every page that i wrote (you were on it)

Evan shoved his hands deeper into the pockets of his jacket, pushing the front door open with the chime of bells overhead and Barty wandered down the building's hallway. Had they not known who was in charge of the business and what his working tendencies were like, they would have figured it to be extremely professional. “Are you sure this is a good idea?” Evan muttered, glancing sideways at Barty.

“Positive,” Barty said, his voice brimming with confidence that Evan couldn’t quite share, knowing the man they were about to ask. “Peter manages The Marauders, dude. They're honestly not very good, they just have good marketing.”

“Yeah, and now I've heard that they band members have to, like, book their own gigs and make their own posters. Are we sure Peter's doing shit for them?”

Barty shrugged and approached the office. Evan knocked quickly on the glass doors of the office before inviting himself in, believing that there was no point in remaining entirely professional, they had attended the same school for close to twelve years. 

Peter blinked. “No.”

“No,” Peter repeated himself, closing his laptop slowly and rearranging his papers to busy himself. After gathering the freshly printed pathetic stack of to-do lists, he made eye contact with the two boys across from him, in an attempt to intimidate them. “I don’t take clients. Find someone else.”

“We’re not asking for much,” Evan pressed. “Just a little guidance. You went to school for this stuff for like, ever. Do you really just not want to make a job out of it?”

“I said no,” Peter snapped, his voice sharp enough to cut which was not a good look on him.

“Why not?” Evan pushed, his frustration bubbling up despite himself. They had already tried managing themselves, all they needed was the promotions. “You’re not even doing anything. You could help us with, like, five percent of the effort it took to make The Marauders big.”

Peter rose from his seat at the end of the table and reached the transparent door, his hand tightening on the knob. His face darkened like a storm cloud, and for a moment, not one of them dared to speak. Then, suddenly, he stepped out onto the hallway, letting the glass door clank behind him. “Listen,” he said, his voice low but charged with venom. “I don’t think you understand how this works. I’m done with managing. Done with The Marauders. I’m cutting them loose.”

Barty blinked. “You’re dropping them? Why?”

“Because I’ve got better things to do,” Peter said, his tone dripping with disdain. “And if I feel like it, I’ll make sure they never get another gig. Ever. Hell, I'll make sure your careers never make it onto any platform, let alone a billboard. Stay out of it.”

Evan felt the bottom drop out of his stomach. “You’d ruin their careers? The ones you built up together?”

“If it suits me.” Peter's eyes narrowed into slits. “And let me be clear, if you breathe a word of this to anyone, I’ll make your lives a living hell. Understand?”

Barty opened his mouth, then closed it again. Evan's heart was pounding so loudly that he was sure the manager could hear it. “Good,” Peter said, taking their silence as agreement. “Now get out of my studio.” He turned and stepped back inside his office, pulling the door closed behind him and pretending he couldn't see them through the window walls, leaving Evan and Barty standing there in stunned silence.

"Think that went pretty well."

-

The Hallow remained only occupied by Peter until midmorning when Sirius and Remus entered a couple minutes apart from each other. Neither of them had said anything more than normal group conversations until they were left staring at each other in the lounge. Instruments from the sound booth were strewn across the room though Remus nor Sirius had a plan for anything to get recorded today.

Sirius sat on a beat-up stool, absently tuning his guitar. His fingers moved methodically, but his focus was elsewhere. Across the room, Remus fiddled with a drumstick, spinning it between his fingers the way he always did. The silence was heavy, punctuated only by the soft squeak of the drumstick against Remus' palm.

“So,” Remus said finally, breaking the quiet. His voice was tentative, like he was testing the waters. “How’s...everything been?”

Sirius glanced up, his fingers faltering over the metal strings that vibrated against his fingertips. “You mean since me and Mary broke up? Or since you shot me down when I tried to talk to you about it?” His tone wasn’t sharp, but it wasn’t light either.

Remus flinched, tossing the drumstick down on the couch beside him. “Look, I didn’t mean to... ” He paused, searching for the right words. “I just didn’t know what to say.”

“You could’ve said anything, Lupin.” Sirius' gaze dropped back to his guitar. “Literally anything.”

Remus opened his mouth, then closed it, his hands clenching and unclenching on his knees. He hated how awkward this had become. Sirius wasn’t just his bandmate, he was his best friend. And now, it felt like there was this... thing between them that neither of them knew how to handle.

“Okay,” Sirius said after a beat. “Let’s just...play something. Get out of our heads for a bit.”

Remus looked skeptical but didn’t argue. “Fine. What do you want to play?”

Sirius reached slid off of the tall stool and carefully set his guitar to rest against his amplifier. He pulled the drawer of the coffee table open, revealing a thick folder from inside and flipping through the crumpled sheets of paper. “Actually, James had some sort of writing intervention the other day with a poet. He said it’s different from his usual stuff but he started it a while ago.”

Remus raised an eyebrow. “Different how?”

“Don’t know. Probably the sad stuff that he's been pushing us to try ever since we started looking to make a new album, but let's just try it.” Sirius replied boringly and handed over the sheet music, and Remus scanned it, his brow furrowing. It was simple, there wasn't even much drumming to be done, but there was something about the chords or the lyrics that felt... intimate. Vulnerable. 

“Alright,” Remus said, plugging his guitar into the amp. “Let’s see what James cooked up." He counted them in as always, tapping his sticks together. The first few notes were soft, tentative, like the song itself wasn’t sure if it wanted to be heard with a nearly thirty second instrumental into. Sirius switched back to his acoustic guitar wove a gentle melody while Remus kept a steady, delicate rhythm on the snare. The music grew, building into something raw and aching, and before long, they were lost in it.

Sirius could sing, typically a backup for James, which made Remus often forget how raw and personal his singing voice could be. By the time they hit the bridge, Remus looked up from his drums, catching Sirius' eye. The air between them felt different, charged, like the music had brought all the unspoken things to the surface.

You are sick, and you're married, and you might be dying
But you're holding me like water in your hands
When you saw the dead little bird, you started crying
But you know the killer doesn't understand

As the song reached its final notes, Sirius set down his guitar, his breathing unsteady. Remus leaned back slightly, the drumsticks slack in his hands. They had never been perfectly aligned with each other's thoughts until now. Sirius had held the majority of the singing until reaching the final stanza where Remus silently took over and Sirius turned to his electric guitar for a strong riff that contrasted beautifully with the sadness of the song. 

“That was...” Sirius began, but he didn’t finish. The words weren’t there.

“Yeah,” Remus said softly, his eyes never leaving Sirius'. 

The silence stretched again, but this time, it didn’t feel heavy. It felt...alive. Like it was daring them to do something about it. Before Sirius could second-guess himself, he stood and crossed the small space between them. His heart pounded as Remus hesitated, his hand hovering in the air between them. Then, finally, Remus leaned in. The kiss was tentative at first, like the opening chords of the song they’d just played. But then Sirius kissed back, his hand sliding up to Remus' shoulder, grounding them both. For a moment, the world outside the garage didn’t exist, just the two of them and the lingering echoes of James' song.

When they pulled back, Remus let out a shaky laugh. “James is going to freak out when he finds out his song did this.”

Sirius grinned, his cheeks flushing. “Let’s not tell him. At least, not yet.”

Remus nodded, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Yeah. Not yet.”

They played in comfortable silence without thinking of much more than each other, and most certainly not thinking of the fact that they were in a small room that had large glass window cut-outs, and they were most certainly not alone in the studio.

-

Manager or not, The Skittles pulled things off and they were topping charts as quickly as they were putting songs out there. Barty and Evan decided that it was best to keep their mouths shut on what Peter had told them as it wasn't really their business and although they doubted his ability to prevent the band from doing well, they couldn't afford to risk it. 

"Guys, it's finally happening! We got it!" Pandora yelled as she burst into her brother's apartment before the door was even open. Evan took the thick stack of papers from her full arms and placed them on the kitchen table beside Barty. She paused her excitement at the discovery of the room being hald empty. "Where is everyone?"

"Dorcas has a shift and Regulus went with her. Something about working better in the shop." Evan shrugged before turning to curiosity. "What exactly did we get?

Pandora pulled out the stool beside Barty, silenting accepting the tea he set in front of her. "Two gigs in row! This Friday and Saturday!"

"That's awesome! I knew we didn't need Peter to figure out our band. Now we've hit ten thousand streams and people are already ordering tickets for the show." Barty exclaimed as he searched the Honeyduke's website. "We need to get everyone here."

-

The cafe smelled like cinnamon and burnt espresso, the usual mix when Dorcas was behind the counter. She was leaning on it now, arms crossed, listening intently as Regulus spoke, his fingers drumming against the wood like he had a song stuck in his head.  

"It was a disaster," he was saying, voice low and serious. "First meeting up after the gig turned into the most awkward family reunion possible, James and I meet up again and he apologizes for what happened when it was completely not his fault. How do I counter that? Then... you know."

Dorcas winced. "That sucks. Doesn't seem like it went well for anyone."

"Yeah." Regulus sighed, trying to hide how red his face had gotten over the memory of his kiss. He was about to add on to the situation recap when the bell above the door jingled. They both glanced up, and sure enough, James himself strolled in, with Lily at his side.  

Regulus straightened instinctively, a flicker of something unreadable passing over his face that matched him complex feelings. James grinned when he saw them. "Speaking of disasters." Regulus saw him mutter to Lily, indicating that they were discussing the same thing as Dorcas and himself.

"You're not funny," Regulus muttered as if James could hear him from across the cafe. James took a seat in his usual spot, their usual spot, while Lily approached the counter already in conversation with Dorcas. When a coffee appeared in front of Regulus with a quick, "for James," stated by the barista, he sighed and advanced towards the table.

"You could've told me you were coming," Regulus said, a little too sharply. He set the coffee down, across from James, where his own had sat and of course splattered across the table.

James shrugged. "Figured I’d run into you eventually. Besides, Lily wanted coffee. And an excuse to talk about Pandora."

Lily flushed slightly, James called her name out extra loud with the hopes of getting her reaction, but didn’t deny it. Instead, she turned to Dorcas, ignoring James entirely. "So… does she know?"

Dorcas smirked. "Nope. And I’m not telling her."

"Great," Lily muttered. "Cool. We kissed and she doesn't even know that I like her. Love that for me."

Dorcas and Lily dragged chairs over to their table and Dorcas quickly untied the top of her apron as she sat. Lily gushed a little more about her moment with Pandora before, as if on cue, she walked right through the door and over to the table. She ignored the unusual combination of people and excitedly pounded on the table in front of her bandmates. "No one told you about the gig yet, right?"

Regulus frowned. "What gig?"

Pandora beamed and pulled a fifth chair to the two-person table, coincidentally right next to Lily, who was a blushing mess by this point. "Good, I told Barty and Evan that I wanted to be the first one to tell you guys. We're booked at Honeyduke's for Friday and Saturday night!"

Regulus stiffened, the information settling over him slowly. He flicked his eyes to Dorcas, who grinned. "Guess you better tell Barty and Evan to stop skipping practice for their little dates, huh?"

Regulus let out a breath, then, despite himself, smiled. "Guess so."

James clapped him on the back with a smile that would have seemed genuine if he hadn't whispered as quietly as he could, "Don’t mess it up."*

"Please," Regulus rolled his eyes. "You’re the last person who should be giving advice."

-

The following morning, James returned to the Hallow despite telling Remus and Sirius to take the day off. The door chimed moments after he got settled in the recording studio. "Alright, let's make this quick and as unproblematic you can manage."

"Someone's in a mood today," James snorted.

Regulus huffed and took a seat at the piano. "Still crashing with Barty and Evan while I wait for apartment rentals to open up and they've been at each others throats recently. They're basically just taking turns saying horrible things to each other and slamming the door."\

"Unfortunately I know the struggle, I couldn't tell you what's going on with Remus and Sirius right now." James connected before taking out his journal and flipping to a new page.

Regulus stood up suddenly from the piano, a new look crossing over his face that clashed heavily with the tired and annoyed expression he'd carried before. "Instead of working on these right now, could we try something else?"

James flustered at the sudden request. "Y-yeah, yeah, what do you have in mind?"

"How much electric guitar can you do?"

Before James even knew what he was agreeing to, familar chords were escaping his fingers as Regulus grabbed hold of Remus' drumsticks behind the set. The sound of the guitar was heavy, thick distortion filling the cramped rehearsal space like a storm about to break. Regulus' careful and planned motions he had always been known for vanished when he sat at the drums, playing with quick and reckless movements.

Regulus answered James' silent question on singing when he let out some type of vocal belting before breaking into lyrics.

Scotty doesn't know that Fiona and me
Do it in my van every Sunday
She tells him she's in church but she doesn't go
Still she's on her knees and Scotty doesn't know

When the last note rang out, Regulus looked up. "What do you think?"  

James blinked in awe. "Well, it’s definitely… angry."  

Regulus smirked. "That’s the point." He adjusted his grips on the sticks again. "We’ve been playing the same old crap for weeks, we only have like five songs. And all of those songs are sad. We have two bassists and a drummer, we need the louder songs. It makes sense."  

James frowned, pacing a little. "It’s a cover, though."  

"So?"  

"I-I don't know... The context of the song? Is that supposed to be about us? Sirius is going to go to your gig and he'll connect the dots faster than you think he would. He's already asked me about us before."

Regulus shrugged, not looking at him. "Maybe I’m tired of holding back."  

James grinned. "Oh, this is so about Sirius, isn’t it?"  

Regulus rolled his eyes. "It’s not about Sirius."  

"Oh, it is definitely about Sirius," James said, laughing. "He's told me about the way you’ve been avoiding him for weeks, not returning his calls. The way he keeps asking me if you hate him? He thought you were still mad about what happened after our gig. The fact that this song is the musical equivalent of confessing to hooking up with someone's sibling?" He grinned wider. "You have to play this at the gig. Just to see his face."  

Regulus tensed. "No."  

James scoffed. "Come on, Reg, it would be hilarious!"  

"No."  

James groaned dramatically. "You can’t just bring something this good to rehearsal, insist on playing it, and then refuse to-"  

"James."  

James ignored the warning. "Reg, this would be a moment. Sirius would-"  

"James, stop."  

There was something in Regulus' voice this time, something firm and cutting. James barely noticed, barreling ahead.  

"Reggie-"  

"James, sometimes you are just way too much. You need to learn when to shut up."  

That was the third time. The way he said it, sharp, clipped, no room for argument, made something twist in James’ stomach, made his breath catch hard in his throat.  

Stop. Too much. Shut up.

The words rattled in his head, too many voices layered over it. His teachers' voices, his past friends that didn't stay in contact with him, his own family's, all of them stern and disappointed. His own current friends, sick with frustration. Their go-to defense in an arguement. Every interviewer they've ever seen, cutting the camera and reminding him that they had a lot to cover and he couldn't talk this loud for this long. And they always, always, said his name in that condescending tone.

James.  

James.  

James.  

His chest suddenly felt too tight. His fingers curled into fists at his sides, his entire body locked up like he’d been hit. The clear walls of the studio seemed closer now, the air too thick, the buzzing from the amp grating against his nerves.  

"James?" Regulus’ voice was softer now, almost uncertain.

James took a step back. "I need- I need air." He barely registered the sound of Regulus rising from the drum set, barely heard whatever he was saying next. His ears were ringing. He just needed to get out.

The cold air hit him hard as he pushed through the back door, stumbling slightly as he walked out into the open. The small park behind the building was empty, the grass damp under his sneakers. He braced his hands on his knees, trying to breathe.  

Breathe in. Hold. Breathe out.

His lungs weren’t cooperating. His ribs ached like they were caving in. It was stupid. He knew it was stupid. Regulus hadn’t meant anything by it. It was just the first thing that came to mind, he didn't know how much it bothered him. But then again, the way he said it, had unraveled him completely. He meant it. James squeezed his eyes shut, tilting his head back, trying to focus on something, anything other than the static crawling up his spine.  

Then he heard it.  

A voice. Tight. Shaky.  

"I mess everything up."  

James turned toward the sound, heart still hammering, and saw Barty sitting on the swings, his hands gripping the chains so tightly his knuckles were white. Barty’s head was down, his whole body stiff like he was trying to hold himself together through sheer force of will.  

"I don’t know how I thought I was enough," he murmured, voice barely audible. "I don’t know how I thought I could fix it. I try, and I try, and I just-" His breath hitched sharply, fingers digging into the metal links. "I ruin everything."  

James exhaled, the last remnants of his own spiral momentarily forgotten. "Barty?" He flinched. He hadn’t realized anyone was there. His breathing was uneven, his face pale against the harsh winter sun.  

James took a slow step closer. "Hey, you okay?"  

Barty let out a sharp, humorless laugh. "Do I look okay?"  

Fair point.  

James hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. "What happened?"  

Barty shook his head, gripping the swing tighter. "Evan is really mad at me. Regulus is mad at me. I probably deserve it." His voice cracked slightly on the last word. "I keep saying the wrong things. Or not saying enough. Or saying too much. I can’t- I don’t know how to fix it. I never know how to fix it."  

James swallowed hard. He knew that feeling. Getting too close and messing it up.

He sighed, moving to sit down on the swing beside from him. "Yeah," he muttered. "I get that."  

Barty scoffed. "Doubt it."  

"You’d be surprised." James let out a slow breath, resting his arms on his knees. Barty looked over at him self-loathing practically radiating off of him and James knew he had to get personal, his least favorite thing to do. "I probably don't look much better how you feel right now. Just walked out of a rehearsal with Regulus... he said something that just- just triggered something in me. I don't know why I can't handle being called too much but I can't. And I hate it."

Barty didn’t say anything. But his hands loosened slightly around the swing chains, his breathing evening out just a little. They sat in silence for a while, the weight in both of them still heavy, but somehow, just sitting there, it felt a little easier to breathe.

The swing creaked slightly as Barty shifted, his hands still gripping the chains, his breathing still uneven. James didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t sure there was anything to say. He just let the silence stretch between them, thick but not suffocating.  

After a while, Barty let out a slow, shaky breath. “I should go.”  

James nodded. “Yeah.”  

Neither of them moved.  

Barty looked around, as if checking to make sure that there was no one behind them in the abandoned park. “... It's a BPD thing.” His voice was quieter now, almost as if he wasn’t really talking to James anymore. “The whole being too much thing. I hate it too.”  

James wanted to defend himself against the statement but realized pretty quickly that was the last thing Barty needed right now. James was a fixer. And he was trying to remember that other people's opinions weren't the only thing in the world. “Yeah.”  

Barty finally looked at him then, something uncertain in his expression. “You don't think you have it, do you?”  

James swallowed. He didn’t have an answer for that. So he just said, “I don't have it." Barty looked at him with the least judgemental a warning look can be and James knew that he couldn't get away with this. "I’m still figuring it out.”  

Barty huffed, but he didn’t argue. Eventually, he stood, stuffing his hands in his jacket pockets. “See you around, Potter... and it's okay if you never figure it out.”  

James just nodded, watching as Barty disappeared across the lawn. And then he was alone again. He didn’t go back to rehearsal. He wasn’t ready to face Regulus yet. Instead, he walked, hands shoved deep into his pockets, his head buzzing with everything Barty had said.  

"I keep thinking if you would let me back in that we can make it better, break every habit. But every time I get too close, I just mess it up"

The words clung to him. Familiar. Too familiar.  

By the time he reached his flat, it was late afternoon, but his mind was still restless, his fingers itching for something to do. He grabbed his guitar. The melody came first. Soft, slow, but raw, the kind of tune that sat heavy in the chest. Then the chords, a progression that felt right, that matched the weight of the experience. And then the words.  

At first, they were just fragments, echoes of what Barty had said, the things James had felt but never spoken aloud. He scratched them down in his notebook, crossing things out, rewriting lines, humming under his breath.  

How could I think that all that I gave you was enough?
'Cause every time I get too close, I just go mess it up

He pressed his lips together, tapping the pencil against the page.  

I keep thinking maybe if you let me back in
We can make it better, breaking every habit

James’ throat felt tight. He kept writing. By the time he was done, his fingers ached from pressing too hard on the strings, his notebook filled with messy handwriting, scratched-out lyrics, and the kind of honesty that made his chest feel too small. He didn’t know if the song was for Barty or for himself.  

Maybe both.  

He let out a slow breath, closing the notebook. Tomorrow, he’d show Regulus. Maybe this was the song they needed after all.

-

"Where the hell is James?" Sirius muttered agrily as he tuned his guitar. "He hasn't shown up in three days."

"He was definitely here yesterday, one of his notebooks is still here." Remus found the notebook first as he walked out of the studio and back into the lounge, clutching the journal in one hand, drumsticks in the other.  

It had been left on the floor of the recording sound booth, pages slightly curled from being handled too much and possibly wet from sweat. James was never careless with his lyrics, he carried them around like they were something sacred, always secretive on showing them, but today, it had been left behind, half-open.  

Remus passed it to Sirius as he wasn't sure what to do with it from here. Siriushadn’t meant to read it. He really hadn’t. But then he saw the words that he remembered from James playing weeks before.  

I hate your mom
I hate it when she opens her mouth
It's amazing to me
How much you can say
When you don't know what you're talking about

His stomach twisted. This was what caused James to storm out of the Hallow that day. He had yelled, "I hope you two figure out what the song was about!" Sirius and Remus had tossed the lyrics to the side that day. But now, "These lyrics are about me. He was defending me, I think."

“Hey, Pads?” Remus' voice was quieter than usual after he studied the book for longer.

“What?”  

Remus turned the notebook so Sirius could see. Sirius’ expression shifted almost instantly, the usual ease in his posture vanishing as he read over the words. His lips pressed into a tight line. "What the hell?" 

“There’s more,” Remus said, flipping the page. His hands were steady, but his chest felt tight.  

So just shower me in compliments but never get too close
Give me my injection of attention and just let me overdose

Sirius exhaled sharply, fingers tightening around the neck of his bass. “When did he write this?”  

“I don’t know,” Remus admitted. “But it-” He hesitated. “It doesn’t sound like just a song, does it?” Sirius shook his head quickly. "There was a song that he showed us earlier, about dying where he started or something."

“I remember,” Sirius said immediately. "Why didn't anyone notice? Why didn't I notice?" They exchanged a glance, the same worry reflected between them.  

James was always loud, always present, the kind of person who carried the room with him. But the past year, something had been… off. He laughed just as much, made just as many jokes, but there was something underneath it, something wrong. Sirius had known James long enough to recognize when he was pretending everything was fine.  

And this? This wasn’t fine.  

Sirius ran a hand through his hair, gripping the back of his neck. “Do we ask him?”  

Remus bit his lip, glancing at the lyrics again. He also knew James too well. “If we come at him head-on, he’ll just deflect.” Remus had a little more experience in the mental health range, but not enough to have seen the signs, clearly.

Sirius clenched his jaw. "Then what do we do?"  

Remus sighed. "We wait. We watch. We listen. If he isn't okay, he'll slip up eventually. We just have to be paying attention when he does."  

Sirius didn't like it. He hated the idea of doing nothing. But he also knew James. And Remus was right, if they pushed too hard, James would shut down completely. Just then, the door creaked open, and James strolled in, shaking the cold from his jacket. His eye bags were exceptionally prominent, which Sirius couldn't help but immediately notice, wondering how he managed to be sleep deprived with three days off of work.

Sirius watched him carefully, scanning for any hint of what he and Remus had just read. But James looked… normal. He looked fine.

But that was the thing about James. He always looked fine.  

And now, Sirius wasn’t sure if he ever actually was.