Kay, no hatin'.
I happen to like the concept of Snape... well, you'll find out.
:
Um, no gay bashing.
I'm a gay guy.
I'll kind of take offense.
And no 'STFU SNAPE DOES NOTTTT HAVE A FICKIN SOFT SIDE'
He could.
He could like ballet and opera.
You never know.
Besides, I like to think that Snape missed Sirius a little bit. Come on, how could you not? Rowling made him so damn cute. ;
Anywho.
On to the story.
It's just a one-shot, no raunchiness. I'd rate it at PG-13 only because it has a suggested homosexual relationship.
[ btw, lyrics (c) jamestown story

today came with shattered dreams
everything's not as it seems
don't think death won't come get you
'cause it will, life's misconstrued
though my battle's just begun,
i'm dropping arms and going to run
i can't wait to see the day
when these painful tears all go away.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Severus Snape paced his office like a hungry panther, robes and mane camoflauged against the stone wall of the dark chamber. His expression unfathomable, dark eyes fixed straight ahead, he hugged himself tightly against the chill of the dungeons. What could have Professor Snape in such a mood? Anything. But the anxiety that radiated off of him was new, brought about by something that usually didn't occur. For, inside of his cold, badly cleansed self and his supposedly rock-hard heart raged a battle between dignity and what he wanted. What he couldn't have. He had been in posession of it - years before. But then he had neglected it, given it up... and now, it was gone. Forever.

In a sudden flurry of ire he turned and, with an ebony-clad arm of rage swept from his desk the many odds and ends that had resided on top of it. Ink bottles shattered to the floor in a mass of black liquid and glass; two acidic potions in unbreakable phials fell to the stone floor with a clatter that echoed around the chamber; a flurry of parchment brushed over the dirty surface and books scattered about. He clenched his fists and growled deep in his throat, knowing that he could fix the mess with a wave of his wand but unwilling to do so. He felt like a child throwing a tantrum - and that felt good. The adrenaline that pulsed through his veins replaced the throbbing agony that welled deep in his chest.

With a swish of black, he turned and shoved open a door into his chambers, slamming it behind him. Striding steadily and noisily toward his bed, his arm ran along the wall shelf and without a passing glance, he swept the many oddly shaped bottles away from their shelter. Most of them were in unbreakable phials, but the ones that weren't were minor potions that spilled over the floor in multicolored pools. His bed, at the end of the room, had been made by a house-elf. He stripped the blankets and pillows away and cast them to the floor, revealing a framed picture of a scruffy teen. He snatched it up and clutched it to himself, clear liquid seeping from underneath his closed eyelids. No one had ever seen this side of Snape, no one but the unkempt teenager in the picture that had grown up and died a scruffy, lovable man.

He dropped the picture back on his bed and traced the lines of the moving boy's face.

Sympathetically, Sirius Black stared at him, fingertips brushing the prison of his frame. In sixth year, he and Mr. Black had acquired quite the beautiful relationship. But never would either of them, for fear of losing their friends as well as dignity, share their dirty secret with the public. But Sirius had promised Severus that one day, they would hold hands and even snog in public. It had never happened, though. After they had graduated, Sirius had changed back into the still-lovable ladies man.

In anger the ebony-maned professor flipped the frame over and pressed it into the matress, trying to smother the living photograph, and knowing that it wouldn't work. He pressed his palms to his eyelids and rubbed them in deeply, wiping away the embarrassing tears.
A hard rap on the door to his office, slightly muffled by the distance between he and the door, penetrated the torturous silence that had settled over the room after Snape's little tantrum. Exhaling in exasperation, he had three quarters of a mind to ignored it but also knew that it could be extremely important, and that whoever it was could decide to just waltz in and find the professor in the most extreme state of embarrassing disorder as possible. The sniveling little prats and the wicked teachers here were liable to do something of the sort.

He kept his palms on his eyes, stood, and passed the mess he had made without a glance. He ripped the door open and strode to the other, wrenching it open with a murderous glare. The space behind the door was empty.

Sticking his head out of the door with the most malignant expression possible, he ground his teeth as he stared both ways down the long, narrow corridor. Grumbling about students and their pointless pranks, he glanced at the ground and gasped, heart clenching painfully.
In some sort of gray, ashy substance, beside his left foot on the dusty stone floor, lie a faint mark that brought mist to Severus Snape's cold, dark eyes.
A pawprint.

i did nothing at all, nothing at all
it's all my fault you're gone
your face on my wall, face on my wall
it tells it all, you will live on