It wasn't often that Sirius ended up like this. It had just been a really bad day. Funny how it was always his family that seemed to bring out this pathetic side of him, especially his little brother. Why couldn't the little dick see what was right in front of in his face? He couldn't honestly buy into all that pureblood superiority shit for real… could he? Sirius groans into his pillow, sheets clenched in a vice grip. Regulus was with the wrong crowd, they were bad fucking people, and Sirius just wanted him away from them, their poison. Sirius had escaped. Escaped that life, that family. Why couldn't his little brother? Why wouldn't he? The pillow is damp beneath his cheek and he hadn't even noticed it happen. He always had been an angry crier.
When the curtains of his bed rustle softly in the dark, Sirius doesn't even bother tensing up or asking who is there- it's James. It's always James. James with his stupid bloody messy hair and supernatural abilities that can tell when Sirius is lying. James the little shit with his ridiculous lanky legs and his fucking psychic powers, able to tell, always, when Sirius needed him - sometimes before Sirius knew himself.
There is the barest whisper in the night, a silencing charm to ensure this moment is theirs and theirs alone, and a warm body moulds itself to Sirius' back with strong arms circling round to hold him, warm and secure and home.
A breath of air splits the stillness and suddenly the arms aren't enough and Sirius is turning, wriggling, pressing his entire being to the one who knows him best and his hands are shaking, reaching, grabbing desperately at fistfuls of the other boys' nightclothes and closer, he has to get closer and his face buries itself in the crook of James' neck, James' head lowering to lean against him, and Sirius just breathes him in and for a split second, just a second... all is right with the world… but then he remembers and with James' warm, solid hands holding the jagged pieces of him together, Sirius lets go. And shatters.
A kiss presses to the side of his neck as James holds the broken pieces of Sirius together, each damaged and fragmented piece a treasure, and to he alone, each is beautiful and whole.
Words aren't necessary. They never are.