[He's so focused on the locker, on the twinge of pain in his hand and the feeling, deep in him, the wrench of James being gone--he doesn't notice her approach, not at first, not until she's too close.
When he was younger--first year, ages ago, so long past it sometimes seems like it happened to someone else--when he was younger, Sirius didn't know what to do with affection, like this. It took a few years of James throwing a casual arm around his shoulders to wear him down. The Blacks don't express emotion easily. It isn't their thing. And sometimes, when it's unexpected, affection can make his shoulders rise, sharply, can send a prickle over his skin that makes him want to curl his fingers in against his palms--
He stares down at Lucrezia, hollowly, almost stares through her, his breath still coming short. But he doesn't hit her. He would never. He stares down at her, and he knows he wears his pain too plainly in his face, but he can't help it, right now. Not now. He doesn't pull his hand away from her but stands, numb and silent, without a thing to say.]
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When he was younger--first year, ages ago, so long past it sometimes seems like it happened to someone else--when he was younger, Sirius didn't know what to do with affection, like this. It took a few years of James throwing a casual arm around his shoulders to wear him down. The Blacks don't express emotion easily. It isn't their thing. And sometimes, when it's unexpected, affection can make his shoulders rise, sharply, can send a prickle over his skin that makes him want to curl his fingers in against his palms--
He stares down at Lucrezia, hollowly, almost stares through her, his breath still coming short. But he doesn't hit her. He would never. He stares down at her, and he knows he wears his pain too plainly in his face, but he can't help it, right now. Not now. He doesn't pull his hand away from her but stands, numb and silent, without a thing to say.]