In the flickering light of a single candle, I can see you lying there: almost asleep with the fatigue that follows passion. I want to reach out, touch you, but I shouldn't disturb the calm and quiet that surrounds you.
I do it anyway: I have to touch you, get your attention, because I don't understand how you can be so peaceful. How you don't feel the unease silence causes in me. To be sure, I am the one with a haunted memory, a memory of 12 years in Azkaban – but you are the one with a haunted life. And you know you will never be rid of it. How can you forget and I cannot?
My fingertips hardly touch your rosy cheek, but you know. You have sensed me staring at you, struggling with myself to leave you alone, and reaching over to you – defeated at last. You stay calm: 'I love you, too, Sirius,' you mumble without looking up as you cuddle up to me – curled up just like the wolf that is inside you.
As always: in your own quiet way you have foreseen my restlessness. You understand. But you will not talk, as I have so often felt the need to. And you have proven me wrong time and time again.
I can feel you. I wrap my arms around your tender body. It is comfort and peace. The warmth that radiates from you fills all my heart – it makes it overflow with love and relaxation spreads through my limbs and mind. You have won. As always you have calmed me, you've made me forget, so I can finally go to sleep…