A/N: written in 2018, I don't even know what overcame me... Again, was 17/18 year old me okay?
Compass
It all happens too fast for Sirius, a whirlwind of green and blue jets of light flashing before his eyes, and there's nothing he can do to try and salvage the situation. He can't remember any of the details, his memory refusing to give him anything more than a few scattered images, and, after a short while, Sirius thinks things may be better this way. He doesn't need his own brain torturing him with this.
He often finds himself staring at the picture on his nightstand, once theirs. He doesn't dare using his now ex lover's name, not yet, the cut still open and fresh, Sirius repressing everything, always telling himself that he reminiscing might only make thing worse, but still finding himself pouring salt over his wounds every night, and every night just feels worse than the previous one. He doesn't know what to do. He's never had any sense of certainty, but he feels worse that he's ever had, and it's never never taken him much to feel lost. He feels stranded in his own mind, feeling overly aware, yet detached from the exterior world, as if he's being stabbed in the heart in the most painful way, the knife twisting in chest, always finding more nerves to stimulate, but he still feels numb, and he supposes he should at least be thankful for being completely unaware of what is happening to him. He never feels anything anymore, and he chooses to believe that here, ignorance is bliss.
No one dares talking to him at the funeral, but he still feels the stares burning through his back, as he stares at the body lying in the casket, and he doesn't find the strength to talk to them, or to even turn around.
And at that moment, Sirius is certain he's lost his inner compass.