For Trumpeter of Doom.

Sometimes Sirius has trouble remembering a time before James Potter. It's ironic, really, as James is gone now. He expected to fall back on old habits, to get along just like he did before he ever knew James existed, but of course it's never that easy. He cannot (unlike some people who shall remain nameless) simply forget years of living in each other's pockets, years of laughing and--other things.

It doesn't do to dwell on other things, because he won't ever again see the moonlight on Jame's face as he sleeps, nor the sun glinting off his glasses when he lounges on Sirius's bed. He will never feel James's hand skim down the surface of his stomach, never suck in his breath when James looks up at him, grinning, from underneath a shock of unruly black hair.

He catches his breath anyway, holds it inside him counting, timing the seconds. Not that James will kiss his breath back out of him, not anymore, not now. James belongs to Lily now, and Sirius must learn to live without him.

It is funny, how hard that prospect seems, and so in the photos he's smiling, and no one will know that he is alone.