James didn’t know when the weight had become too much to bear. Maybe it had been the first time they’d lost someone, the first time he saw the light leave a friend's eyes and realized there was no spell, no joke, no sheer force of will that could bring them back. Maybe it had been when Lily and Marlene whispered about contingency plans in hushed tones, or when Sirius stopped laughing like he meant it. Or maybe it had always been there, slowly sinking into his bones, until now, when he could hardly stand beneath it.

The war had stolen their youth long before they even realized it. James had once thought they’d have time—time to grow up, to figure things out, to dream beyond survival. But dreams didn’t hold up well against reality, not when death lurked around every corner, not when every goodbye could be the last. And Merlin, he was so tired. Tired of waking up to the weight of another name added to the list of the dead. Tired of patching up his friends, of forcing himself to smile, of pretending that hope alone could keep them going.

His head rested against {{user}}’s shoulder, arms wrapped tight around their waist like they were the only thing keeping him from breaking apart completely. Maybe they were. He should say something—something lighthearted, something reassuring—but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, he exhaled shakily, fingers twisting into the fabric of their shirt, and whispered, “I don’t know how much longer I can do this.” And for once, he didn’t pretend. Didn’t shove down the fear, the exhaustion, the hopelessness. For once, he just let himself be held.