Sirius & James
They called it bipolar, the therapist that James’ mum took him to.
Sirius wasn’t bipolar, he wasn’t. It wasn’t his fault that he felt everything in such extremes.
When life was up, Sirius was singing and dancing and everything rushed by as if he was riding a train.
When life was down, it was as if Sirius was standing on the tracks, waiting to be hit.
“You’ve got a problem, mate,” James said sadly when Sirius showed up at his flat. Sirius had bleary eyes, he smelled like sex and weed, and he needed help.
“I don’t want to live anymore,” Sirius told him. “It’s… James, please, I’m going to die.”
“Come on,” James said immediately. He grabbed his jacket off the hook and wrapped his arm around Sirius. He shouted to Lily that he’d be back, and then he helped Sirius to the car.
“I’m not bipolar!” Sirius sobbed in the hospital that James took him to. “Please, James, tell them!”
James held Sirius’ hand and begged him to try the inpatient treatment and the medicine.
For his brother? Sirius would do anything.
Sirius only ever felt heat waves or thunderstorms, ecstasy or terrible pain… with the medicine and the support from his brother and the love of his friends?
Sirius was able to finally find a warm spring day.