Sirius woke up the same way every morning.
He would be stirring from the depths of sleep, not awake but swimming in the hazy in-between.
As he began to float upwards toward the waking world, buoyed by the breath of reality, an inexplicable feeling of depression would start to settle in his chest, worming its way into his being as his misty mind began to stir, confused by the sadness.
His mind, still a little asleep but on the verge of waking now, would wonder at this uncharacteristic depression, until...
James is dead.
And his eyes would open, sleep and haze and dreams banished until the next time.
Just a short little Sirius-centric drabble.
-Marlicat