Sirius doesn't know what he's thinking. It's in the AMs, the city was empty and his room was at its quietest self. He made a rule, eversince he moved out on his own, to never go to the bathroom at the AMs.
No matter how much he needed to go or get some lotion. The bathroom is off limits. You can thank James and Peter for their kind influences.
Sirius takes another drag from his cigarette before putting it out. Because even if it's 3AM and probably way too late, you still need to brush your teeth. Hissing slightly at contact with the cold floor, he exhales. C'mon he's past 20, he's old enough to go to his own bathroom alone at night. (Not that his parents ever cared if he was scared to go in his childhood-)
He takes his phone with him obviously. What idiot goes to the bathroom with no phone? His thumb expertly finds Spotify and plays an instrumental music playlist only. Waltz music can't creep you out right ?
Besides, waltz music makes it feel like he's in a palace's bathroom instead of his studio. Sirius finally steps into the white tiled space and gazes at himself in the mirror.
"Looking like shit Black." He chuckles.
You can blame work for that. His life has become an endless loop of morning, work, lunch, jog, dinner and sleep. It's clear in the way his eyelids droop and his smile not quite reaching his eyes. It's not like he has much reason to anyways.
A song comes up. Curiously, he glances to its title. "Piano concerto" and his mind trails off in a mumble, too lazy to properly pronounce the french words his lips are acquainted with. Sirius hums with it.
Unconsciously, he starts swaying like a snake being controlled by a flute. The brushing falls in step with the violins and his feet goes 1-2-3 1-2-3 1-2-3 across the floor.
Sirius realizes he's definitely a little out of it. Lucky he has no roommates to witness this buffoonery.
He does a turn, facing the mirror, and continues his solo waltz. His eyes look back up, to capture his stupid dancing.
He's not alone.
A man was standing in front of him, an arm around his waist and the other holding his hand. He was tall. Much taller than Sirius was. He seems regal, royal. Wearing a suit as if he was formally dancing with Sirius.
Sirius' hands chilled and he stops moving. His eyes stare at the mirror cause he sure as hell know there's noone facing him in real life.
Next to the man, he looked like a fool. Mouth foaming with mint tooth paste with his toothbrush hanging out. His shirt's too big and pants oversized (stolen from Peter) that covered to his toes. He'd be a peasant.
Sirius spits the tooth paste and wipes his face. This must be his hallucinations. He stands back up, slowly opening his eyelids. He expects the man to be gone.
"Why'd you stop?" The man asks with the gentlest voice.
Sirius couldn't tell if he was a ghost. He was definitely paler than whatever this man is. Though with fear clouding his senses, this man was handsome.
Like his voice, his eyes and smile told him he's safe. His arms were held behind his back, the man was at ease. Yet he looked magnificent.
"You're not real." Sirius rasps, terrified.
He grabs his phone and runs for it. He locks the bathroom door after slamming it shut.
Good Lord what the fuck was that ?
***
Mornings are better. With the sunlight bathing every inch of the toilet, he had no reason to be scared of the dark if there wasn't any. Sirius comes and goes as he does.
