cigarette daydream || james potter

"You can drive all night,"

The following morning arrived with a brilliant, blinding intensity that seemed to mock the lingering exhaustion in James's bones. A sharp beam of golden winter sunlight had managed to cut right through a narrow, fraying gap in the heavy scarlet bed curtains of the fourth-year dormitory, piercing straight across the mattress and hitting him squarely in the eyes. James groaned, burying his face deeper into the plush depths of his pillow to escape the glare, but the stubborn light refused to be ignored. With a slow, defeated sigh, he reached up, using the heels of his hands to aggressively rub the heavy sleep away from his eyes, his mind still half-tangled in the hazy, confusing remnants of his dreams from the night before.

When he finally blinked his vision into focus and let his hands drop, he nearly vaulted straight out of his skin.

Standing right at his bedside, looming over him like an aristocratic specter in the dim morning light, was Sirius Black. He was already fully dressed in his school uniform, though his tie hung loosely around his neck and his dark hair was perfectly, effortlessly disheveled. He was leaning forward, his silver-gray eyes locked onto James with a frighteningly intense, expectant stare.

"What the absolute fuck, Pads!" James exclaimed, his voice cracking slightly as he violently sat bolt upright in bed, clutching the heavy blankets to his chest. His heart was hammering against his ribs from the sheer shock of the sudden awakening.

"Tell us everything. Now," Sirius ordered without a single shred of remorse, crossing his arms over his chest and refusing to budge an inch from the bedside.

"About what?" James asked, his voice coming out incredibly deep, raspy, and thick with the gravel of someone who had been violently yanked from sleep less than ten seconds ago. He reached blindly around his bedside table, his fingers fumbling in the dark until they wrapped around his crooked wire-rimmed glasses, sliding them onto the bridge of his nose to finally see his best mate clearly.

"Don't play daft with me, Prongs. You know exactly what about," Sirius said, a wide, thoroughly mischievous grin spreading across his face as he unceremoniously dropped his weight onto the very foot of James's mattress, causing the springs to groan loudly. "Your little rendezvous with little Lupin. We want the details."

From across the room, the heavy wooden door of the wardrobe swung open with a sharp creak. Remus stood there, his tall frame silhouetted against the dark wood as he carefully selected his robes for the day. "It wasn't a date, Sirius," Remus stated in his usual calm, measured, and slightly weary cadence, not even turning around to face them as he adjusted his collar. "It was the conclusion of a highly ridiculous prank war bet. Nothing more."

"Oh, of course not. Absolutely not a date. Just a strictly platonic evening excursion," Sirius said smoothly, turning his head back toward James and throwing him a massive, exaggerated wink that practically screamed disbelief.

James rubbed the back of his neck, his fingers tangling in the messy nests of his black hair as the vivid memories of the night before came rushing back in a sudden, overwhelming wave-the smokey eyeliner, the scent of the Three Broomsticks, the sound of her genuine laugh, and the terrifyingly close proximity on the Quidditch pitch. He felt a sudden, strange heat rising to the tips of his ears.

"He's right, Pads. It wasn't a date," James insisted, trying desperately to inject his usual casual bravado into his voice, though it lacked its ordinary conviction.

Sirius merely scoffed, rolling his eyes as he leaned back on his hands against the mattress. "Whatever you say, Prongs. Keep telling yourself that if it helps you sleep at night. So, cut to the chase-did you actually manage to kiss her?" He raised a singular, highly suggestive eyebrow, his silver eyes flashing with pure amusement.