AN: thank you all so, so much for the reviews! Honorable mentions go to RavenclawIrene, DeadlyHuggles and MetallicGirl XD. I know it's super soon for another update but I was inspired, so here it is. Honestly I didn't mean for this chapter to get so intense, let's just leave it at "writing is therapeutical." I would have edited this more but at a point I was just like this is too much. Enjoy (if that's possible)!

Disclaimer: don't own, sorry. Go find Queen Rowling.

MAJOR TRIGGER WARNINGS: cutting, death/death of loved one, suicidal thoughts/actions, suicide attempt. A hint of slash.

James was astonished. Mouth hanging open, eyes popping out like a bullfrog's, spoon suspended halfway to his mouth, from which egg was slowly dripping down into his lap.

Lily Evans had told Remus to nudge closer to Sirius, promptly sitting down in the seat the teenager had vacated, swinging her legs over the bench and striking up a conversation as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

Peter tapped him on the arm and pointed to his spoon. James snapped his mouth shut and nodded smartly. A guy could always count on Peter to catch his mistakes before the girl of his dreams did.

"How are you?" she was asking Remus.

He responded with a smile and a few words of casual small talk; ignoring her slight grin when she saw Sirius lean into him with a muffled complaint about it being too cold.

James, for once, was much too fascinated by Lily to muster greetings. Her hair swished while she talked, tilting her head and ducking it as she laughed, eyes scrunching up as she grinned. Even when her forehead creased in irritation, gaze growing sharper, James couldn't get over how cute she was, fiery temper and all.

Post came, and he jumped up to receive his package from home. As much as he hated to admit it, James loved to read his parents' letter and unwrap the parcels they sent him—excitement bubbled in him as he tore it from the owl's leg. The bird promptly dove into the bacon on James' plate; he didn't bother chasing it off, merely laughed. James quickly read the letter, smiling at his mother's loopy script, before unwrapping the sweets and handing a handful to Sirius; but the boy turned away, huddling even more into Remus' shoulder.

Confused, James glanced down at his friend's empty plate. "Padfoot." Remus met his eyes, concern wreathing though the amber orbs, and snaked an arm around Sirius' shoulders.

"Why aren't you eating?" he demanded, words bursting out of him like flames tipped by lashing sparks, bursting into color—"fireworks", Muggles called them. "You can't just starve yourself!"

Out of the corner of his eye James saw Lily look at him with a slightly puzzled, slightly proud expression on her face, but deciding he would never decipher it, he turned back to face Sirius.

"I'm not hungry." Why does he sound so tired?

"Eat or it's Madame Pomfrey for you," Remus added firmly, serving Sirius some eggs. "C'mon, Pads."

He made a show of how much he hated the school nurse, grumbling and loudly proclaiming he was perfectly healthy and that you idiots don't know anything, and ended up only eating a quarter of what Remus had dumped onto his plate.

James was too busy trying to talk to Lily without losing his mind—she smiled so much it made him dizzy with warmth—that he barely noticed that breakfast had ended until Peter physically pulled him out of his stupor and forwards class.

"See you!" he called to her, still dazed, a grin plastered onto his face.

"Bye, James."

She called me James! Adrenaline rushed through his veins, heating the tips of his fingertips, making them thrum with life.

"Mr. Potter, pay attention!"

He was jerked out of his thoughts harshly, but merely grinned up at McGonagall. "Yep!" She eyed him critically, but turned back around, pointing her wand at the board.

The window flew open with a bang, an owl careening into the classroom with a whoosh of wind, slowing down abruptly to alight on Sirius' desk. It's feathers were a glossy black, ruffling indignantly as he hastily snatched the letter and ripped it open.

He watched Sirius' hands tremble ever so slightly, watched his shoulders shiver, mouth reach for breath not there.

James thought, shit.

oOo

Death. The unexplained, the eternal nothingness. A void of empty space so many pretended was layered with whispering voices, voices seeping into heavy velvet cloth that lined so many Black family coffins.

The only person who had supported him, told his own brother to stop for Sirius' sake, taught him that no person was better than another.

Uncle Alphard had been stolen by the unspeakable. By the silence so many fanthomed into hushed words.

It crashed. A crescendo splintering into a thousand sparks of broken glass. Stopped. Silence.

Too much quiet for Sirius to bear; he gripped the parchment in his hands as though he could shatter the nothingness ringing in his ears like a Muggle disc cracking, stuttering over the same letters.

Okay…okay…okay…

"Whoa, whoa, it's okay. Sirius, look at me," a murmur soothed him.

His breath rattled in his chest, trapped. The world was moving, choppily clattering around him—but Sirius was locked in his mind, caged within iron bars that felt as familiar as Remus' voice.

McGonagall was moving towards him, students leering into him. And suddenly, in a cacophony of rising screams, millions of thoughts flitting through his mind, Sirius stood. His heart leaped in his throat and he suddenly felt so afraid, vulnerable, stripped of protection. Throat so choked, bile rising in his mouth—he couldn't let them see.

Remus caught him by the arms, steadying him, but Sirius jerked away from the worried face, pulling his bag over his shoulder and turning towards the door. For a moment, the world quieted, sounds covered by the thin layer of glass Sirius walked on.

He took refuge in the first abandoned classroom he saw, pulling the door closed and leaning against the wall, sliding down to the ground.

Maybe if he could hear those voices—maybe then he wouldn't hear his own.

You left me. Why don't you want me? What did I do?

He latched onto the fury like a dying man, stranded in desert with waves of fire bearing upon him, reaching for water.

How dare you leave me!?

Sirius' fumbling fingers met a hard leather spine. He yanked it out of his bag, ripping open the diary and pressing his quill, flooding with ink, into the first molten page.

you left

Ink splattered as he wrote the two words, quill screeching around the looping letters.

you left you left

Sirius shook with a scream, silent and unanswering.

The quill caught the corner of a scar, tearing open his wrist when he jerked his hand back wildly. Crimson and ink swirled on his pale skin, writhing against each other, staining his hands with black blood.

i'm dying

He pulled back from the diary. Stared at his wrist. How many cuts would it take? Sirius shakily raised the quill over his arm, closing his eyes for a moment.

He recalled, dimly, thinking of his last thought when he was younger. Surely it would be a valiant promise to defeat some enemy, a vow of unending bravery.

But there was nothing left.

No last thoughts. No valiant death. Simply a coward's end.

He plunged the quill into his flesh, relished the pain; the end of pain, at last.