Hi May!! Would love to know more about Let it be me 👀
So, Let it Be Me is a James & Sirius fic. (Specifically &). I won’t be posting it until it’s complete but I’ve got about four chapters done so far.
It follows Sirius Black, a blue collar worker who is in a rut in life. Set in America, he left home and moved a county over getting a job in a factory and spends his days going from the factory, to the bar, to home and is worn down by the cycle he can’t seem to break from.
James Potter is a priest at a local church in town which happens to be between the bar and Sirius’ apartment. He is also in a bit of a rut, and is reevaluating his beliefs.
One particularly cold day, Sirius stops by the church on the walk home to warm himself and meets James. Their interaction is curious and Sirius finds himself coming back to the church not for salvation through god, but for companionship with James.
These two form an unlikely friendship and aid each other through their troubles, helping each other find their way through the lives they have found themselves stuck in.
Heavily influenced by Jesse Welles’ Let it Be Me.
“Ahhh, well tell me how a god fearing man such as yourself ends up drinking at three in the morning with a wretched soul like me?” Sirius mocked lightly.
A series of lines fade away at the smooth humor on his fellow loiterer’s face and for some blurred reason, Sirius wished he had not been so vilifying in his banter.
“I don’t fear god,” the man denied, “nor do I believe that any soul is wretched.”
“Hmmm,” Sirius began, desperately wishing he had taken the offer to whet his whistle, “Clearly you’ve never met my mother.”
A hearty smile, complete with red licorice cheeks and broad strokes of humor graced the strangers face. There was something magnetic about the man, charm forged from the iron in his blood—like calling to like—and Sirius felt the pull—the urge to know him, to slip under his wing. It wasn’t the words he said or the way he said them, though the honey dripping voice was a balm to his chapped ears, but more of the way he carried himself—like he had it all figured out and Sirius burned, desperate for answers that alluded him.
“I take it she’s a bit of a hardass.”
Sirius nodded solemnly, “She was.”
“Oh,” the man began—for the first time unassuredly, “I’m—erm—I’m sorry for your loss.”
Sirius fixed the stranger with a puzzled stare and the realization that he could have phrased his sentence a little better dawned on him. He blamed it on the alcohol still circulating in his system.
“No—she’s not dead—at least, I don’t think she is.” Sirius corrected.
Sirius whispered conspiratorially, “Do you think god takes death requests?”
“What?” The man asked, alarm stitched into his bushy brows.
“Do you think if I pray hard enough, she’ll drop dead?” Sirius elaborated. Not waiting for an answer, Sirius lifted an unsteady hand to his head, tapping it with his fingers. He continued to make a mockery of the master of the house as he continued ritualized taps and began to pray, “Our father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, and it is my deepest desire that thy will be the annihilation of one Walburga Black.”
The playful derision was not met with a smile or a laugh and Sirius sighed in defeat at the lack of both. Regulus would have found it funny. But Regulus wasn’t here. He was still in hell as far as Sirius could tell. He had abandoned his parents’ house after a particularly surly argument which ended with an ultimatum that Sirius embraced with empty pockets and empty arms.
In his haste to accept the out, he had left his brother behind and while Sirius had written to him in the early days, the lack of response was not encouraging and the letters became fewer and fewer until eventually they stopped altogether.
Many times he had thought to go out and meet him, force a conversation, but Regulus had made his stance clear by way of silence and so, he never did cross the county line and shucked off the chains of his old life, forging new ones of his own making with every passing day.
The man shuffled away, scooting closer toward the edge of the pew and Sirius mourned the loss of warmth, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you.”
The apology was made with sincerity but a wicked smile that threatened jocularity as he reassured, “Oh, I’m not offended, I just don’t want to sit too close to you in case you get smote.”
Taking a leap, Sirius rebutted battling his lashes, “God wouldn’t dare, I’m far too beautiful.”
“Pride cometh before the fall.”
“Oh, darling, I assure you I have fallen as far as I can.”
“Well, if that’s the case, then there is no where to go but up, you need only have the will to climb.”
Sirius narrowed his eyes, “You’re one of those ‘always look on the bright side of life’ kind of guys aren’t you?”
“Nah,” the man denied as he sprinted a little closer to Sirius, downing the spirit bound by leather, “you can’t truly appreciate the light without sitting in the darkness every once in a while.”
“Is that what you’re doing now? Sitting in the darkness?” Sirius mused.
“Perhaps. Seems a little less dark with company. Even if it is the company of a stranger.”
