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Somewhere in the Nicer End of London, 1985
“Have you ever harmed yourself or others?’
“Yes. Both.”
“Have you ever thought about committing suicide?”
“Yes.”
“Have you ever planned—”
“No.”
It was like a light-switch, the way her eyes softened. Sirius had successfully deterred the alarm bells once again. He knew by now how to get everybody off his back.
It didn’t matter Sirius was despondent every other day of the week.
He put effort in today—a nice shirt, polished shoes. He still hadn’t managed to brush his teeth even though Remus had placed what he’d need in the shower for him, knowing Sirius could never go a day without.
He liked to think in the shower—slow or fast thoughts—no matter his mood, he always showered.
Sirius had done therapy before, every time something went wrong in his life—twice—on the orders of a well-meaning Remus. But therapy couldn’t help people like Sirius who, had been diagnosed as a manic-depressive. Therapy couldn’t fix that. And Sirius thought he was too smart for it as well. He knew why he reacted the way he did. He knew what he was reacting to. He didn’t have anything of substance to talk about, and he didn’t want to tell this lady his deepest darkest secrets.
She’d never ask the right questions, the questions that might cause Sirius to tell her things that would keep alarm bells ringing. Sirius thought people should be worried. Not because of what he told them, but because of what he didn’t.
Nobody knew his thoughts often played on a loop, replaying the same emotionally fuelled situations over and over. Sometimes, they were embarrassing moments he’d identified as hypomania. Others—well, others were sadder times, fights with Marlene or James or Regulus on his worst days. Nobody knew how caffeine made him feel out of sorts, how he’d gently eased himself to consuming less and less in fear of people finding out about his moods. Cigarettes too, except the cigarettes stabilised him when he was at his most shaky—he could barely light the buggers half the time. Nobody knew how quickly his heart beat at the sight of a crowded room, or darkness or sometimes the look of his own face.
Nobody knew. And perhaps Sirius should tell somebody—that’s why he was here. But he didn’t want to. Sometimes, he liked his quirks, as depressing as they were. He liked being broken because he’d never understood what it was like to be whole, put together.
Not for a very long time, not since he was about five years old.
“Sirius?”
“Yeah?”
“Where did you go, just now?”
“Nobody knows who I am. Nobody knows me and I love it, but then I hate it because I—I want people to know me, but what if they hate who I am? What if they think I’m too much?”
“It’s their decision to make.”
Sirius blanched haughtily, “So, you’re saying they might hate me? Aren’t you meant to make me feel better?”
She laughed as she scribbled on her notepad, “It’s the truth. Although, I have a feeling those closest to you know more than you think they do—people observe and even things unsaid are learnt. We are human, social creatures, we recognise patterns over time enough to accommodate other humans. Like, social etiquette.”
Oh.
“Is our time up?”
“Yes, lucky you—but, Sirius, I hope you try to open up to your loved ones—”
“Appreciate it,” Sirius cut her off, nerves freyed—another reason he didn’t like therapy, people telling him what to do. Sirius had authority problems, he’d been told. Nobody told him what to do without him having something to say about it.
Entering the hallway, Sirius shucked his leather jacket over his shoulders, heavy boots clicking against the soft wood.
He paid and found Remus outside the nondescript building, smoking—a hand out in offering. Sirius accepted, taking the fag into his mouth which Remus subsequently lit for him. He took a sharp inhale of breath, tapping the excess ash to the floor as they began walking—he’d rather press the thing against the inside of his wrist.
“Did you scare her off?”
“I’m not going back. I’ve tried twice. This shit doesn’t work on me,” he grunted, quickening his pace.
“Sirius,” Remus sighed heavily, flicking the butt to the floor. He stepped on it, squishing it to completion. Sirius stopped, waiting for him to catch up—he tapped his foot against the path in agitation.
But Remus didn’t move. He picked up his foot, stepping back, watching the dead pile of ash.
“This'll be you, if you’re not careful,” he remarked grimly, gently, as if he’d made peace with the fact. He put his hands in his coat pockets—a nice, tweed coat he’d barely accepted off Sirius for Christmas just a month prior.
Sirius brushed a stray lock of hair behind his ear and marched over to the man, pushing him into an alleyway that stank of piss. You’d think, in the posher ends, there’d be less of a piss smell about London. Never mind that, where else would one find a crackpot psychologist if not in the piss-soaked posh end?
“I’m not going to off myself, how many times must I tell you?”
“You don’t fucking tell me anything!”
Sirius placed his hands over Remus’ broad chest, leaning his forehead over the man’s heart as strong arms came to wrap around him as if it were the most natural thing—two men sharing an embrace.
He took a deep breath, “I think I want to try,” Sirius mumbled.
He was met with hesitant suspicion, “Do you?”
“I want you to love me. All of me. Every little piece of me.”
“I do, Sirius,” he assured, pulling Sirius’ hands out of their huddle so that they were between them, by their sides, and he had a clear view of Sirius’ face.
“But you don’t know,” Sirius looked down, and then back up into Remus’ eyes where he found nothing but blind adoration.
“I want to know.”
“It’s a lot.”
“I had a feeling,” he smirked. He licked his lips, eyes tilting upwards and lighting up like he had a brilliant Moony idea. “How about you tell me something you haven’t told me, that you think I already know,” he huffed at the incredulity on Sirius’ features, but Sirius answered nonetheless, not wanting to disappoint his boyfriend.
“Well, if you must know, I don’t—I hurt myself. Sometimes. It’s never calculated, always impulsive. Never too deep, never more than a small amount. Just…”
“Something to ease the itch.”
“How did you…?”
“We’ve all got secrets, darling. But you've got more...and I'm an eager student. You know that,” he winked. Straightening up, he schooled his features instantly, "Now, we have a meeting with Harry's teacher."
"Don't remind me."