A/N: Inspired by a quote from The Fault In Our Stars by John Green (full quote at end)

P~

I love you.

No, it's not just that I love you. I'm in love with you.

It's a subtle difference, but, nevertheless, it is a difference. Although, really, it's only the addition of two words. Who would have thought two words could so drastically change the meaning of an otherwise terribly simple sentence, especially when those words are "in" and "with"? It's terrifying to think that two little, trivial words could mean so much. They are hardly important in other contexts. They shouldn't carry such weight. Alas - unfortunately - they do.

I almost wish it weren't so. I almost wish I could say that I only love you. It's like…dessert. I have always enjoyed dessert. I sometimes allow myself to indulge, though I don't necessarily need to eat it following every single meal. There are even days on end when I am okay without one single spoonful of pudding. Of course I often think about dessert; it was just never needed. But now… Well, now I find myself craving dessert. All day. Every day. It's at the forefront of my mind every second of every minute of every hour. Constantly. Dessert. The way it smells, the way it looks, the way I imagine it tastes, feels, sounds…

I guess what I'm trying to say is you are dessert. You are an indulgence that I know I should avoid. I know I shouldn't be thinking about you and your contagious smile and your perfectly coifed hair and your brilliant eyes and your bloody obnoxious laugh and the way you walk around the dormitory in just a towel after a shower and the way the corners of your eyes crinkle when you're really, truly happy and that look you get when you think of some new way to torture Snape and Merlin, look what you're doing to me, I've just written a run-on sentence.

That's what you do to me. I forget about punctuation and proper syntax when I think of you. I don't care about punctuation and proper syntax when I think of you. I don't give a damn. That run-on sentence should be painful, but it isn't. That's just what it's like when I'm with you. I can forget about things. I don't have to worry about schoolwork or the next full moon. I don't have to think about what I'm going to say. I can let go of my frustrations and worries and just…be. I can be, furry little problem and all.

I suppose that's what matters most to me. You let me be myself. You like me when I'm myself, even if that means I'm books and boring and tea and cardigans and scars and school and commas and monster. Because that is what I am. The composition of a Moony is ever as exciting as History of Magic, I know. But you don't care. You never have. There are times you make fun of me for my boring, of course, but that's to be expected. You still never care. You still like me. You're still my best friend. Even when you're laughter and excitement and danger and leather and cigarettes and firewhiskey and pranks and charm and devilishly attractive, you're my best friend. Never would I have thought, even for a second, that two people such as ourselves would have grown as close as we have. But we have, and I thank Merlin for that every day.

Although I will admit that when we first met I wanted nothing more than to wring your neck. You were an obnoxious child. You still are (please note that I do find it horribly endearing, Merlin help me). You can be childish and whiny, and you pout when you don't get your way. You never do your schoolwork, though you somehow manage to pass every class with top marks, which is beyond infuriating. You get on my nerves more often than not. You never let me read or work in peace. You steal far too much of my chocolate and you shed even when you're not a dog. But somehow, despite, well, you, I've fallen for you.

If I had to say when the precise moment was that I fell completely in love with you, I think I have to say it was that one uneventful, boring, cold day fourth year before the winter hols. I was reading, as per usual, in the common room and you were flopped across my lap. You tried reading along with me, but you were complaining constantly because I was reading too fast and you couldn't keep up. It was then that I decided that I wasn't sure if I wanted to shove you off of me or grab your face and kiss you. When you stole my book and ran up to the dorm, I didn't even care. I would rather have spent time wrestling my book away from you than reading. I would rather have spent time with you than anything else. That's when it hit me: I was mad about you. I hoped, for a long time, that it would go away, but it hasn't. I don't think it ever will.

To be honest, I'm not sure why I'm writing this letter. I know I will never give it to you. I'm more likely to rip this up and throw it in the fire in the common room than anything else. I guess I just needed to get it off my chest that I'm in love with you.

I'm in love with you, Sirius, and I know that love is a silly notion. I know that love is just a shout into the void, and that oblivion is inevitable, and that we're all doomed and that there will come a day when all our labor has been returned to dust, and I know the sun will swallow the only earth we'll ever have, and I am in love with you.*

~M

*"I'm in love with you, and I'm not in the business of denying myself the simple pleasure of saying true things. I'm in love with you, and I know that love is just a shout into the void, and that oblivion is inevitable, and that we're all doomed and that there will come a day when all our labor has been returned to dust, and I know the sun will swallow the only earth we'll ever have, and I am in love with you."

~Augustus Waters - The Fault in Our Stars by John Green