Young Sirius Black, Your Fling Who Got Attached

Sometimes I think if there were a prize for "the most self-assured person at Hogwarts", probably you would win... Or at least you had won... until you appeared in my life

And no, it wasn't love at first sight. I don't believe in that nonsense. It was more like a challenge: the only person in the whole blasted school who didn't smile at me when I winked.

I took it as a game, of course. Ah, a hard one to impress —I thought— What fun. I had no idea that would be my downfall.

The first conversation we had was as brief as a breath. I, trying to be charming. You, so unflappable that I swore you were messing with my head.

—Relax, Black —You said that fateful night in the Common Room if I remember correctly, without even looking at me—. I'm not looking for anything serious, If that's what worries you. —And who said I am? —I responded with a charming automatic smile. —Perfect then.

... Perfect... Then. So, without more. As if I were signing a contract with invisible clauses. And I, idiot, agreed convinced that I could play by your rules.

We didn't last a week... Well, “last” is a generous word. If we count the days we actually spent together, we barely filled the fingers on one hand. Each “date” ended the same: with laughter, provocations, and... well, The best sex I'd had in years. Nothing of feelings, nothing of uncomfortable promises like with my previous flings, nothing that seemed like a romantic story I didn't plan to be a part of. Or at least that's what I thought.

Because at some point —without knowing when or how— I started waiting for you at night. I started wanting you to stay a little longer without looking for more sex, just my caresses, for you not to get up to leave and ask if I wanted to have breakfast with you. And that's when I knew: I was hooked, hooked like the damned shit.

One night, after one of those long nights that end in skin on skin, fluids, cries of pleasure, and every kind of position that would make even the most perverted blush, You sat on the edge of the bed, adjusting your shirt, and let out something like if you were commenting on the weather:

—Hey, Sirius… about this —You said without even looking at me. —What about it? —I asked, half asleep, half deluded that finally you said those words, those words that would make my heart race like a boy going through his first crush.

“I think I'm falling in love with you” coming from your beautiful lips with perhaps a blush seeing you for the first time in a nervous or embarrassed position, never did I imagine waiting with such anxiety for one of my lovers to tell me they love me, usually I break their heart reminding them of the Pact to keep "Everything casual" but for you..., I felt ready.

—Yes. I like you and all that, but… you know. I'm not looking for anything serious, I'm still young and it's obvious you're getting attached to me. There's another guy I'm seeing at the same time. And well… We can just be friends —You said calmly, no drama or discomfort, I remember it as if you had carved it into my skin

And there it was the phrase, hanging in the air, so light and so lethal at the same time, Be just friends?, Be just friends.

I saw you naked, I know what you like when I eat you, How strong you like it when I move you, How every hair and crevice of your beautiful body is visible to me... And you want to just be my friend?

I didn't say anything for what seemed like an eternity. I limited myself to smiling as if it didn't matter, as if it didn't hurt that you had torn my heart out with your naked hands. —Relax, precious. I understand. —I lied. If it were just friends... And when you left after giving me that beautiful smile that would make me want to bury myself in your arms and let you tangle my hair for hours, I stayed there looking at the ceiling, laughing quietly in the bed that suddenly felt too cold without you next to me telling me a joke or some curious fact, without humor I laughed feeling like I was... Crying?, I don't know. It was official: Sirius Black, the heartbreaker, had been... Discarded.

James found out, of course. Peter also. And Remus... well, Remus knows things before one even says them.

—Brother —James said, putting an arm around my shoulder—, all you have to do is give her her comeuppance. —Yes, yes —asented Peter like always—. Make her think you've forgotten her. That you have someone else, She'll run to your feet. Remus only raised his eyes from his book as if he were witnessing a huge stupidity. —Or you can accept that it hurts and move on as a normal person. —Oh, shut up, Moony —I said, throwing myself into the chair with drama—. You can't understand it.

And of course he understood. Everyone understood. I just didn't want to admit it, Admit that I would like to be able to take your hand in the hallway or have your lips against mine in the most sweet kiss I could want.

I tried to do what James suggested. I played the part of the indifferent guy, the one who “has better things to do”. I laughed hard when I passed you, flirted with other girls in front of you, even invented a story of seeing someone else.

And yet, every time you looked at me —that half second of visual contact, that soothing gesture— everything went to hell and I wanted to feel those playful bites you gave me on my cheeks again, which I never admitted that more than causing me irritation, I loved.

The worst is that sometimes you responded the game. A touch on the arm, a furtive smile, a night in which we ended up together again without words exchanged. And every time that happened, I swore it was my turn to have control.

But no. Never was.

Because while I thought of you during breakfast, during classes, during Quidditch practices, You... simply continued with your life without me by your side. As if nothing. And that destroyed me in the most absurd way possible.

There was a time —and Remus will never let me forget it— when I found myself lying in bed, looking at the ceiling, with an expression so miserable that I looked like a dog under the rain after chasing a car that never stopped, the one that looked like the one its owner abandoned.

—You're not well, Padfoot —he said, leaving a cup of tea next to me—. You can't “win” in this. This isn't a competition. —I don't want to win —I murmured, with a muffled voice holding back stupid and embarrassing tears. —Then, what do you want? —...I want her to look at me the way I look at her.

And that's when I realized I was really lost, Lost in the crumbs of affection I got from you before going to bed or the few seconds that you stayed in bed with me after the orgasm, I wanted to lose myself in your love and that scared me because I've never been like this before... Until you came into my life as “Something casual”.

Sometimes I have moments of clarity. I convince myself that I can just leave it behind, that it wasn't anything serious, that everything was part of the cruel game of life that wanted to give me a lesson. But then I see you laughing with someone else, or I catch a glance over your shoulder, and my whole argument falls apart.

I keep trying to “give you back the ball”. I invite you out as if nothing, I throw a few witty comments, I make you laugh. And for a few hours, for a few damned minutes, it seems like everything goes back to how it was before, when we weren't "Just friends who sometimes hook up". But then you say goodbye to me with a fleeting kiss and a “see you, Sirius”, so simple, so light... And I'm left empty again.

James says it's a matter of pride and that although my family is a mess, We are overflowing with it. Peter says I like to suffer, As if I were a masochist who doesn't know the word for safety. Remus only limits himself to saying every time:

“Now you know how the girls feel who you did the same to.”

And I don't know if it hurts more with his calm tone or the fact that he's right.

The irony of all this is that at first I was completely in agreement with you. “Something casual”, I said stupidly. “Just fun”, I promised as if I could ignore what was growing inside of me. And look at me now: writing your name in the margin of my notes, asking myself if you're thinking of me with as much frequency as I think of you, lying to myself with that this time I'll make you fall like you made me fall.

But every attempt at “revenge” only leaves me more hooked. Every improvised kiss, every trivial conversation, every night naked that repeats with the same ending... convinces me more that, although I'm looking for a way to give it back to you, in reality I just want you to choose me.

There's something deeply humiliating in realizing that you turned me into what I used to provoke. That now you are the one who waits for a message. The one who pretends to be busy to not seem desperate. The one who smiles when they talk to you, even though inside I'm collapsing.

Sometimes I see you crossing the hallway, with that calm that attracted me at the beginning, and I think: This must be the karma for being a dog. And honestly, it has such a poetic sense that it scares me.

I won't lie: I still try to “win you back”. Or at least that's what I tell myself to not admit that I'm still chasing you like a love-struck idiot. I'm looking for that supposed “click” that according to me we had, although every day it becomes more and more obvious that maybe it only existed in my head.

And the more I try, the clearer it becomes: Probably this is how all those people felt who I ever smiled at, I promised them nothing and left them with a void disguised as fun.

I suppose that in the end everything comes back. And if this is the karma, I can only say that you make it look damn good... That I don't even want to take off if not to... Admire you.

While I wait in the hallway forever for you to turn the corner and bump into me to pretend it was pure chance and just... Talk to you, I desire... Well, In the depths of my soul I hope that this time, for however short and stupid that may be... You look at me with that beautiful light in your eyes again and say my name with that playful tone that makes me act like a love-struck idiot who wags his tail for the smallest crumb.