Late night spaces
Over time, James seemed to get better. His eyes weren’t tinged red as often, paint dried and faded into old brushstrokes from a time of pain. He urged himself to stop, and he did. But that longing for painting never seemed to go away. Recovery wasn’t a straight line, for James, or anyone who ever tried. But he healed and healed in his own way.
Except that uneven piece of himself never did fit right. He just got better at coping with it. There was always a part of himself that felt like a puzzle piece in the wrong place, or a block of butter left out in summer to melt.
But yes, James felt better. Until he didn’t.
~~~
Lying in bed, James stared at the ceiling in agitation, he couldn’t sleep. He’d had an awful day: Remus was snappy as usual around the full moon; he’d angered Lily once again at breakfast by another grand gesture; quidditch practice was agonising and bruising; it hadn’t been great. But above it all, the only thing James could think about was painting. Short, small scratches; it wasn’t a big deal if nobody knew, and who would?
Clambering out of bed silently, he crept over to the bathroom. It was fine, nobody would know, right?
He grabbed the paintbrush. Inhale. Exhale.
Streaks. Streaks staining the concrete floor and he inhaled. Exhaled.
He focussed on paint. Calm seemed to wash over him. He couldn’t think about Lily, or Remus, or quidditch, or anything. Only paint. So he inhaled. And exhaled. And that constant weight on his chest eased. Barely a fraction, but it did.
Until it didn’t.
There’s 5 stages of grief, and James experiences them all at once all of the time. Denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance. Except he experiences them in reverse. Left in guilt and denying that he’s made himself worse again.
“Prongs?” A whisper. Shit, Sirius. “Is that you?” He whispers again.
The bathroom is locked. Quickly, James casts an illusion charm, a cleaning charm and unlocks the door. “Hey pads, what are you doing up?” He whispers back.
“Couldn’t sleep. Wanna raid Pete’s stash of chocolate frogs?”
“I knew I loved you pads” James grins, but it’s forced. His legs hurt. Wincing, he lied down on his bed again as Sirius silently found Peter’s stash.
Casting a silencing charm around his bed so as to not wake the other two sleeping boys, Sirius clambered into James’ bed beside him, and close the curtains.
“So, why are you awake prongs? Thinking about a certain redhead?”
James laughed weakly, “Yeah something like that. Why couldn’t you sleep?”
“Nightmares. Lovely Wally and Onion will be never truly let me alone,” Sirius grimaced.
“Want to talk about it, pads?”
“Nah, not tonight. I’ll be okay, cheers prongs.”
With that, James moved to hug Sirius. He wished he could do more for the boy, but truthfully, he could only support him. As they broke away, Sirius placed a hand on James’ leg, reassuring him he was okay. James winced. And Sirius noticed.
“James? Are you alright mate?”