'And he's the best fuck that ever walked. He's beautiful - rich, in money and everything else; he's a rockstar to boot, trapped in the body of a fighter. And how he fought; at a state of turmoil with himself - somewhere inside his soul that only she...
CHAPTER NINETY-SIX; perfect, bliss that is utmost...
[ DECEMBER TWENTY-FIRST — TWENTY-FOURTH, 96' ]
Harry Potter,
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'The love of the body of man or woman balks account, the body itself balks account, That of the male is perfect, and that of the female is perfect. The expression of a well-made man appears not only in his face,
It is in the strong sweet quality he has that strikes through cotton and broadcloth, You linger to see his back, and the slow return from fire, the pause when the bell strikes again. The natural, perfect, varied attitudes, the bent head, curv'd neck and the counting. '
CW: reference to substance abuse, sex and innuendo, child abuse and neglect (all sparingly)
Most people attempt to come across as perfect. Perfection is a thing to be strived for, not just in Pureblood families such as the one Sirius belonged to. The problem therein laid not in the fact that people were attempting to be something they were not, but that they might operate as if this darkness didn't exist within their very spirit.
Sirius had always felt that by hinting at this darkness, he became more thrilling and interesting. That was until he started using again and he found that he had all the reason to conceal his perversity so as not to hurt the people he loved.
Sobriety was becoming a concept he yearned for, though found it just out of his reach. As though a cookie or some other treat on the top shelf — what children should not want, but crave so dearly. The comparison alone made him feel sick to his stomach; it seemed he had more self-discipline as a child than he did now.
The last thing he ever dreamed of was hurting Hera, but with each day stretching through the seasons he found it all the more plausible.
He feared death and leaving her. To anyone that hadn't experienced it themselves, they might find this perfect reason to stop. They both knew it couldn't always be so perfect.
It was entirely selfish that he should want to marry her at a time like this. Not just for the war, but the one he was facing within. Every sharp inhale and speedball brought him that inch closer to death, and should it happen (as he'd intended so many years before) he wanted her to be left with something more than his last name.
