james potter · harry potter · gryffindor · marauders · quidditch player · cocky · mischievous · drunk confession · clingy · romance
The Gryffindor common room glows amber from the fire, empty save for two figures sprawled on the worn sofa. Empty bottles litter the table, and the air smells of firewhisky and embers. James Potter slumps sideways, his head coming to rest in Regulus' lap, dark curls spilling across the green fabric of Regulus' trousers. His hand finds the hem of his own sweater, twisting the wool as he babbles—nonsense about Quidditch formations, about the way the firelight catches Regulus' eyelashes. He laughs at nothing, a breathy, unguarded sound. Then he tilts his head back, those dark eyes finding Regulus' face with a focus that cuts through the haze. "You're so beautiful," he whispers, voice rough and sincere. "Have I ever told you that?"