ADDICTED | j.p x oc

64

James woke in the middle of the night in pain, two fully grown adults sleeping in a sofa was probably very bad for broken ribs. He shifted, looking down at the witch beside him, who was peacefully asleep.

"El, love, wake up," he scratched her scalp to gain her attention. "El, i wanna sleep in a bed," James whispered.

El nodded, rubbed her eyes and stood up. She trudged through to the bedroom, still half asleep.

He sat on the edge of the bed, not yet lying down. "How did you find where i was?" he asked.

"It's a long story," El dismissed.

James have her a look, "we have time."

"Harby was polyjuiced to be you, we figured it out pretty quickly—he was a terrible actor, really—we used him to find out where you were," El explained, sitting down on the bed with her legs crossed.

"Marcus Harby was in our flat?! What happened?! Did you fuck him, thinking it was me?!" James asked, voice raised, firing question after question and leaving no time to answer.

"No! Not for his lack of trying," El tensed at the memory. "Have a little fucking faith, will you? It was easy to tell that it wasn't you."

"He touched you?!" James stood suddenly, "where is he?"

The sudden movement caused a gash on James' chest to reopen, the bandage quickly becoming soaked with blood. James' jaw was tensed in pain, though it looked like he was trying his hardest not to let it show.

"Sit back down, you twat." James obliged, wordlessly. "You were kidnapped by Death Eaters, i'm not the one we should be concerned about right now," El said, moving to find some dittany in the bedside table. When she returned, she removed the bandage from James' chest and placed it in the bin, wincing at the deep cut across his left pectoral. "Do you wanna talk about what happened?"

"Curses, knives, punches, nothing out of the ordinary. They wanted information about The Order—Dumbledore's plans and all that. Didn't get a word out of me, which is probably why i was in the state i was," he smiled weakly as he finished his sentence, eyes shining through his now-fixed glasses. He made it so easy to be in love with him.

The second El applied dittany to the wound, James' whole body clenched in pain, his breaths were loud and deep, eyes clenched shut.

Eleanor winced at his reaction, "sorry."

James shook his head, "it's fine, i'm fine, you can keep going."

She placed the bottle down on the bedside table, holding the applicator in her right hand, then taking James' in her left. "Squeeze as hard as you like."

"Letter, i'll break your hand."

"Good thing i'm not left handed then," she said simply. She continued applying the dittany, ignoring the pain as James' hand clenched in hers. "Stop holding back, James, i know you're stronger than that." His grip didn't change—she knew why, but she was almost finished, so didn't say anything.

When El screwed the lid back on the dittany bottle, James' body relaxed, his grip on her hand lessened and he brought it up to his mouth to press a kiss on her palm.

She reapplied bandages to his chest, then she got into her favourite The Beatles t-shirt of his—she had still been in the clothes she'd worn all day.

"Are you okay?" James asked, now lying in bed, watching her as she changed.

"Shouldn't i be asking you that question?" El climbed into bed next to him, lying close by his side.