A/N: Sup? Been a while. Oops. For A Sirius Crush on Moony's Slashy Drabble Collection Challenge. Not what I had originally intended but who doesn't love a good sad love triangle?

Teddy,

You are going to marry her. I know that. We both know that.

You are going to play happily ever after with her. And that's okay, for the most part. That's okay because I see how much she loves you. You know when you first wake up, and your eyes haven't quite adjusted to the light and everything has this weird halo? I think she sees you like that all the time. Glowing and beautiful. I see her face when she watches you. I see it most of all when you're playing your guitar and your eyes do that half-closed thing and your voice hits the low notes that make knees weak and she thinks you're singing about her. Sometimes I sort of hope that you are.

She didn't sign up for this. She signed up for you. Blue hair and stupid guitar. I signed up for… sex, I think. I can't remember how we got here. I think we were drunk the first time, and the second time, and after that your body became familiar and comforting, and we would touch more when sober and I wanted everything from you except space and I'm rambling but I think the first time you kissed me sober was my first real kiss because it was the first time I saw the fireworks they talk about and every one was a shocking turquoise blue. So bright. So beautiful. Did you feel that?

Did you see fireworks with her?

I'm sorry. It's not my place to ask, I know. This is not my place; you are not my place. But I feel welcome here. I feel warm. This place is not home, but a safe house where I come to remind myself what it means to be loved. You are the best safe house I have ever had. You are the only one I have ever come back to.

Does she feel like home? Do you think of her at the end of a long day and smile? Do I exist in your fantasies of your picture perfect future? Perhaps trapped behind your white picket fence or shoved in a closet somewhere. I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I'm not bitter. I'm not angry. You are exactly the kind of man I told myself I would never love (cheater, liar, weak willed thing) but I can't hold these things against you. You cheat with me. You lie because of me. You are only weak because you are too sweet and good and kind to stop loving me. You are too lovely to leave me. I am too needy to leave you.

I need you.

Not, I think, in the way a lover needs another, but in the way the tide needs the moon to keep dragging it home. In the way wind chimes need a soft breeze to realise how beautiful they are. In the way a song needs to be sung, by a blue haired boy with half-closed eyes, for everyone to finally realise it had been there the whole time, waiting to be heard. I need you to bring me home. To bring me back to life.

But she might need you more. And that's okay. Honestly, it is. For the most part. I can listen to your music and change every she to he. I can sing along. I can remember your kiss when you sing of lovers past and I can hold my tongue. Because we both know how this ends, and it is with a whimper.

You are going to marry her. You are going to have 2.5 kids and a vegetable patch and she'll read cheesy novels in the evening under soft yellow lamplight and you will sing with your eyes barely open and you will be happy.

And I'll just… Listen. To the sounds the world makes in your absence; the sad, sorry symphony that echoes on and on and on.

Love,

Al