Everything hurts. Everything always fucking hurts. James Potter has never felt so tired, so exhausted by anything. So he dropped out of university. Then, he fell apart.
Honestly, James doesn’t know when the sad little routine that has become his life began, nor why it began. But he was sleeping until noon, waking up and only pulling himself out of bed when his body threatened to die of thirst. If it’s a good day, he forces food down his throat, and if a miracle occurs, he might even shower. He’s never out of bed longer than an hour before he stumbles back, curling into the no longer comforting warmth of his bed and laying there, hoping to disintegrate.
The sun is in his eyes as he lies on the couch, a glass of water shakily clutched in his hands. He’s working up the strength to crawl back into bed, when his serene torture is interrupted by a knock on the door. He ignores it, and it knocks again. Ignore. Knock. Ignore. It’s a silent battle between him and whoever decided to bother him.
“James,” Sirius’ voice calls out, “Open the bloody door, mate.”
Fuck. It's Sirius. James knows him well enough he would kick the door down if he has to, and James doesn’t have the energy to get that fixed. So he lets out a low groan, and pulls his weary body up to open the door.
Sirius is standing in the doorway, ring-clad hands clutching onto a takeout bag like it’s keeping him alive. He gives James this look, overflowing with anger and pity and fear. James avoids eye contact.
“James,” Sirius’ voice is forcefully calm, “you haven’t answered your phone in over a fucking week.”
“Yeah,” James admits weakly, “it’s dead.”
“You know when most people’s phones die, they charge it.”
James just stares at him stupidly, “I forgot.”
Sirius sighs, hands clutching tighter onto the bag of takeout. He intakes a deep breath, before stepping past James and into the house.
James found himself shoved onto the cold, metal stool that digs into his thighs, while Sirius busied himself in the kitchen. He was looking for plates, and although James knew there was nothing clean he didn’t offer up that information. Eventually, Sirius figured that out, and began washing some. James didn’t want to think about how old those dishes must be. Sirius kept glancing over at him, dissecting him with his eyes. James focused intently on his bitten up nails, in order to avoid eye contact with him.
Eventually, a plate heaped with fish and chips from his favourite shop was placed in front of him.
“Eat,” Sirius ordered, taking the seat beside him, “Then we’ll talk.”
James knew he couldn’t avoid this ‘talk’ for long enough, and soon Sirius led him to the couch. James clutched onto the hot tea like his life depended on it, but refused to drink it. He felt sick. Those greasy chips were the most he had eaten in a long while. James stares down at his socked feet, desperate to be anywhere else. But alas, Sirius begins to talk.
“I’m so worried about you, James. We all are. You haven’t properly spoken to anyone in like a whole month, and you’ve been cancelling plans with everyone! You didn’t even show up to Effie’s fucking birthday dinner!”
James couldn’t help but flinch at that last part. He felt truly guilty about that, it was eating away at him every single moment. He really wanted to go to the dinner. He had tried to get up, shower, and put on nice clothes. He tried to be a human. Yet, he ended up lying on the floor and staring up at the roof, hopelessly paralysed and hopelessly inhuman. He didn’t even have the decency to send his mum a birthday text.
“Just tell me what’s going on, please.” Sirius sounded desperate now, a pleading edge hanging off his voice.
James didn’t respond. What is there to fucking say? Truly, there was nothing wrong with him. He didn’t have abusive, horrible parents like Sirius, he wasn’t constantly in and out of hospitals with a broken body like Remus, he hadn’t lost a parent like Peter, he wasn’t a foster kid like Marlene, he didn’t have a series of troubled relationships and horrible exes like Mary. He was fine. Perfect even.
“I’m fine, Sirius.”
“Bullshit.” Sirius’ voice was forceful now, angry, James was only messing up further, “The least you could do was send us a fucking text James. Let a guy know youre fucking alive.”
“I wouldn’t be dead.” James whispers.
“Really?” Sirius snaps back, “Because you’re not looking very alive right now.”
James sinks further in the couch, desperate to get away from his words. His words that claw at his throat, rip at his lungs. They nestle inside of him, beating alongside his heart. Broken, it whispers. Broken. Sirius sighs, running a hand through his hair.
“I need a minute.”
And then he’s gone.
James can hear him talking quietly down the hall, presumably he’s on the phone to Remus. Sirius always calls Remus when he’s upset. Remus is his lifeline. Sometimes it's James. It hasn’t been for a while. James doesn't have a whole lot of life in him. He can hear his footsteps as he paces the floor, back and forth back and forth, hard enough to leave a dent in the tiles. A few words float through into the living room. ‘I don’t know’, he says, 'It's so hard’, ‘he’s not telling me anything’ and a sad, shaky, ‘i’m scared.’.
James feels the guilt hit him like a truck. It has been a very long time since he has heard Sirius sound so weak, so terrified. It makes him feel sick to his stomach knowing he caused it. A while ago, James would do anything to bring a smile onto Sirius’ face. Now he is the reason Sirius is broken, the reason his voice shakes and lip quivers. When he comes back, James will explain himself. He will talk. He has to, for Sirius’ sake.
“I-” he starts as Sirius steps into the room, “I’m sorry, It’s just I-”
And that’s it. That's as far as he gets. He can’t form the words, can't explain the ache in his chest and the pain in his head.
Tears swell in Sirius' eyes as he pulls James into a hug, and James finds himself soaking in his warmth. “It’s okay. I didn’t mean to get mad at you. We’re going to be okay. Everything is going to be okay.”
It’s a sad reflection of a conversation James had with Sirius years ago, curled on the floor of the Potter’s kitchen. This time, they’ve taken each other's places. Ironic how that works out, isn’t it?
Sirius eases him into the shower, encouraging him to stand under the lukewarm water. It pours over him, and for a few moments James is convinced he is drowning. He does nothing to prevent it. When James returns to his room, it’s tidy. Not super clean, given the horrible state it is in and Sirius’ limited time frame, but neat enough that James doesn’t know the last time it looked like that. Sirius encourages him into the freshly made bed, the soft cotton scratching and ripping at his skin. Sirius places a glass of water on his bedside table, and quite literally tucks James in like he’s a toddler. Yet he’s too drained to argue, just lying pliantly as Sirius promises to make sure someone visits him daily. As he tells him empty promises about how everything is going to be okay. And then he’s gone.
And it's just James, and his thoughts.
He feels as if he is going to sob, yet no tears stain his face. He is letting everyone down. He is letting Sirius down, making his eyes big and sad, voice unsteady and grim. He’s letting his mum down, letting his dad down, Remus, Pete, everyone. Worse yet, he’s letting himself down. He honestly, really, really wanted to talk to Sirius. Even just one sentence, to explain what’s wrong. To explain the pit in his stomach, the bad taste in his mouth, the terrifying whirlwind in his head. But still, James remained silent.
Fucking weak.
He doesn’t fall asleep for the rest of that night, whether he wants to or not. He stares at the roof, pleading with himself, hoping for a world where things are different. Why can’t things be different? Why is he like this? What happened?
He remembers being a teenager, effortlessly free and happy, carefree like nothing could touch him. Like no hurt was never big enough to break him. He used to have this huge bright grin on his face that never left, the kind that would light up rooms. When he forces himself to look in the mirror, he sees a joyless, hollow face, with eye bags and chewed up lips. It makes him feel a bit sick, to see how he has fallen so low.
Sirius keeps to his word, which isn’t surprising in the slightest. So, someone visits him everyday. First it’s mum, and she helps finish cleaning his room that Sirius started. Dad comes the next day, and James’ fridge is immediately stocked with meals. Remus comes next, then Sirius again, then Pete, mum, Lily, dad, Sirius, Mary, Remus, Peter, mum, Sirius, Sirius, Sirius. Everyone brings him food in an attempt to stock his pantry and his stomach, they tidy his house and watch movies with him in an attempt to keep him entertained. It doesn’t work. None of it works.
Marlene shows up one day, and James can’t help but feel guilty at the sight of her. They’ve been friends practically since birth, and James has hardly thought of her recently. Hasn’t asked how she’s been.
“Mckinnon,” he says into his pillow, “How’s…”
He cuts himself off, and is hit with a sudden realisation that he can’t remember the name of Marlene’s girlfriend. Fuck. He’s a bad person.
“Hi, James.” She whispers.
She crawls into bed besides him, and that kind of sends James for a loop. Everyone else has stayed arms length from him, like this emptiness is contagious. But Marlene sits besides him, confident and unafraid.
“Saw mum again.” She says.
“How is she?” James responds, desperate to fall into their normal roles.
She makes an indecipherable noise, resting her chin on her knee, “She’s going to rehab and therapy again.”
“That's good!” James responds, with as much energy in his voice as he can muster.
“You should go to therapy, James.”
My response is immediate, habitual, “There's nothing wrong with me.”
“James, please, don’t lie to me.” She sounds so weak. She doesn’t sound anything like the Marlene he knows at all.
In a desperate attempt to fix it, James grabs a glass of water from the bedside table, and holds it up to his lips. He drinks a little sip, just as much as he can before his throat starts to burn.
“See,” He says, “I’m oka-” His words are cut off by a burst of coughs, exploding from his body, his dry throat threatening to wretch itself out of his mouth.
She looks at him, and there's pure horror on her face. Eventually, she climbs out of bed, and leaves with a simple, “Be careful, James.”
That visit was only thirteen minutes. Shortest one yet.
James accepts a simple fact that night. That nothing is the same anymore. That this is the way he is forever now. A broken, shattered shell of man. He stares at the ceiling as he accepts the fact that he won’t laugh again, won’t smile, won’t get excited about a new movie release or get overly invested in a reality tv show. He misses his old self, mourns that feeling of freedom, of lightness, of not constantly being weighed down by things too heavy to carry. But he accepts that this is his new life. There’s nothing he can do to change it.
Everything used to be so, so effortless. He could leave the house with ease, appreciating the sunlight on his face. He could spend hours talking and pulling pranks with Sirius, or playing games with Pete, or enjoying a comfortable silence and a chocolate bar with Remus. He misses the boy that would be able to run for hours, when now just getting out of bed leaves him feeling utterly depleted of any life.
But unfortunately, this is his new life.
Things are so much harder now. He has to learn to deal.
He tries to act fine when people come to visit. He wants them off his back, so that he can wallow in peace. So he obediently eats the food served to him, he pretends to want to know about peoples days and agrees to take recommendations for books he knows he won’t read. Just to get them to stop worrying, to stop wasting their precious time on someone who can’t be fixed.
One day, he even agreed to go on a walk with Lily. They hadn’t even gotten out to the street before he was begging her to go back inside. The sun in his eyes, the feeling of grass under his feet, it all made him feel sick to his stomach, half convinced that if he didn’t go back inside he would simply keel over and die. That day was embarrassing.
He is at war with his own head, his own thoughts, and he’s bloody losing. Useless. Disgusting. Weak. Pathetic. Slob. Broken. Selfish. Careless. Attention seeker. He would shut his door behind someone, and immediately crawl into bed, whether midnight, four pm or ten in the morning. Being alive was so fucking exhausting and he couldn’t handle it anymore.
“Oi,” Peter said, tossing a white wire at him, “Charge your phone.”
James groans in response, pulling together a weak argument which comes out as a muffled, “I don’t wanna.”
“Where’s your phone?” After a bout of silence, he lets out a harsher, “James.”
James groans, but instructs the boy on where to get his phone from, and before he knows it his phone is booting back to life for the first time in at least a month.
And James does not want to look at it. But he does, forever a sucker for self torture. There has to be hundreds of missed calls and ignored messages. So many people had reached out to him, and it made him a bit ill. He wanted to apologise to them, and he wanted to tell them to fuck off and leave him alone. He just wanted the way he’s feeling to stop.
It was when he was scrolling through the messages with Sirius, that he snapped. He throws up right there on his couch, desperate to expel the complicated feelings in his body through some method. Peter stays next to him the whole time, rubbing his back and whispering soothing words. It doesn’t help. Still, he falls asleep in Peter’s arms.
He can’t keep living like this. It’s not fair. He didn’t ask for this. Why can’t things be different? Why does he have to keep letting people down? Why do people keep caring about him anyway?
Remus yells at him. It’s Sirius’ birthday. Almost midday. James sent him a text. A text that read ‘Hapybirthd’
James was honestly quite proud of it, it took a lot of work to be able to send that message. In hindsight, it’s not ideal. Apparently it made Sirius cry.
“He’s so fucking worried about you James, and you can’t even pull up your fucking pants enough to write the full words happy birthday. That would’ve been an awful text! But this is so much fucking worse! He is always talking about you, hoping your okay, organising people to take care of you, practically making deals with the fucking devil to make you happy! He’s the best fucking friend you could have and you treat him like absolute shit!”
“Moony-” James whispers.
“Stop, James.” Remus gives him a harsh look, “I just need you to stop. I understand that you're hurting and life is really hard for you, but everyone on this planet is working so hard to help you and you’re not even trying. You act like you’re trying but I know you, James! I know you’ve given up. I honestly don’t know what to do anymore.”
When Remus leaves, James ends up collapsed on the dirty kitchen floor, hands pulling at his hair, gasping for air that is never coming. It’s pathetic, really, the way he falls apart so easily. The way his whole body shatters and pushes him under water, submerged by the weakest wave. Drowning, drowning, drowning.
He refused to get out of bed for the next week. Remus came and apologised. James knows what he said is true. Sirius came and lay in bed next to him, sobbing and sobbing. James hugged him tight, desperate to show his love. Desperate to be back at the time where James was planning Sirius’ birthday party, instead of skipping it.
James still didn’t leave the confines of his bed.
Until Regulus showed up. He hadn’t done that before. He seemed nervous, twiddling his fingers and eyes wide and brimming with emotion. The Black brothers were like that, uncontrollable emotions spilling out of their eyes, big and glassy, expansive as the ocean.
He brought James sushi, and stood at the end of his bed giving him a glare to kill until James pulled himself out of bed. He followed him immediately into the lounge room, where Regulus served up food for the two of them. Awkward silence fell as James fumbled with his chopsticks, while Regulus expertly manoeuvred with them.
“Sirius has the flu.” Regulus says, filling the dead air.
“Oh.” James responds.
In a few seconds he’s absolutely certain he will wake up and care. But it never comes.
Regulus isn’t much of a talker, which is kind of a relief because everybody else who enters through his door seems to be terrified by the prospect of silence. Normally, silence would send James spiralling, but now he is content to sit in the chair he is ordered to sit in, and watch as Regulus meticulously cleans his room. James flushes with embarrassment and hides his face behind his knees, well aware that his sheets are soiled like he’s a fucking toddler. Regulus doesn’t bat an eye.
“Goodbye, James.” Regulus says, donning his jacket.
“Wait,” James called out, entirely unsure of what he wanted.
Regulus turns around, and the two boys linger for a few moments, staring at each other.
“Can I have your phone number?”
“I’ve been told you're quite unreliable in terms of phones.”
James’ next words were snarky, anger uncontrolled in the recent days, “You have keys to my fucking house, give me your phone number.”
Regulus just smiles, “Maybe next time.”
When James awoke, his parents were sitting on the chairs in the corner of his room. His father sniffled in the way he did after tears. Instantly, James grasped for the worst. They were getting divorced, they were sick, Sirius was dead, the world was ending.
“Morning James.” His mum said.
“Hi, mum.” James responds, “What’s going on?”
She smiles what should’ve been that Effie Potter smile but is instead tight, sad and restrained. “I think we should talk, James.”
He’s gonna throw up. This cannot be fucking good. He places a hand to his chest in the hopes to be armed with some magic to cure the panic in his heart, beating hard and heavy.
“We’ve been talking a lot, and we think it’s vital that you see a therapist.”
No. no. no. no. no. Absolutely not. “No.”
“James, mijo-”
James cuts his mum off, “I’m not doing it mum, there's nothing wrong with me.”
“It’s not that there's anything wrong with you, James.” His dad says, “But we’re really worried about how you’ve been acting recently and we think you could benefit from some help.”
“I think you're wrong.” James responds, crossing his arms over his chest like a toddler.
“Okay, James.” his mum said, weakly, “Okay.”
When they leave, James doesn’t feel any guilt. James doesn’t feel anything at all.
Regulus comes again. He doesn’t bring food, doesn’t offer to clean his room or distract him. He just sits cross legged on the end of James’ bed, textbooks open, studying.
At first, James doesn’t know what to do with it. Doesn’t know how to respond to any of this. But eventually, he accepted it. Accepting the warmth at the foot of his bed, the soft body of Regulus just close enough that James can feel his presence, the sound of his breathing noise to James’ ears.
Then, the both of them sat in James bed, and in a touching show of affection, Regulus stroked James’ hair. He doesn’t even know if Regulus knows he is doing it, but he’s touched nonetheless.
“Pandora got you this crystal,” he said, placing a small rock in his hands, “It’s citrine, supposed to spark positive energies. She wanted to come herself but I was nervous all the guests you’re already getting would overwhelm you.”
James clutched the stone in his hands, the cold radiating off it making him feel more awake than ever. He turned to place it on his nightstand, where it looked out of place among dirty dishes. It made him feel a bit more human.
“Thank you.” James whispers.
Regulus was a common visitor from that day on. James found peace in him, and while nobody seems to understand why Regulus was coming so often, they respected it.
One day, James even let himself open up, just a little.
“It’s not like it used to be.” He said, eyes at the floor.
Regulus runs a hand through his hair, it's purposeful now, “Yeah?”
“Everything's so much harder.”
James didn’t realise it then, but that was a huge step.
James’ first tears were shed in Regulus’ arms. He hated the shame he felt around crying, truly hated it. But it was there. He couldn’t help that embarrassing need to preserve his masculinity. Yet, when the tears fell, Regulus didn’t ridicule him. He just held him tighter.
James has spent almost a year hating himself. He hates how much everything hurts. And he hates how much he needs to get help.
So finally, he calls his mum and takes her up on her offer.
The therapist's office is small. The walls are a light blue, and there are fairy lights strung from the ceiling. His therapist is a kind man with twinkly eyes named Phillip. James can hardly talk the entire first session, just staring at the man. He’s nice, but James is still desperately clinging on to the fact that he doesn’t need this. It’s a mistake.
Sirius picks him up at the end of the session, and they drink coffee in the backseat of his car.
“How was it?” Sirius asked.
James looks away, but responds honestly, “I hardly spoke the entire time.”
“It’s okay,” Sirius says, “it’ll get easier. It always does.”
James didn’t realise how hard on himself he was being. When Phillip pointed out his negative self-talk, James stumbled over himself to argue. But there's a small little part of him that knows it's true. Everyone around him can tell his parents, even though he desperately tried to keep his hurt away from them. People he hardly talked to have reached out to him, when he stopped showing up at his local coffee shop, when his library book went months and months without being returned.
Phillip asks him a question, “What would you do if someone else were acting if you were, say Sirius.”
James feels panic rise in his chest at just the idea of Sirius feeling like this, acting like this.
“What about your worst enemy?”
He thinks of the hurt that has plagued him for so long, thinks of the sleepless nights and the breakdowns on the floor. No. Nobody deserves this.
“Then why, James, do you refuse help?”
Slowly, James is getting better. He’s learning things about himself, with the help of Phillip, of Sirius, of his friends and family. Regulus is one of the people who helps him the most. He drags James into the kitchen and they cook together, he puts on music and sings until James can’t help but join in. They go on walks together, watching the sunset.
Everyone else helps too.
Sirius holds him when he cries, picking him up from every therapy appointment and filling his life with laughter. Remus keeps him in check, encouraging him to clean his house and keep his pantry stocked. Peter will spend hours lying in his bed, talking about anything and everything. Marlene drags him out of the house once a week, whether to go shopping, or go to the cinemas, or the bar. Lily helps him with his college applications, he’s going to study teaching. Mary always keeps him entertained, with a constant supply of stories from her mind.
His parents help too. James starts showing up to family dinners again, and he lets himself talk to them. They help him every step of the way, whether meal prepping so there's always food in the house or just holding him as he cries.
When James feels bad, he doesn’t let himself crawl onto the floor. He straightens his back, and practises the techniques Phillip has taught him. In for 4, out for 6. 5 things he can see. He drinks water. Anything to keep from crashing, from falling back into that pit.
Some days it works, sometimes he doesn’t.
He learnt to let himself get help on those days. To call someone, and ask for help. To let Regulus pull him into a hug, to let Sirius sing him little songs, and hold him to this earth.
He is taking care of himself though, and things are easier. He’s eating properly, showering regularly, keeping his house clean and keeping up with his friends. He reads books and sings songs. And most of all, he’s doing this for him. No longer is he showing up to therapy to appease someone, he’s doing it because it helps him.
He hung photos back up on his wall. Some old, found in the bottom of drawers, most are new. There are photos of him and Regulus dancing in the kitchen, of them kissing on the couch. There’s an action shot of him, Sirius, Remus and Peter playing mario kart, right as he won, eyes alight. Photos of him and Sirius, of him and Marlene drunkenly doing karaoke, bad selfies of everyone trying to squeeze into the tiny frame. James has started smiling again.
And maybe James isn’t like what he used to be. James knows he will never be the happy-go-lucky kid he once was. But he’s grown, and maybe that’s enough.
James rather likes who he is right now.