I haven't posted anything in a while, and this sort of wrote itself. Leave a review if you want to make my day. Sirius's POV, by the way.
That night I came home from doing work for the Order feeling more exhausted than I had done for a long time. All I wanted was to see your lovely crooked smile, to feel your strong arms hold me, to taste you on my tongue, all stale cigarettes and coffee. It was dark when I entered the living room, which instantly threw me in to a panic. Then I lit one of the lamps and saw you sprawled on the couch, fast asleep. My heart felt light with relief.
I stood there and watched you for a while. Your chest rose and fell softly with your breaths, swamped in your favourite maroon cardigan, the one I saw on the high street and just had to buy because it reminded me instantly of you. An open book lay over your legs, on the floor was a tea cup laid on its side, and I could just imagine you sleepily dropping it and finally drifting off. The ash tray on the table beside you was overflowing with dimps, and if you had been awake I would have reprimanded you for chain smoking, a habit you can't seem to kick.
I watched you sleep and wondered if you had been waiting up for me. I couldn't feel hurt that you had given up if you had. You need your sleep, espeacially these days.
Despite knowing this I couldn't help but want to wake you up. I wanted to watch you open your eyes and smile when you realised that I was home, and hear your voice croak a greeting. You're so adorable when you've just woken up. But you looked so peaceful that I couldn't bring myself to do it.
So instead I quietly picked up the tea cup, the book, and the ashtray and moved them all to one side. Then I took the blanket that usually draped over the arm chair and threw it over you. I didn't feel like sleeping alone that night, but I didn't want to be selfish.
"Good night, Moony," I whispered, and went upstairs to our cold, empty bed.