His Parents' Beautiful Boy

The morning after James kills himself he wakes up in his childhood bedroom.

Or not exactly. It’s hard to explain. When his eyes open again he’s standing in front of a crib belonging to him but he’s not lying in it or not this version of him. He’s in a room surrounded by stars. It was the theme of his nursery, his Mama picked it out for him. She used to tell him all about it, how she and his father would stay up all night trying to make it perfect. They used stencils on the walls until their backs grew tired and knees cracked as they lay on the wooden floor. They went to every store on the block buying toys, and enough clothes to last him forever, even if he grew out of them every few weeks. His entire life all they’ve ever shown him is all the love sitting in their hearts. There was not a moment with them where they made him feel unwanted—unloved. To them, he was always their beautiful boy and nothing less. Their beautiful beautiful boy.

It takes a lot out of him to take the first step forward, and then even longer to the next. He peers into the crib, watching the baby kick peacefully in his sleep. His little jumper wrapped around him, and his eyelids fluttered in a dream. He doesn’t remember ever being this small. He doesn’t remember being this innocent either. He turns around to the door, as if there will be someone standing there with their arms crossed fear in their eyes. Effie would stare at him, her hands shaking by her side, “Don’t hurt him!” She’d beg, “Please don’t hurt my baby.”

No one comes. James is alone. He turns back to the baby, and his eyes are open, sleepily looking up at him. He squabbles, starting to whine, and it pulls from the back of his throat.

“Hey,” James whispers, reaching out, “Shh, don’t cry.”

The baby blinks up at him, his eyes wide with amusement. There’s something so innocent, something so pure, it eats away James’ chest. There’s a strong urge to protect him. Such a simple one, born from nothing at all, born from the first glimmers of the sun. He wants to calm all the wildest oceans, he wants to light every single star to guide his way home to sweet dreams, and beautiful butterflies.

James’ eyebrows furrow, “You can see me?”

The baby doesn’t answer, he babbles instead, not making any sense, reaching out to James with his tiny outstretched fingers. James hesitates, looking towards the door again. Someone has to come in. Effie has to come in, comforting him is her job. His Mama is gonna come in he knows she will, but she doesn’t. The door remains open just an inch, no more. He turns back to the baby, a pout forming on his lips as he pushes upwards.

James gives in, gently bringing his hand into the crib. He’s almost afraid he won’t make contact, the baby will cry anyway, weeping for a comfort he can not give, but his little fingers wrap around James’ thumb. He smiles softly, tugging James down and he goes, he has no other choice. He keeps his eyes wide open, careful to watch every step and every single breath. He counts them as they go. In and out. In and out. In and out. The little hand slowly lets go of his finger drifting off back into a dream. In and out. In and out. James drags his hand along his cheek, dipping down his face. So small. In and out. In and out. In and…

He thinks he’ll disappear, fade into obscurity, and never see the sun again, but he’s there in the morning. He walks down to the kitchen where the baby is resting in their mother’s arms. James calls out to her. She says nothing in return, her only focus being on the boy in her arms, her precious beautiful boy. James watches from corners in the day, and he soothes in the night. He watches his parents bicker while cooking dinner, and strokes the baby’s cheek to keep him from waking. He watches as his parents dance basking in the refrigerator light one deep summer night. He smiles softly to himself, feeling himself cry and not finding tears when he touches his face to remove them. He reteaches himself the lullabies his Papa used to sing to him so he can sing to the baby in the middle of the night. He never looks away from his face, afraid he might miss something.

He’s there for his first word. “Mama,” just like Effie always told him it was. He feels himself cry again. Then he laughs with his parents as Effie teases Monty for being first. It’s a few days later when the baby won’t sleep, eyes wide open for hours after he’s been put to bed. James stands above his crib, gently pulling the pad of his finger down his nose. He sings a lullaby softly and lets the baby play with his fingers. When nothing works he sighs, resting his chin on the railing.

“You’re stubborn, aren’t you?” He whispers. He doesn’t talk much. He never knows what to say. He’s afraid of saying too much. He doesn’t want to hurt him. His words are weapons, perhaps they weren’t always, but they turned into them. He doesn't want to poison the baby, so innocent, so pure, and not afraid of the life in front of him. He hasn't heard the ocean yet. James can't be the one who teaches him how to recognize the sound of it. 

The baby’s eyes are immediately dragged over to him, captivated by even his few words.

James shoulders slacken, “You want me to talk, don’t you?”  He says, “I know you won’t remember any of this. You won’t remember, well me. I’m—“ his mouth grows dry, and his words vanish beneath his feet. “I’m James,” he pushes through. “I’m no one special but… you are. Beautiful boy.”

The baby blinks slowly, “J—“

James’ eyes widen, “James?”

“J—“ he babbles, it’s barely anything, and hardly a ‘J’ if James is being honest, but he clings to it anyway.

“James,” he repeats.

“Jam,” the baby says, smiling wide as soon as he finishes. Even if it really comes out more of an “am” than anything.

James gleams anyway, and his chest grows warm, “There you go.” He whispers, leaning forward to kiss his forehead. “You got it.”

The baby doesn’t last much longer being awake than that. James says up the entire night, he doesn’t need sleep. He whispers to himself as the sun comes up, his own name missing two letters as if he’ll forget it if he stops.

He watches his first step. He watches his first belly laugh when he can’t stop. He watches the first time he has sweets and the first time he has chocolate. He’s there for his first Christmas. His first time sitting on Santa’s lap. He cried the entire time, then wouldn’t come out of his Mama’s shoulder the rest of the mall trip. He watches the first time he rolls in the grass. The first time he tries solid food. The first time he meets his childhood cat for the very first time. He pulled her tail and she didn’t even get angry at him, she just curled up right beside him.

He’s three when his parents take him to the beach for the first time. They keep a close watch on him the entire time, keeping him away from the shoreline. James sits inland, far away from the tide, his knees curled up to his chest. Monty sits beside him, his eyes on a book as Effie races their toddler down the shoreline. He glances up every few sentences to smile over at them. James doesn’t take his eyes off them for a second. His heart patters when the little toddler’s legs get sprayed by the sea, but he doesn’t move. He doesn’t run to save him.

After a long few minutes, the toddler runs over to him, tripping over his feet. “James!” Effie calls after him, her laughter coating the air with her sweetness. James turns his head to face her, even if he knows she’s not calling out to him. The hot sun makes him hazy. If he closes his eyes it’s like he’s back there. He’s calling out his name.

“Prongs,” the toddler laughs, running up to his heels, “Come on.”

For a long while, James was Jam. He would listen to the toddler babble up at him, repeating Jam over and over. He never grew tired of the sound, not once was it too much. As he grew his vocabulary did too. James didn’t want to confuse him. He didn’t want him to question anything. And he missed his friends. He misses Sirius. He misses Remus. He misses Peter. He misses everything. His heart aches for them. So he turned back into Prongs if only to carry them with him.

“Who are you talking to, baby?” Effie comes up behind him, grabbing him by the middle and swinging him up into her arms. The toddler laughs, giggling with his entire chest as he flings his head back. 

“His imaginary friend,” Monty answers, and it’s the first time James has ever heard them refer to him like that. Imaginary.

Effie pulls a face, looking over at her baby, “You have an imaginary friend?”

The toddler shakes his head harshly, “Real,” he answers. “Prongs.”

“Prongs?” Effie laughs along, “Can we meet this Prongs?”

James' heart is falling through his chest, though that would mean he’d have one to begin with. He’s afraid he lost it a long time ago. It’s swimming at the bottom of an infinite sea to be a snack for the fish no one dares to find. He feels it beat though, for a moment or two. He feels it flutter.

The toddler nods quickly, reaching towards the ground to be let down. He motions towards James a smile wide on his face, “This is Prongs,” he says, his words clumping together. “We play pirates together.”

“Pirates huh?” Monty questions.

The toddler nods enthusiastically, “And he tells me stories to help me sleep.”

James’ eyes are glued on the little boy, he can’t look away from him. He looks over at his parents, they never told him this story before. They never told him he used to have a friend named Prongs. Maybe he didn’t. Maybe he didn’t.

“Prongs,” the toddler continues, “Mama and Papa.”

“Hi,” James forces out. “Nice to meet you.”

The toddler looks at his parents expectantly. James thinks he looks at them with a similar expression, but they don’t look over at him. He shouldn’t expect them to. He’s so far away from here. He’s at the bottom of the sea, but maybe this beautiful boy doesn’t have to be.

“James?” James calls out, putting his arms out to bring him closer.

The toddler looks over at him, quickly running over to him. Their parents look away, both sitting next to each other, smiling sweetly in silence.

“Can you promise me something?” James says, and he’s not even sure what he’s saying. He’s not sure what kind of promise he’s asking him to make.

The toddler nods, “Yeah.”

“Don’t go in the water,” James warns him. 

The toddler looks towards the sea, questions lining his eyes. “Why?” 

“You trust me right?” The boy nods. “One day you’re going to think you need to go into the water, okay?” He reaches out his hands to rub the pad of his thumb against his shoulder. “You don’t have to. Don’t go in the water. Promise me.”

The toddler nods, “Promise,” he says, his ‘R’ coming out more like a ‘W,’ but he promises.

“Good,” James leans back taking a breath. 

The toddler grows distracted easily enough as their father picks him up onto his back and runs to the ocean with him. He laughs the entire way down, James can hear it even from far away. When he turns he finds his Mama looking through him. He feels empty. He feels cold. He wants to be in the ocean. He so badly wants to collapse into the water, maybe then he’ll become whole once again. But he refuses to have his baby find the same fate as him. He will protect his beautiful boy. His parents’ beautiful boy. He won’t find himself in the ocean. James will be sure of it.

On his sixth Halloween, the boy dresses as Spiderman, and he insists that James dresses up with him.

“Come on,” the boy is standing in the middle of his bedroom, his little plastic jack-o-lantern swinging in his hands. “You’re not dressed.” He pouts, it covers his entire face.

James knees beside him, “What do you want me to wear?”

The boy stays silent for a moment of contemplation, “Match me?” He ends up saying.

“Alright,” he nods before stepping away to the other room. He doesn’t have to think about changing his clothes, it changes to the boy's whims. When James steps back in the room the boy is already bouncing on his heels despite it being only a few seconds since he left. The boy grabs at his hand, chasing him out of the room to the front door.

Effie and Monty stroll behind them, calling out when the boy goes too far. James is watching out for him, he keeps him out of the streets.

It’s halfway through the night that the boy starts slowing down, his bag halfway full with empty wrappers. “Slow down there,” James tells him.

The boy hums, “What’s the point of Halloween if I slow down?”

“Touche,” James mumbles.

“What’s your favorite?” The boy asks, digging through his bag. “You can have anything you want.”

“I—“ James stops himself before he can finish. He hasn’t had candy in forever—or six years really. Not that it’s felt like that much time has passed. The last time he had some it was the night before the ocean. He sat up with Regulus waiting for him to go to sleep, mindlessly eating M&Ms in front of the TV. He can’t remember the movie it was playing, it’s all a haze now. He remembers the taste of the chocolate. He remembers Regulus’ deep breaths filled with sleep, and how innocent he looked drenched in the stars' light. He remembers the weight of him on top of him. He remembers having to move him in order to climb toward the ocean afterward too. He’s spent so many nights thinking about him. He’s spent so many nights trying to avoid the topic at all. He misses him. It’s his own fault that he does. So he lets it go. “I don’t like it,” James ends up saying.

“Why not?” The boy asks, pulling down his mask as they reach the next house.

James only shrugs, “It’s not good for you,” he says, “Plus, it’s all yours, yeah?”

The boy nods, “Race you to the next house?”

James laughs, it hurts coming down, “Of course, kiddo.”

There’s a little swing set in the back garden. Monty made it for the boy when he was seven. He made it for James too. There were two seats. One for the boy and one for his friend, even if no one else could see him. The boy spent hours in the backyard. Picking at rocks and digging up bugs. Making little mud pies just after it rained. James sat on the left swing, gently rocking himself back and forth. The boy swung high and wide, laughing all the way down.

It was getting dark earlier as the seasons changed, and the sun was finding its resting place for the night. The boy slows to a crawl, turning to face James, and he says, “Do you have any other friends?”

James pauses at the question, faces flying over his eyes, but he can’t grasp onto any of them long enough. “You’re the only friend I need,” he says.

The boy hums, “You're my only friend too.”

James’ chest breaks in two. He doesn’t think that feeling will ever go away. No matter how many friends he’s gotten, no matter how many people say they love him, he thinks it’ll be like that forever. Well, forever isn’t very long now is it? Perhaps it was like that forever. The ocean was always his home.

“You’ll find more,” James tells him, a strange part of him believes it. He’s lived the boy’s life. He knows the end of the story, but the end of the story hasn’t happened—not for the boy. There’s still time for change. “They’ll love you very much.”

“I hope so,” The boy says.

“Don’t—“ James sighs, biting his tongue. “You're very loved, James.”

The boy looks up, his eyes wide, “Yeah?”

“Very much so,” James’ chest aches. “Your parents, and all the friends you’ll make. They’ll love you more than anything.”

The boy pauses, “And you too?”

James can’t break his heart. He loves the boy even if their souls are interchangeable. Even if he can’t stand to look at the body he’s in, he loves the boy more than anything—his parents’ beautiful boy. “Yeah,” he says, “I’ll love you forever.”

“Good,” The boy smiles then, kicking his feet. “I’ll love you forever too.”

It’s as simple as that. So simple. So delicate.  Nothing else like it.

Everything has to come to an end eventually. Childhood does do. Memories grow hazy, and all in all, James got more years than he thought he would.

The boy is nine when he forgets about him. Well forgets is probably the wrong word but James doesn’t know another. The boy meets his first friend at nine, Sirius comes prancing into his life with wild eyes and a killer smile. One that takes James off his feet, he looks exactly as he remembered him. He looks so much younger. He knew it was coming from the moment he saw him for the first time. He knew the boy would soon put all his energy on Sirius. He didn’t realize it had happened at first. The boy never called after him when Sirius was around, but in the night he’d always come back to him. They’d share their stories in dreams.

It’s the end of summer and the boy’s curled up in his blankets in bed. James comes into the room to tell him goodnight but the boy doesn’t look over at him, not even a glance.

“James?” He calls out, all to no response.

His heart resting by his feet, if he even has one, he walks deeper into the room, ending up at the side of the bed. A piece of him knew it had already happened. He knows the link between them had snapped right in two, but he can’t fully believe it. Not until he reaches out to rustle his shoulder to find his hand see-through. It falls right through, straight to the bedding beneath. “James?” He whispers into the night again.

The boy doesn’t spook, he falls back into his blankets instead, slipping into dreams, his eyelids fluttering in the moonlight. James spends the entire night sitting on the edge of his bed, waiting for the boy to wake up and notice him. He’ll smile so wide, jumping up and down to share a tale about what he and Sirius have been up to. Playing pirates on the playground and sharing secrets they promised not to tell another soul, but he doesn’t and he won’t. He never meets James’ eyes again.

James doesn’t go away though, not like he thought anyway. He stays. In the body he always hated, in the clothes his heart stopped beating in, smelling like salt air and sand. He doesn’t do much with his days, and time moves slower without the boy around to talk to him. He follows him everywhere. Miles behind and watching from afar. He rests in the back of a classroom when he meets Remus and Peter for the first time. He’s in the dorm room when he shares his first kiss with the former, so young and not knowing what he’s doing. He sits beside him while he cries himself to sleep, holding his mouth so no one can hear him.

It’s almost like seeing a screenplay come to life. He knows every beat it’ll follow. He knows every word to be spoken. He can’t move. He can’t break from it or remove himself from the boy’s point of view. He’s stuck. A phantom limb. One you can’t see, but one that can feel.

The longer that goes on the more dread he collects. Regulus comes into the picture when he’s eleven, but he’s a distant figure until he’s sixteen. They have their first kiss by the lake, the water brushing at their toes. James is sick of the irony. It rests in the back of his throat. He watches as the boy cries in the shower, pretending it’s only water. He watches as the boy brings himself to bleed. He watches as the boy sobs in Regulus’ arms for the first time. He watches as he isolates himself for days afterward. He watches and he watches and he watches, and every second that passes the truth seeps into his veins. The script has already been written. There’s nothing he can do to change it, and yet there’s still that seed in the middle of his chest that maybe the boy listened. Maybe the boy remembers their conversation from all the way back then when he was three and didn’t know any better.

There’s one night he sees clearer than the others. The boy is barely eighteen, and he finds himself standing by the water for the first time. It’s a lake a mile away from his house. Crickets chirp in the background, the depth of summer finally kicking in. He doesn’t do anything at first, he only sits by the edge, his eyes wide and cheeks red.

James sits beside him, the boy looks almost the same as him now. So young, so much younger than James remembers. His cheeks are round and his eyes are still filled with that innocent glow of childhood. So so young.

“James?” He calls out.

The boy doesn’t look over, he doesn’t hear him.

“Don’t,” James says anyway. “It won’t solve anything,” he whispers, “There’s so much left for you to do. Don’t.”

The boy reaches out, putting his fingertips in the water, and swirling them around. The stars watch over him, lighting him up.

“Things can get better,” James croaks. “You just have to wait it out. I’ll wait it out with you.” He means it. He’ll wait forever if that’s what it takes.

The boy blinks, taking back his hand. On cue, his phone buzzes beside him, he quickly wipes away his tears. He only lets it get to the second ring before picking it up. Smiling comes easily to him as he sets up his voice, “Hi.” He pauses, “I just went for a walk.” His lies come easy too, “No, I can meet you. You don’t have to pick me up.” James can hear Regulus on the other line, even if he can’t make out his words he knows exactly how his voice sounds. “I’m not far, Reg, I promise.” He says, “Yeah, ten minutes. I can do that.” He swallows thickly, “I love you too.”

The boy ends the call, staring down at his phone lock screen. Regulus stares up at him, his face wrinkled in a smile as James leans over to press a kiss to his cheek. The boy waits for it to turn off by itself before he looks back out at the water again. He takes a breath, then another, and stands. James watches as he walks off knowing he’ll find himself with him again in only a moment or two. He still feels the ocean in his lungs. It surrounds him completely. He looks back over, reaching out to touch it just as the boy did. He feels the warmth of the end, he can taste it. He pulls his hand away, closing his eyes until he finds himself walking behind the boy again.

The night it happens comes quickly. Quicker than James thought it would. The boy is still five, he’s still so small running through the sand on vacation with his parents. He’s nineteen and staring at the rising moon taking a step closer to it. Just like the last James is standing right beside him. He feels tears on his face that he doesn’t remember shedding.

“Remember what I told you,” he whines, his words lost to the wind. “You promised you wouldn’t.”

The boy doesn’t look over at him. His eyes stuck on one thing and one thing only. He doesn’t look back at the house where Regulus lies. He doesn’t do anything. He only stands at the edge of the world, and James knows. It must play out exactly as he wrote it. The boy has been dead since the beginning. The baby, the toddler, the beautiful boy that he is. They’re all already dead.

“Please,” he begs anyway. “I’m not ready.” The words slip from his mouth before he has the chance to consider them.

He’s not sure what comes after this. He doesn’t know where he’ll go. He wants to go up and look at Regulus one final time. He wants to talk to Sirius and have him talk back to him. He wants to let Remus hug him a final time, even if he knows Remus hates it. He wants to laugh with Peter again. He wants to do so many things. He’s not ready. He’s not ready to watch his boy go. He’s not ready to watch himself dive head-first into the ocean. He remembers the baby's little hands curling around his fingers. He remembers his baby's first words, the first time he walked. He remembers every Halloween, and Christmas covered with snow. He remembers every cut and every open wound. He lived it all. He lived it all again. He’s not ready to let it go. He wants to smell the grass. He wants to feel the gentle spring air. He wants to hold onto the boy and refuse to let go, of his parents’ beautiful beautiful boy.

“It’ll get better,” he whispers, knowing his words mean nothing. Knowing his realization came too late. He’s lived this already. He’s known this entire time he would lose everything he’s ever known. He was a fool to think anything else, and yet he begs. “You promised me. You said you’d stay away from the water.”

The boy doesn’t do anything. He blinks, letting the rest of his tears fall, and he takes a breath. Only one, before he steps under the waves. James doesn’t look, he didn’t look the last time either. He closes his eyes and waits for the echoing silence he asked for all those years ago. Nineteen years felt like such a long time the first time around, but now it’s like no time has passed. He still feels two. He swears he could sit in that little race-car bed if only he tried it. He swears he could.

The next time he takes a breath it’s warm and there’s a hum of a laundry machine ringing in his ears. When he opens his eyes the sun is falling into the room, painting him with its shine. He’s not alone, and a whine escapes his lips when he realizes who’s beside him.

“Reg?”

He’s expecting Regulus to ignore him, just like he’s done these last few years, but he turns and looks directly at him, tears in his eyes, “Jamie?”

James isn’t sure who runs into who first, but Regulus is grappling with the back of his shirt trying to wedge himself into his chest. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” James soothes, trying to calm him.

It doesn’t work, sobs escape Regulus’ mouth anyway, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. “

“Why?” James pushes his face into his shoulder, picking him up by the waist.

Regulus goes willingly, tightening his grip, “I miss you.”

“Oh,” James sniffles, setting him back down he forces him away. Regulus doesn’t let him go far, still clinging to his face. “I’m here.”

“You’re not,” Regulus whimpers.

“I know, I’m sorry,” James feels tears fall down his cheeks, Regulus just wipes them away. “I tried to bring him back to you. I tried.”

“What?” Regulus asks. “Who?” 

“Him, the boy, me,” James shakes his head. “I tried to fix it. I promise I tried.”

Regulus’ confusion doesn’t go away, but he moves on anyway. Time is such a delicate thing, you never have as much of it as you want. “It’s okay,” Regulus tells him. “I’ve got you now.”

James shakes his head, “You have to promise me something.”

“Anything,” Regulus says, his eyes are like mirrors glistening in the low light.

“Don’t follow me into the water, okay?” James leans his forehead on him. “I don’t—Promise you’ll live a long life okay? It’s not worth it. Promise me.”

Regulus hesitates, “I miss you.”

“I’ll wait,” James says quickly. “I’m good at it now. I have practice. I’ll wait. You’ll see me again, just—don’t let the ocean sway you. Don’t let the darkness fool you, okay? Just keep going. Promise me.”

“Okay,” Regulus whispers, “I promise.”

James kisses his cheek, then the other, and the tip of his nose, “I love you,” he says, “I should’ve said it so much more than I did.”

“Don’t go,” Regulus grips onto his shoulders, his fingernails in his skin.

“I love you,” James repeats.

“No,” Regulus words fall quickly, “Don’t go yet. No. Please I—“ 

“I love you, Regulus,” James tells him, “I love you more than anything.”

“I love you too,” Regulus murmurs. “I love you. Please don’t go.”

James is already gone.

He’s been dead since the beginning.

The toddler who babbled incessantly, and had a heart too big for his chest. The little kid who had a favorite spot on the swing set, and ran through the neighborhood in a Spiderman costume for far too many Halloweens, and yet not enough. The boy who couldn’t move past the call for the ocean, who just wanted his heart to stop aching. The boy who had so much more love left to give.

His parents’ beautiful boy.