Chapter Text
Every once in a while a star implodes and creates a black hole where there had once been beautiful, blinding light. This is what happened to Sirius Black. Once the brightest star in the sky, gravity has pushed down on him so hard and for so long that he completely self-destructed, and no one in his life has been spared from the fallout.
When Sirius was born, his parents looked down at him in his crib and smiled just as all other parents do. They picked him up in their sure, loving arms and cradled him close to their chests—just as all other parents do. But instead of cooing sweet things or babbling nonsense to him just as all other parents do, Walburga and Orion Black would hold little Sirius and tell him of all the great things he was going to grow up to do, how he would follow in the footsteps of his family, how he would grow up to be their perfect son and make them proud. They would look down at him and smile, then look up at their family motto painted in swirling cursive right on the wall behind his crib. ‘Toujours Pur’ it said, and that is surely what they expected him to be—but even the best laid plans fall apart sometimes. Sirius definitely did.
Walburga and Orion Black are huge names in the entertainment industry. Orion is a movie producer with two more Academy Awards than Steven Spielberg, and three more than Quentin Tarantino. When Orion Black has a new project, millions and millions of people get excited- each new release grossing more profit than the one before it. He has dedicated his entire life to his career, just like his wife, leaving little time for him to pay attention to trivial things like his children.
Walburga acts. She acts on stage, on screen, in her everyday life, with her family, with her friends, and with her fans. She got her start in the industry by landing a leading part in a West End musical at 19 years old, and took off from there. She went to America—to New York specifically—for Broadway, then moved to Los Angeles after her first film role. She starred in one of Orion’s films when he was 37 and she was 24. They married two years after, had Sirius when Walburga was 29 and (not coincidentally) had been cast in a movie as a pregnant woman. Regulus, their back-up baby in case Sirius wasn’t up to the task of carrying on their legacy, was born just over a year later.
They raised their sons with laser sharp focus on their goal to make the boys just like them. As they were both English themselves, they did not want American children, so they moved back to London and raised their sons between both places depending on where work took them. They put Sirius in movies as a baby, just 8 months old when he got his first role in a major motion picture, and kept him going at a relentless pace his entire childhood and adolescence. They did the exact same thing with Regulus, except they let him pivot to modeling when it became clear at about age 11 that he was far too camera shy to act. All of his movie and tv work came off stilted and robotic, and they couldn’t get him on stage to do theater for anything. Not fear, not pain, not bribery, not anything. When Narcissa, one of the boys’ cousins, got signed as a model it created the perfect opportunity for Regulus to escape acting—just to fall right into another trap, another game. At least with modeling he’s good at it. Really good at it.
Of course, when Regulus started modeling at age 12 it wasn’t anything amazing. There were some pretty big brand names sticking him in photos for their ad campaigns, but it was mostly just children’s clothing. Boring, safe. Look like you’re having fun in a patch of grass with this stranger who’s supposed to be your dad, stand in front of a locker with a backpack casually slung over one shoulder because you’re supposed to look ‘cool’, that sort of thing. It took some time for his true potential with modeling to show itself—but eventually it did. He got perfect grades, took perfect pictures, walked perfectly in countless fashion shows, and by 17 was one of the biggest faces to look out for in the modeling industry. At 24, that hasn’t changed in the slightest. He’s everywhere, and he’s just what everyone sees—perfect. He’s made their parents proud, and he’s worked very hard to do it.
Sirius, on the other hand, has done everything he can think of to disappoint them. He’s thrown auditions, thrown parties that ended up with more than one hundred thousand dollars in property damage while they were away on business, done drugs, skipped rehearsals, and played pranks to embarrass them in rooms full of the biggest names in show business, amongst other things. He replaced George Clooney’s whiskey with apple cider vinegar once, which made him spit it out cartoon-style all over Meryl Streep. Sirius found it hilarious, but his parents did not. He pushed and pushed and still now pushes and pushes. He’s been trying to get out from under them for as long as he can remember, but it hasn’t been working—until recently.
It wasn’t always like that. Sirius has always loved to perform, in fact he’s quite sure it’s what he was born to do. He loves to be the center of attention, loves to watch the audience get immersed when he attends movie premieres for projects he's been in, loves the way he gets to interact with fans. He loves the way they love him, his art, the way he can make people feel something.
It isn’t even that he doesn’t like acting, he does! He’s good at it and he finds it fun, finds catharsis in the act of disappearing into a character, living another life for a while—but he didn’t choose it. He was never given the opportunity to decide for himself if he wanted to act, if he would enjoy it or something else more- it was just placed on him, heavy and constricting like shackles digging into his ankles. Cello was placed on him too, his parents firmly believing that their children being classically trained in at least one instrument would make them better than anyone else’s children. They did let the boys choose their own instrument, though, as long as it wasn’t guitar or drums or anything useless and graceless like that. When Sirius chose cello, it had disappointed them, but not enough to have them tell him no. Regulus chose the violin, which made them very happy.
Unlike acting, which felt like an imposition most of the time to Sirius, music was never anything but an escape for him. Even when it was him and his cello learning basic scales and drilling them over and over, the low vibrations traveling through his fingers, reverberating through his arms, and nestling inside of his chest cavity made him feel alive. Sirius stuck to music like velcro, hooked from the moment he picked up his bow for the first time. He added piano to his repertoire of instruments after two years of cello alone, then clarinet, saxophone, trumpet, stand-up bass, and then in secret—bass guitar, regular guitar, and drums. He played anything he could get his hands on and make time and space to learn. Luckily, as overbearing as Walburga and Orion were, they were too busy to notice if Sirius was hiding guitars in one of his closets—and they certainly weren’t there to hear him play it. They came to his concerts and recitals for cello and piano whenever he had them, but that was it. If it wasn’t furthering his career or their status in some way, it wasn’t worth their time to be around.
When Sirius was 18, he started a rock band. It didn’t last long, didn’t take off, but it was his, and no one could take it away from him. That isn’t to say that nobody tried. His father threatened to cut him off, but that just made Sirius laugh at the implication that he didn’t already have enough of his own money and fame to make it just fine without them. Walburga tried other methods, but after 18 years of her abuse, it went nowhere. Sirius simply withstood whatever she tried and continued doing what he was doing.
When he came home one night that year to find that his mother had destroyed every single instrument he had, even his first cello, and piled their broken remains in the flat, grassy portion of their back gardens and set them ablaze, he in turn ruined every single one of her dresses. She ended up smacking him hard across the face—something she’d never done before to avoid visible marks. She usually cared too much how much money his face makes to go that far. He grinned at her, lip split and bleeding, eyes wide and crazed. He explained to her in no uncertain terms that he would tear their lives apart without a second thought if she tried to stop him from playing music ever again. He would tell the whole world every single secret she had if he had to. Regulus had watched silently from the corner of the room.
She couldn’t argue with that, not really. Not when he went out the next day and made sure to be seen by at least three different cameras sporting a nice big bruise on his cheekbone, and the split on his lip where her ring had caught him.
She stopped trying to get him to stop pursuing music, but that didn’t mean she let go. He was expected to be an actor first and foremost, his music nothing but a silly hobby to pass the time. She and Orion made sure to tell him how useless it was to waste his days writing songs that would never make any money rather than rehearsing lines or seeking out new roles or networking with the “right” people. They told him to be more like his little brother- “Why don’t you act more like Regulus? He’s got his head on straight.” They told him he was bad at it, that he would never go anywhere, that no one would ever listen- but they were wrong, and he knew it.
Sirius’s second band, an indie-rock four piece called The Order, won two BRIT awards during their three year stint before they broke up in a very messy, very public fashion when the guitarist slept with the bassist’s wife. Sirius was ready for it, though. He had seen it coming from a mile away, and made sure to put all the pieces into place for a seamless transition into his solo career. Now, it’s been two years of ‘Sirius Black’ as an entity, and he’s got two Grammys and two BRITs of his very own. He’s got the fame, he’s got the fortune, he’s got the success, and on his 25th birthday six months ago, he announced that he would no longer be acting and would instead focus full time on music.
He should be happy. He paved his path, he got out from under his parent’s thumbs, he made his own name as much as he could as a nepo baby in the entertainment industry. He diverted. He did it. He did it. So why is he imploding? Why didn’t the fight go out of him?
It’s May now and he hasn’t heard from his parents in months. He hasn’t heard from his little brother in just as long—though he feels like he deserves that much. His rebellion only made things harder for poor Reg, he knows that. He understands that without him taking up most of their parents’ attention, Regulus is having to hold it all on his own. Not only that, but Sirius has been a terrible brother for a while now.
They were so close growing up—most people they met who didn’t already know everything about them thought they were twins. They look alike, sure, but it was more their mannerisms, the way they were able to have entire conversations without saying a single word. They were inseparable. Regulus slept in Sirius’s room until he was 8, despite his own being just across the hall and extremely nice. They would stay up well past their bedtime talking and laughing and playing. They often booked movies together—sibling child actors are often in high demand, especially with a last name like theirs.
That changed, though Sirius couldn’t tell you exactly when. He figures it happened little by little over time. He let Regulus down by being the black sheep. He caused more trouble than he needed to. Sure, Walburga and Orion were abusive and they would have been whether he was acting out or not, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t make it worse. Sirius wanted all the attention on himself so Reggie could just live his life and do whatever it was he wanted to do. He wanted Reggie to be the favorite, so their parents would at least love him if they couldn’t love Sirius.
If nothing Sirius did was ever enough for them, surely everything Regulus did would be, and they would leave him alone. That worked for a while, but Sirius is sure that to Regulus it just looked like he was starting trouble for the sake of starting trouble. He let him down when he started avoiding their house like the plague in his mid-teens, leaving Regulus behind as he did it. He would ask Reggie to tag along but he almost never did, because Sirius lived his life LOUD and Regulus much preferred the quiet. He let him down every time he chose to spend his time with James Potter instead of him, every time he would say James was ‘basically his brother’.
He let him down when he quit the last movie they were supposed to be in together because his mother made a comment about how he was ‘finally showing some respect for their family legacy’. Regulus had made him promise beforehand that he would keep his head down and just do the movie like a professional, but the second their mother said that it was out of his hands. He couldn’t keep his promise, and Regulus didn’t forget. He didn’t forgive him.
He let him down when he made him sneak out to come get him because he took a pill without knowing what it was and was having a bad reaction. He let him down when he was supposed to be at Reggie’s first Paris Fashion week when he was 21 and he was so hungover that he didn’t wake up until the sun had already set and Regulus was asleep for the night. There were 37 missed calls on his phone screen. He let him down when he left him to deal with their parents alone. The list goes on, which is sad. It’s sad and Sirius gets it, so he stopped calling a while ago. It isn’t like his calls were being answered anyway.
Halfway through his band’s lifespan, Sirius’s best friend in the entire world, James Potter, took over as his manager. James’ father owns a major production company called Sleek Easy Studios, and worked with Orion Black on several films when the boys were growing up. Sirius and James were two sides of the same coin, with both of them being dual residents of England and the US because of show business, which was nice because the friends either of them made on one continent were very rarely friends when they were on the other one. They met when they were both 11 and instantly knew they had found a platonic soul mate in one another.
Sirius’s parents were not thrilled about their friendship, because the Potter’s are very down-to-earth people despite their money and status. They have very liberal ideals and are extremely charitable—all qualities that the Blacks find distasteful. Still, they couldn’t deny that it was an advantageous connection career-wise, and James was very well behaved around them, so they let it slide and allowed their friendship to continue. James was homeschooled through high school like Sirius, but he went to a traditional university afterwards to get “the experience”, even though he already had a very cushy job waiting for him at his father’s company. It was the same uni that Regulus decided to go to as well a year later—someplace prestigious and artsy. They didn’t get to see each other much during those years, but they spoke as often as they could. They missed each other dearly, and the second he was out of school James came back to Sirius.
Sirius's manager was shitting the bed, so to speak. Sirius was already spinning out of control and was being double-booked for press shows, band rehearsals were clashing with filming schedules, shows overlapping with premieres, and that wasn’t even half of it. James had been thinking about getting into management anyway. He wanted to be more hands-on than his father, so he usurped the useless old man Sirius had been working with as soon as he could. Sirius was all too glad to fire the guy, and to secure James back in his life where he belongs.
He didn’t expect James to bring a straggler along with him, though. Of course James made other best friends when he was away at school—he’s the most genuine, friendly person Sirius has ever met. He did his best to reign in his jealousy when James would talk about all the people in his life at school, a life that was so separate from anything to do with Sirius. He could only hope that James was talking about him too. When he showed up at Sirius’s London flat after graduation with his ‘best mate’ Peter Pettigrew in tow, well, Sirius just had to accept it.
They’ve grown into a tight trio over the last four years. Peter and James spend time with Sirius for who he is, not what he represents or can offer them. He feels seen by them, like a real human. It took Pete a few good months to relax, but it's been good since he finally did. He hired Peter as his personal assistant after a horrible stint of time where Pete applied to job after job and tanked every single interview he had. He just crumbles under pressure, and Sirius knew he was more than capable. He’s been a good assistant, a good friend, and Sirius is grateful that he has more than just James—though James will always be his number one, of course.
It makes sense that when everything breaks, James and Peter are the ones who are there to pick up the pieces. It makes sense that when Sirius needs someone to step in and make sure he doesn’t spiral himself right into an early grave, it's them. However, it’s delicate business trying to figure out how to stop a star imploding. They’re certainly in over their heads.
* * * * *
Sirius feels nothing. Well, he feels nothing except for the sweat-slick slide of bodies all around him, the shapes of countless strangers dancing in his living room, soaking up all that they can get from him. He feels the thump of bass traveling from the speakers straight into his body. He feels the thrum of whatever he took from some C-List popstar by his pool starting to spin something nice and warm in his system. His skin feels velvet, and his smile feels crazed, and he can feel his heart beating hard, trying to keep up with him. He feels the alcohol evening things out, mellowing the manic euphoria. He feels a lot, actually—but none of it is what he set out to avoid, so he considers it a success. He has his arms looped around the neck of some guy in front of him, his head thrown back against the shoulder of some other guy behind him. The guy behind mumbles something in his ear that he can’t hear, so he just tips his head forward onto the front guy’s shoulder instead and lets his hair cascade around his face like a curtain. It’s sweaty and messy, but somehow doesn’t lose any of its luster.
It’s risky and he knows it, dancing like this with men in a room full of people he doesn’t really know. Everyone had to sign an NDA at the door to get in, but Sirius knows well enough that that doesn’t always stop things from getting out. Just over a month ago, someone managed to get some pretty telling footage of him following a man out of a car and into a hotel with about a half inch of space between them. And he had worked so hard to stay in the closet.
There have always been rumours about his sexuality, but he's never minded them. In fact, he's often been known to add fuel to the fire. He said from the very beginning of his music career that he wouldn’t hold himself or his wardrobe back for anyone, and he’s always been loud and opinionated and likes to wear whatever the fuck he wants. He knew what people would say, but there’s a difference between people thinking he's gay and people knowing he's gay. He wanted to keep it private. His whole life has been for the world—all he wanted was one thing that was for himself, but the world took that away from him too. Now he doesn’t care. He’s supposed to be “changing the narrative”, but he doesn’t really see the point in trying that hard. It was glaringly obvious what was going on in that video—Sirius put his hand up the guy’s shirt and bit his earlobe, for god’s sake. He doesn’t think parading down the street with another model on his arm is going to work this time. So he lets Guy 1 and Guy 2 cage him in on the dance floor, and he doesn’t feel.
He loses some time after that; must’ve taken more of that mystery drug than he thought he did. He comes back to himself on the roof of his house, arms spread wide as he laughs at the sky. He has a half empty bottle of too-expensive vodka clutched in one hand, sloshing around in the bottle as he spins. He’s crying, cheeks wet as tears run down into his smile. A few feet behind him stand James and Peter, with matching worried expressions on their faces.
“Sirius? Come on, man, let’s go inside. It’s getting cold.” James takes a careful step forward, hands out palm up like he’s placating someone dangerous. Sirius rolls his eyes, swings his arms to throw himself in a circle, teeters to the side a bit when he comes to a stop, and points at James with the bottle.
“It’s not cold, it’s Los Angeles,” he snorts.
“We should still go inside, Sirius. You’re going to get hurt up here, come on,” James holds a hand out for Sirius to take, hoping to lead him inside without a fight.
“Yeah, I want to go in. Most everyone’s gone now, we could put on a show or something. Sit a while,” Peter suggests. He wrings his hands in front of him a few times as he talks—a nervous habit.
Sirius thinks it over, eyes narrowing at his friends as he takes a quick drink from his bottle. His head is spinning an awful lot, though he isn’t sure if that’s because of the cross-fade of substances or the actual spinning he was just doing. “You guys just think- think I’m too pissed to be up here. You don’t really want to go inside, I bet,” he slurs.
“Well, actually, I really do want to go inside,” Peter retorts, settling on crossing his arms across his chest.
“Boo,” Sirius sticks his tongue out at Peter, stumbles backwards a little. Closer to the edge. James’ hands shoot out towards him, though he would be too far to catch him if he did fall. He looks scared, and Sirius hates it. James has to do this with Sirius far too often, can’t even get drunk at parties anymore just in case he does something stupid.
“Sirius, I just want to hang out with you and get a snack at the same time. Requires going to the kitchen together, doesn’t it?” James tries changing tactics. Sirius watches his face for signs of deceit, but doesn’t find what he’s looking for. He takes an unsteady step forward and his smile widens as he takes James’ outstretched hand. Both of his friends exhale with relief, their shoulders relaxing. Sirius lets himself be led inside and down two flights of stairs to the kitchen. At some point during their journey Peter takes the vodka from him without asking, but Sirius doesn’t mind. He assumes Pete is just thirsty too.
He finds himself on a barstool with his forehead pressed to the cold marble island countertop in front of him. James and Pete are murmuring to each other on the other side of the island, foreheads close together. James’ eyebrows are furrowed, Pete is chewing his lip. Sirius is glad that he isn’t a part of whatever’s crawled up their asses. They shoot him a few strange looks when he groans and shifts his head to look the other direction. Everything really is spinning quite a lot for him, and suddenly he’s on the floor. He misjudged his movement, it seems. He grunts as his shoulder hits the ground, face following. His right side hurts as he rolls onto his back, but the pain doesn’t really register. It wasn’t a hard fall, only hard enough to bruise, but still. The kitchen floor feels nice, cold and supportive, and he closes his eyes. James and Pete rush around the island to get to him, James kneeling down beside him.
“Holy shit, are you okay? Sirius?” James sounds frantic, which is obviously an overreaction.
“‘M fine, Prongs,” Sirius says. Or rather, he tries to say it and it comes out half garbled and he can’t be arsed to try again.
James and Peter share a very troubled look. James starts to ask Peter about calling someone, but Sirius falls asleep before he can hear who it is they want to call. Blessedly, he does not dream.
* * * * *
Sirius wakes up on the couch in the living room off of his kitchen. His mouth feels impossibly fuzzy and disgusting, and his head feels like it’s being sawed in two. He remembers the previous night in small snapshots, but he doesn’t find much reason to try to piece it all together. He thinks there’s something nice in the way an entire night can go missing. He was there, but that memory is only for Last Night Sirius. It isn’t a problem for Today Sirius. What is a problem for Today Sirius is the fact that his head feels like this and there are people talking in his kitchen. He can make out James and Pete’s voices, but the third is just out of reach. He doesn’t bother opening his eyes, just lays there and tries to will them all to stop talking telepathically. It does not work, in fact it seems to have the opposite effect. They walk into the living room to continue their conversation.
“He’s out of control,” James says. Sirius thinks that’s a little rude, but he’s not completely oblivious about his behavior as of late, so he holds his tongue in favor of continuing to eavesdrop.
“He’s been out of control my entire life; I don’t see why you expect me to know what to do about it,” the third person says, and Sirius almost blows his cover. It’s Regulus. Regulus, who hasn’t spoken to him in months. Regulus, who said, “I’m just tired of this, Sirius. You are exhausting. I’m exhausted,” the last time they had spoken. He holds in the urge to swallow, to move, and wills his breathing to stay steady and slow. It pays to be a good actor in times like these.
“You’re his brother, Regulus. Maybe he’d listen to you. Maybe you can convince him to go to rehab. We have to do something, Reg. He’s going to..." James trails off and swallows. "No one lasts long living like he is right now,” he pleads.
Regulus sighs, “James…if you already know that he would say no to you, what makes you think that he would say yes to me? My brother would never agree to go to rehab. He’s far too proud for that,” he snorts, bitter. There’s the sound of him settling back into an armchair, the sound of him sipping tea. Sirius didn’t even know Reggie was in LA right now.
“We have to try, though. We have to try, don’t you think, Pete?” James sounds so earnest, so desperate. It breaks Sirius’s heart. He wishes Regulus wasn’t right.
“Maybe it doesn’t have to be rehab?” Pete says. He doesn’t expand, and Sirius can imagine Reggie’s eye roll perfectly.
“Is there more to that idea?” Regulus says with a soft huff of frustrated breath. He has so little patience when it comes to dragging out conversations.
“Oh- oh. I, um. No? I just think there must be something? Like we could send him to a resort or something?”
“Oh, right, so he can continue to do lots of drugs and drink his weight in alcohol—but on the beach this time! Great idea,” Regulus sighs.
“No, no, Reg, I think he might be onto something there. Not a resort…but what if we could find somewhere safe for him to go? Not rehab, just somewhere normal. Private. Somewhere he can just be a human for a while. He can just take a sabbatical. That’s something people do, right?” James gets up to pace.
“Do you know somewhere like that? I don’t think that exists,” Regulus yawns and sips his tea again.
“I think so. You both do too. I’m sure our very best friend would be willing to house our stray at his ranch for a while if we ask very nicely, right, Pete?”
Peter gasps a little, snaps. The snap makes Sirius’s head throb, but he doesn’t wince. He’s such a professional. He has no idea what they’re getting at, and he doesn’t want to be surprised by any schemes later on. Best to keep eavesdropping.
“Marauders Ranch, of course! He’ll be totally sympathetic, plus Lily and Marlene are out there too; he’s always taking people in. Shall I call him?”
“Oh, I don’t know. He doesn’t know Sirius…” Regulus hums. He sounds agitated by this suggestion. Sirius doesn’t know why.
“That won’t matter and you know it, Reg. Remus doesn’t care. He’s our best mate and your brother, he’s heard enough about him to feel like he knows him. Definitely enough to be willing to do this, even if it's just because he's our friend. Friends do favors for friends, right?” James stops pacing and turns to Peter. “Go ahead and call him, Pete. Tell him it’s important, okay?”
That explains it, then. Remus—the other ‘best mate’ James made at university. Sirius has heard plenty of stories, but he’s never met him. He apparently moved onto a big ranch in Montana after uni and barely ever leaves. James has invited Remus to come visit both LA and London and he’s never once taken him up on it. Sirius gets the sense that he’s just a very private person. He respects that. It’s a luxury he doesn’t have himself. He still doesn’t like the idea of being shipped off to a stranger’s ranch, even if he is curious to finally meet this fabled friend of James’. He definitely isn’t a fan of James and Peter calling Regulus to come tell him what to do with himself. He cracks his eyes open a little bit, the light stabbing his corneas as he does.
“Fine, but I don’t think…I don’t think it's fair to ask. You know Remus doesn’t like the whole ‘fame’ thing. Might be a deal breaker,” Regulus has his arms folded across his chest, legs crossed at the ankle.
James shakes his head, “Won’t be a problem, Reg. No one except us needs to know where he is. The ranch will stay as anonymous as it is now, Sirius can just go out there for a little bit, get his head on straight, and come back when he’s ready. I just…I can’t let him do this. I don’t want him to end up a tragic fucking headline, y’know? It’s safe out there, we trust them.”
Regulus sighs, shakes his head, “I hope you’re right. I should probably go before you ask him, though. Me being here will probably just make him feel cornered,” he says.
They look at each other for a long, silent moment. James opens his mouth to say something else, but Sirius takes the opportunity to make himself known. He swallows to wet his mouth before he talks so he won’t sound croaky.
“It definitely does,” he says as he sits up, hands coming to either side of his head to try to get it to stop swimming. Both James and Regulus tense instantly and shoot each other panicked looks.
“Don’t look so happy to see me,” Sirius grumbles to his estranged brother. James looks between them and bites his lip, hands flexing by his sides.
“How long have you been awake?” he asks.
“Long enough to hear your plan to kidnap me and stick me in the middle of nowhere in Montana with your friend from uni who you haven’t seen in years. Horrible idea. I’m fine here,” Sirius acts like he’s extremely put out by the notion, but he would be lying to say that he doesn’t feel tempted.
He doesn’t want to be babysat, but he doesn’t necessarily want to keep doing what he’s doing here. He doesn’t want to die, and he isn’t stupid. He knows what happens to celebrities who burn out like this. He doesn’t like that his friends are worried. He doesn’t like that Regulus is worried enough to actually show up at his house. He would maybe enjoy it if he didn’t have anyone taking pictures of him or running up to him or asking for so much, so much, all the time. It might be nice in Montana. It certainly is beautiful in photographs—and if Remus was friends with James, Peter and Regulus in uni, he must be an extraordinary person. He’s heard of Lily and Marlene before too, and he’s always wanted to know more of the people James loves—but everyone expects him to be a bit difficult about it, and he’s pretty sure this guy is going to say no because it is a ridiculous idea, so he’s dragging it out a bit.
Regulus rolls his eyes again, making sure Sirius can see him. “Don’t be stupid, Sirius. You are not fine.”
“It’ll be good for you, Padfoot. Just think about it, wouldn’t it be nice to slow down a while? You’ll love it there. Pete and I went once and it’s gorgeous. And it isn’t rehab!” James looks so hopeful, and it settles harsh in Sirius’s heart. He looks at Regulus, who looks mostly resigned. Sirius knows him too well for that, sees the fear hiding behind the wall his brother has put up. He feels cornered, but he just doesn’t have much fight left in him. His head hurts, and he’s tired. He feels it in his bones, the exhaustion eating him up from the inside out. He grimaces, looks down at his knees.
“He said he’d be happy to help!” Pete cheers as he walks into the room, cell phone raised in his hand triumphantly. He quickly lowers his arm and drops his smile when he takes in the changed atmosphere in the room and Sirius sitting up on the couch.
For a moment, no one says anything. The tension builds in the room as the three of them wait on top of their eggshells for Sirius to react. He watches them all brace for him to explode, or storm out, or shut down.
He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, then lets it out slowly through his nose with his jaw clenched. Shaking his head like he can’t believe what he’s saying, he looks up at James.
“I’d better go and pack, then.”