The workshop of FAWS was rarely quiet, but that day, even the noise felt muted. The usual clatter of tools and low curses from tired engineers were there, yes, but over it all hung something heavier.
Sirius Blake sat at his bench, a schematic open before him. His stylus scratched lines across the datapad—precise, clean, utterly devoid of his usual mess. To anyone else, it would look like focus. To those who knew him, it looked like absence.
Because Sirius wasn't grinning.
He wasn't laughing.
Not even muttering jokes to himself.
He just worked, silent as a ghost.
---
Sparks Novik was the first to notice. She leaned against the bench opposite his, arms crossed, pretending to check her rifle calibrations. In truth, her eyes flicked up again and again to watch him.
"You know," she said finally, "when you're quiet, it's actually worse."
Sirius didn't look up. "That so?"
"Yeah." Sparks set her rifle down with a clang. "Because when you're laughing, at least we know you're thinking. When you're silent… it feels like you're somewhere else."
He scribbled another line, ignoring the comment. His lips twitched, almost forming a grin—but it wasn't real. It slipped away before it reached his eyes.
Sparks sighed. "You're broken, Blake."
Sirius chuckled. Just once. Sharp, empty. "Aren't we all?"
---
Later that day, Stone Varga barged into the workshop. His massive frame filled the doorway, a crate of ammo slung across his shoulder like it weighed nothing. He scanned the room, found Sirius, and stomped over.
"Renegade!" Stone barked.
Sirius didn't flinch. "What is it, Varga?"
Stone dropped the crate on the bench with a crash. "What the hell's wrong with you? You haven't shouted at anyone in a week. You're not picking fights, not pulling stunts. You even skipped the mess twice."
Sirius raised an eyebrow. "Didn't know you missed me yelling."
"I don't miss it," Stone growled. "But it means you're still alive in there." He jabbed a thick finger at Sirius' chest. "Right now, you look more like one of those dead-eyed rookies than the Renegade Blake."
For a heartbeat, Sirius' mask cracked. His gaze dropped to the table, stylus hovering.
"…Maybe the Renegade's tired," he murmured.
Stone's jaw tightened, but he said nothing more. He grabbed the crate again and left, muttering curses under his breath.
---
That night, Whisper Kade found him on the balcony. The same balcony. Always the same.
The sky was clearer than usual, stars scattered like diamonds across the black. Sirius leaned against the railing, head tilted back, eyes distant.
"You're out here too much," Whisper said softly as she joined him.
"Air's cleaner," he replied.
"Liar."
He glanced at her, half-smiling. "You'd know."
"I would." Whisper folded her arms, her gaze steady. "Sirius, you're scaring people."
"Good."
"That's not what I mean." She stepped closer. "The laughter—it's gone. Even when you fake it, it doesn't fool anyone. You're carrying something, and it's dragging you under."
He said nothing. His hands gripped the railing until his knuckles turned white.
Whisper's voice softened. "You don't have to tell me what it is. But don't lock us out. You'll drown."
Sirius finally looked at her. His eyes were rimmed red, exhaustion etched deep in his face. For a moment, it seemed like he might speak.
Then he turned back to the stars. "Go get some sleep, Whisper."
Her lips pressed into a thin line. She lingered a moment, then left him to the night.
---
The silence around Sirius had grown into something else.
In the mess, FAWS personnel whispered as he passed.
"Renegade doesn't laugh anymore."
"Did something break him?"
"Or is he just winding up for something bigger?"
"I heard he's hearing voices."
"Voices?"
"Yeah. Talking to shadows, they say."
When he entered a room, the whispers stopped. When he left, they started again.
He pretended not to hear.
---
Shade was the quietest of Sirius' circle, but also the sharpest observer. He'd been watching Sirius more than the others, eyes narrowing each time Sirius forced that crooked smile.
During a training drill, Shade approached him. No words at first—just silence, standing shoulder-to-shoulder as recruits fired downrange.
Finally, Shade said, "Your laugh's dead."
Sirius snorted. "You too, huh?"
Shade's expression didn't change. "Noticed it three weeks ago."
"And you're just now bringing it up?"
"I wanted to see if you'd fix it yourself." Shade's tone was flat, but his words cut. "You didn't."
Sirius turned his head, meeting Shade's piercing gaze. "You think I need fixing?"
Shade didn't blink. "I think if you break, the rest of us fall with you."
The words lingered long after Shade walked away.
---
Days blurred. Sirius buried himself in schematics, offering pointers but never truly building. His laughter became rarer, his smiles emptier.
But every night, he found himself on the balcony. Always staring at the stars. Always waiting.
And sometimes, when the wind cut just right, he swore he heard it again.
You're not alone.
It was faint, fleeting, like smoke between his fingers. But it was enough to keep him standing. Enough to keep him breathing.
Even if it drove him mad.
---
On the tenth night, Sirius stood alone under the stars. His chest ached, his eyes burned, and his hands trembled against the railing.
He whispered, "I can't do this without you."
A single tear slid down his cheek.
And for the first time, he didn't laugh. Not even a hollow one.