final chapter on AO3; in collab with @possessingtheproperspirit
Normally, James found a morning run energising—invigorating, a great way to start each day. He knew that many found that baffling, or impossible to understand (or, in Sirius’ case, “borderline criminal”), but it was just how James operated. He’d always been an active creature, and he relished the boost of endorphins and the way exercise made his muscles sing.
But this morning—an average Friday morning, not much to write home about—it felt more like hard work than it usually did, and he couldn’t work out why. Often, it was harder because he hadn’t had enough sleep, but he’d had a solid eight hours last night; or because he was hungover, and he definitely wasn’t, despite Sirius and his father’s best efforts the night before. They’d gone back home for the evening, where Euphemia had been effusive in her delight at having her two boys back even just for a few hours. Takeaway had been ordered, far too much food for just four people, and the approach to drinks seemed to follow in that same spirit of excess. Between Fleamont’s generous pours and Sirius’ insistence on a fresh glass at every turn, it had almost felt like they were trying to get him to drink away his sorrows.
Truthfully, he didn’t feel like he had as many sorrows, lately. Things weren’t great, but it didn’t feel as bleak, as dark, as it had done even a month ago.
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Chapter 12 of 12 || in collaboration with the amazing @mppmaraudergirl
Normally, James found a morning run energising—invigorating, a great way to start each day. He knew that many found that baffling, or impossible to understand (or, in Sirius’ case, “borderline criminal”), but it was just how James operated. He’d always been an active creature, and he relished the boost of endorphins and the way exercise made his muscles sing.
But this morning—an average Friday morning, not much to write home about—it felt more like hard work than it usually did, and he couldn’t work out why. Often, it was harder because he hadn’t had enough sleep, but he’d had a solid eight hours last night; or because he was hungover, and he definitely wasn’t , despite Sirius and his father’s best efforts the night before. They’d gone back home for the evening, where Euphemia had been effusive in her delight at having her two boys back even just for a few hours. Takeaway had been ordered, far too much food for just four people, and the approach to drinks seemed to follow in that same spirit of excess. Between Fleamont’s generous pours and Sirius’ insistence on a fresh glass at every turn, it had almost felt like they were trying to get him to drink away his sorrows.
Truthfully, he didn’t feel like he had as many sorrows, lately. Things weren’t great, but it didn’t feel as bleak, as dark, as it had done even a month ago.
Honestly, I don't know anything, and I don't know that I've ever actually known anything. But the facts remain that I was 13 years old when this was released, and I heard it as the fourth song on side one of a tape in my walkman, and thought, in my 13-year-old brain, "holy shit this song is just beyond words." I didn't say "holy shit" then, but the point remains.
So it's, like, too many years later, and I'm listening to this song and all kinds of classic Oasis songs for the past few days thinking, my god, this stuff was instantly classic. It was there for me and set me on a path, so to speak, and winding in and out of that path, it's still there and still as great and profound as it was when, if I don't know anything now, I knew less than that then, had no idea what I was doing, how to talk to anyone, what anything real felt like or could possibly feel like. But I knew this was coming from a different place. This song was what those feelings could be, if they were a song.
I don't know what any of that means, either. Of course.
chapter 11 on AO3; in collaboration with the talented @possessingtheproperspirit
Time off. Remus had been the one to suggest it; Minerva McGonagall, when he had brought it up as a mere possibility, had leapt to agree. Maybe that should have rung alarm bells for James, but as it was, he was too tired to put up a fight.
Two weeks, that was all. He thought it might be wishful thinking to imagine he could fix a broken heart and mend wounded pride in fourteen days, but he was willing to give it a go. At this point, he’d try anything.
The fact was that he was getting fed up with himself. He wasn’t sure what the statute of limitations was for being pathetic over the brutal ending to a relationship, but he suspected it was less than fifteen years.