Since walking out of the veil three years ago – and consequently scaring the piss out of the attending Unspeakable – Sirius had come to expect certain things out of life; an odd change from the chaos of his rebellious youth.
He expected to dine at the Weasleys' every Sunday, despite knowing he and Molly would inevitably get into a heated row, in a routine as cemented as the daily delivery of the Prophet. He fully expected Harry to be incurably lost in the manners of love, and for his beloved motorbike to always be a reassuring escape. He was always ready for the twins' latest attempt to out-prank him, and he always knew Remus would be waiting for him when he came home.
In Hogwarts, he was used to everything happening at once – a coalescence of mayhem, that was as unpredictable as it was exhilarating; in Azkaban, there was a maddening, suffocating absence of everything – a nothingness that could make a man lay down and never get up.
Now, things happened as they ought to; deviation was simply unacceptable.
Sirius expected many things. For example, it was an unspoken fact that when Hermione returned from her latest elf-hugging campaign, she stayed at Grimmauld Place. Remus would wake to the smell of chocolate and when Sirius stirred it was to his lover crawling back in beside him – a plate of pancakes for them to share. Extra chocolate chips.
So when Sirius woke at half past nine to the sun screaming in through the window and Remus snoring beside him, he was understandably annoyed. "Where is Hermione?" The question irked him further as it was spoken out loud and he raised his voice. "Where is Hermione?"
Remus woke groggily and frowned, bleary-eyed at his fuming lover. "Nnggh?"
"No pancakes," Sirius snapped.
The werewolf pushed himself upright and sniffed at the air. "No," he confirmed. Remus shrugged. "She must have stayed at Harry's."
"Why the hell would she do that?"
Those molten amber eyes turned on him and not for the first time, Sirius was aware of just how easily Remus could see straight through him as though his inner workings were pinned to his chest like a medal. He glared back, his morning irrevocably ruined by the disrupted routine, and hardly in the mood for a dissection of his neuroticisms. Remus surprised him by smiling.
Sirius knew it instantly to be the enigmatic smile that meant its owner knew something he didn't.
"Maybe if you didn't take pancakes for granted—"
"I say thank you all the time," he snapped and was rewarded with a look. "Okay, once..."
Remus kissed him; smiling against his scowl. "You're such an ass, Padfoot."