The Summer of '75.

Sirius had banished himself. There was distraught, terror. He was shivering within himself, his eyelids beckoning to be shut, for all of the paining torture to end. His arms were cocooned around him, and the guilt was a clear warning in his voice. Because there was Regulus. But, Sirius had gone. He had left. The thick coat of both vulnerability and deluxe fur coat hung around him, and if possible, James would've learnt a spell to attach a cape to it. Like the stupid, and somewhat addictive cartoons of superheroes—was that the word?—Sasha had shown him, with plentiful of delight. Almost immediately, the Potters' manor was wrapped around him with its blanket of joy, encoating every severe, damaging curse the House of Black had put on him.

However, Sirius Black's brief encounter of this beloved house had cut rather short. He had assured the youngest blood of Potter he was fine, just dandy, until he couldn't stop focusing on his breathing, or how he gripped onto his ribs, trying to suppress the wailing bubbling from up his lungs, and to the brink of his chest. By the time James had offered him a cuppa, his body was against coldness. Hostility. Utmost silence.

And so James screamed. And it echoed. Erupted. He ran up to the room of Euphemia and Fleamont's, crying for help. There he was, his best mate, on the floor. It was as if his heart could shatter. Part of it probably did. Ever since that stomach–churning night, there was James and Sirius, even closer than before, which had seemed impossible, but not unlikely. James and Sirius. Sirius and James. Padfoot and Prongs.

Weeks would pass, and James would do whatever Sirius wanted to. He deserved it. Sirius wanted James to get Remus and Peter over.

One day later, they arrive.

One day later, they're up in the sky till sunset playing Quidditch in his back garden. James considers being a Beater for a split second. Remus crushes his hopes.

Around three days later, James sees Sirius finally at ease. Sirius watches Remus reads, and occasionally asks him to read out loud. Just to him. There's a glimmering spark of maybe, that's the only word to describe the two. James really should tell Sash—

He hasn't spoken to Sasha once.

One minute later, James is sat up at his wooden desk, fiddling with the quill, ink already staining his fingers, not even begun to write. It is almost as if he's putting it off. He has, and never will, like upsetting Sasha Lull. It's not in his pacing blood.

So, he sighs:

Dearest Sasha,

I am so so sorry I haven't written to you.
I hope your holiday in France is going well, and you aren't too angry at my slow response. I'm usually racing to go, you know that.

But to be completely serious now, a lot has been going on, I'm afraid. Pads is at mine, and there is absolutely no way he will be returning 'home'. I know you of all people will understand my reasoning, and it is most definitely not an excuse! Remus and Pete have been bunking here as well. Mainly Remus. Too much to write, too much to say. You better pop over as soon as you're back here in grotty, rainy England. Mum says she misses you.

I miss Evans. I miss Hogwarts. The Black Lake. Our spot, am I right?

Catch you up with more later, Sash. Don't have too much fun, eh?

Au revoir,
James xx

(P.S. Don't worry, not just Effie that misses you).

"Come on, Prongs! No time to waste!" Sirius yelled from down in the garden, James' window being wide open and all.

Fucking hell, he forgot how much he missed Sasha.

SID'S CORNER :3
FUCKKKKKKK
this is sorta a prologue btw 🙏 proper chapters will b longer trust!!!!