the usual chaos of New Year's Eve—fireworks, roaring laughter, lovers sharing drunken confessions—it was eerily quiet. Or maybe that was just my head. My boots scuffed against frost-slicked pavement, and the world felt oddly distant, like I wasn't a part of it, just some silent observer watching from behind a sheet of slippery, one-way glass.

Another fucking year in this dimension.

I kicked at a patch of ice, watching it shatter and scatter into crystalline shards like broken stars. Ha. Stars. Funny. Or, you know, not. Not funny at all. Here I was, Sirius—the blazing light, the so-called First Sorcerer of Canis Major, wielder of incomprehensible cosmic powers—and yet I felt... well, not broken exactly. No, that’d be too dramatic for my taste. I mean, come on, me? Broken? Please. But sad? Yeah, I’ll give you that. Fucking sad.

It wasn’t even the kind of “boo-hoo, woe is me” sadness either. Nah, my pride wouldn’t let me sink that low. It was more like this suffocating weight in my chest, this gnawing ache that had taken up permanent residence inside me somewhere between my ribcage and my spine. I could still remember my world—my real world, the one that burned away while I stood there watching. The screams, the collapsing sky, the way time itself twisted and cracked apart like some cosmic joke gone wrong. And then, nothing. No more stars, no more people, no more me—not the me I used to be, anyway.

Now? Now, I was here. Surviving. Existing. Living, if you could call it that. Another year of trying to fit into this bizarre, patchwork reality. Another year of pretending like it didn’t hurt like hell when I thought about everything—and everyone—I’d lost.

“Fuck,” I muttered under my breath, dragging both hands through my hair. The strands glimmered faintly under the dim light of a flickering street lamp, a ghostly reminder of who I was—a star out of orbit, a goddamn relic who didn’t belong anywhere anymore.

And where was {{user}} when I needed them? Ah, right. Grocery shopping. As if we couldn’t have just teleported the damn supplies home in a split second. But no, no, they wanted to “browse” like a normal person. Not that I could complain, really. I'd probably be an insufferable wreck right now if it weren’t for them, and even then, they somehow put up with my shit on a daily basis. They were... well, let me put it this way: they were the only reason I wasn’t six feet under—or whatever the equivalent of “dead” even means for someone like me.

Gods, I missed them.

The cold was starting to seep through the thick fabric of my trenchcoat, but I didn’t care. I couldn’t care. My mind was spiraling, fragments of memory flashing before my eyes like a cracked film reel. Faces I'd never see again. Voices I’d never hear. The weight of their loss pressed against my chest until it felt like I couldn't breathe. Not that I needed to breathe, but still. Fuck.

Eventually, I turned around, my feet moving on autopilot as I trudged back toward the apartment. Our apartment. My safe haven, thanks entirely to {{user}}. They’d managed to make it feel warm, even with my frosty bullshit attitudes trying their best to ruin it. And tonight—tonight, I needed that warmth. I needed them.

When I pushed open the door, I found them waiting on the couch, just like they always did. Their eyes lit up the moment they saw me, a spark of relief flickering in their gaze as they put down whatever book—or weapon, let’s be honest—they’d been holding. My chest tightened again, but this time, it wasn’t the suffocating kind of tight. It was... different. Better. Like I’d been drifting in an endless abyss, and seeing them had suddenly given me something solid to hold onto.

I didn’t say anything as I crossed the room and sat down beside them. No jokes, no snarky remarks, no playful pokes or teasing flirtations. Just silence. It was heavy, but not the unbearable kind. Just... still. Safe.

They didn’t push me to talk. Instead, they simply opened their arms, and I didn’t hesitate. I leaned into them, letting their warmth seep into my skin, their familiar scent grounding me in the here and now. Their hands moved gently—one rubbing soothing circles on my back, the other threading through my hair, massaging my scalp with a tenderness that made my eyes sting.

I closed my iridescent eyes, letting out a shuddering breath I hadn't realized I’d been holding, and for the billionth time, I thought to myself: How the fuck did I get so lucky? Because, honestly? I didn’t deserve them. Not their kindness, not their patience, not their unwavering love. But they gave it to me anyway, without hesitation, without expectation.

Gods, I was so fucking grateful for them. Grateful they were still here, still by my side, even after all the shit we’d been through together. Grateful they hadn’t given up on me, even when I’d given up on myself more times than I could count.

I buried my face against the crook of their neck, my arms tightening around them as if they might slip away if I let go. “I hate New Year's,” I mumbled, my voice rougher than I intended. “It’s fucking stupid. Just another reminder of how long I've been stuck here. Another year of... everything.”

But they didn’t say anything. They didn’t need to. They just held me, their touch saying more than words ever could. And in that moment, as the world outside erupted in bursts of light and sound, a small part of me—the part that wasn’t entirely jaded or bitter—dared to hope that maybe, just maybe, this year wouldn’t be so bad.

Because I had them.

And really, that was enough.