Some people say James is self involved.
Some say it, and he’s never really thought one way or another whether it was true. He likes to think he can say with reasonable believability that he’s a good person. He’s passionate and loyal and deeply dedicated to the things that matter to him in life. But he’s also arrogant and immature and staunchly impulsive. Pig headed and Big headed and everything in between.
And so he will admit with only a little bit of resistance (he hardly has the energy for much more) that he’s been worried about nothing other than his own fractured well being the past week or so. He’s been sucked into a sink pit of his own downfall, lost in amonst the murk of his heavy-lidded mindset.
He’s not been thinking about the others who went through the same thing, the others who saw the worst of their horrors, the others who were feeling just as scarred and wrung out as he was.
But now that he’s had time to sit around his flat on his own and wallow in his own cursed self-pity, he’s had time to reflect. He’s had time to wonder about how a select few others might be feeling right now, if James himself was feeling this badly.
It’s just about lunchtime, about ten or so days after the incident, (though don’t quote him on that, because the days have been nothing but a blur and he’s lost count) that he fishes out a quill and ink and scrawls out a note which feels foreign in his hands that have done so little of this finesse in the last few weeks.
Fabian had come to mind because they’d woken up side by side, and they’d both been too traumatized and sick to their stomachs with fear, to really pay each other any heed. But James had registered him, the look on his face, the gauntness of his jaw, and now that James is clearer headed, he can’t get the image of wrung out Fabian out of his head—admittedly, it likely has a lot to do with Fabian’s relationship with Lily—they had bee very close, still were, as far as James was aware, and he felt a certain kinship to Fabian by extension. Plus, he’s a hard bloke not to like. Sweet and charming and warm around the edges.
So tired of feeling consumed by his own self pity, he drafts up an owl and sends it Fabian’s way.
Hey mate. Been thinking about you. Just sorta came up for air myself, after everything that’s happened, and I wanted to check in… I reckon you didn’t have it any easier than I did, and, well, I don’t know. I’m sure you’ve got your own mates taking care of you and all that, but I couldn’t not reach out.
Plus, as you probably know by now, I can’t exactly check in on your through Lily… and while I’m on the subject, I know I don’t have any guarantee you don’t hate me now that she and I aren’t, well, she and I. But I want you to know that my feelings about you haven’t changed, and if you ever need someone to talk to, I’m around.
Let me know how you’re doing.
He opened the enveloped and almost wanted to throw the letter away.
Truly, he didn’t even want to remind himself of the terror he had seen in James’ face. The two had woken up together from this madness, this seventy-two hours of torture and Fabian couldn’t do anything to help either of them. Almost ten years below him, James Potter was already too brave for this world, and that the twin could acknowledge and respect. But bravery ran in the blood of the Prewetts, yet that was one of the few things Fabian failed to incorporate in his nightmare self, perhaps because his actions were not really controlled by him.
Mentioning Lily made him feel dizzy as well. James and Lily Potter were one of those couples that reminded him of young love. Of persistent love, yet for one reason or another their relationship have ended, and while he defended both sides he was still quite sad for both of them. Each word went through careful examination, Fabian’s green eyes trying to figure out the written, but failing to do so - call it exhaustion or the simple nightmare trauma.
Come on Prewett, the boy is concerned. He’s showing humanity and has troubles he wants to share.
So he stood up from the sofa that was anything but clean and tidy and fixed himself up trying not to think of all the nightmares, pain and torture. James Potter would be a distraction for him today, and the topic of the unfortunate beginning of the month he would try to avoid. Fabian avoided the mirrors in his place, as he did so for the last week and a half. He carefully opened the door, and allowed the brightness to blind him. A sharp pop resonated in the air, and he was gone.
Now in front of his flat, it all painfully reminded Fabian of the estate the Potters owned. It reminded him of another blow to the Order and how hopeless everything seemed. But that’s why they were called the Order of the Phoenix, right? Because even though the Death Eaters had killed them all, mentally, they always found a way to rise again. He knocked twice on the door and patiently waited, the noise of silence penetrating his ears way too hard.
s-u-f-j-a-n-s-t-e-v-e-n-s
blakekathryn
dailybridgerton
yousharknotpass
tangentwithtanner
gracieabrams
2087
