Abnormal ?James Potter?

Chapter 7: The Water is Fine

"Sirius, I—"

"I'm fine," Sirius cut him off, his voice suddenly flat, as if it was an automatic response, a wall slamming down between them. He didn't even look at James as he muttered it, just flicked the ash off his cigarette, the ember glowing brighter before it died just like the light in his eyes dissipated. He then lit another. How many was that now? Two, three, four? James couldn't see the exact number from his view point.

I'm fine. James's heart twisted at words—the lie of them. No, no you're not. You never are when you say it like that. I know you aren't. His eyes dropped to the cigarette trembling between Sirius's fingers, the smoke curling up into the cold air like a ghost that didn't know it was dead.

"You're smoking, I thought you quit," James said quietly.

Sirius shrugged, careless. "And?"

"You only smoke when you want to feel something burn," James said, voice too light, too careful.

"Or when I want people to piss off," Sirius shot back, taking a drag like it might swallow the tightness in his chest.

James flinched—so subtly you'd miss it if you weren't looking for it. Don't push him. Don't be needy. Don't be the reason he leaves.

He tried for a laugh, a crooked, broken sound. "Good thing I'm stubborn, then."

Sirius didn't laugh. Didn't even smirk. Just stared past James's shoulder like the weight of everything was a hand tightening around his throat.

"I'm not the enemy, Pads," James said, softer now. He hated how desperate it sounded. This was not how someone confident sounded. You're losing him. You're always losing them.

Sirius's jaw tightened. "Feels like you are," he muttered. "Or maybe just too fucking blind to see who is."

James looked down at his shoes, scuffed and worn from Quidditch practices and running from prefects and a thousand other memories that felt too far away now. He shoved his hands deeper into the sleeves of his jumper, like he could hide how badly they shook.

"You don't get it, James. You never have to carry this... this weight."

James frowned. "That's not fair."

"Isn't it?" Sirius snapped, the words cutting through the air. "You're the golden boy. You don't know what it's like to be torn between—between what you want and what everyone expects of you. Or to look at someone who should be family and see a monster."

The words hit harder than Sirius intended, and the silence stretched between them. James took a shaky breath, his hands shoved into his pockets. If only you knew. This hollowness inside me. Yearning to be seen past even my best friends expectations. Sirius, if you knew, would you—

"I didn't mean for all that back there," James said softly, the remorse in his voice unmistakable. "I didn't mean to make things worse for you. I was in my head, you know how I am, I always think about how others feel, and, well sometimes I forget about the people close to me–"

Sirius snorted, but it lacked venom. "You've got a knack for that, Prongs."

"Yeah, well," James said, managing a weak smile, "it's not exactly something I'm proud of." Please don't be mad, I can't have you be mad.

Sirius took another drag, his gaze fixed on the floor. "Cassie's always been good at stirring things up, hasn't she? She gets under your skin, makes you feel things you don't want to."

James hesitated, his heart clenching at the mention of her. "I'm done with all that. I swear, it was just... a passing thought. I won't let her come between us—between this."