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J A M E S
The brightness of the phone screen was making James' eyes hurt. He'd been staring at it dumbly, like a person put under hypnosis, for at least the past fifteen minutes, the 'Contacts' app open, his thumb hovering over Lily's name. Don't call her, his consciousness warned him, yet every impulse screamed at him to do so.
She was on the plane to London now. Her first message had said they were on their way to the airport. Well, second, technically. The very first one she'd sent before even leaving the hotel, asking if he was coming to say goodbye. James knew his friends were most likely going, but he didn't join them. Then she'd sent her second message while in the taxi drive to the airport. This one carried a colder tone than the first-he could almost feel her bitterness radiating from his phone. Then the third and last one, in which Lily seemed to drop the coldness, showed genuine concern, if not a hint of despair.
Lily 💕: Hey, we're about to board the flight. Would've loved to see or at least hear from you one last time before I left. I hope everything's okay.
"Way to be a dick, James," he muttered to himself under his breath.
He threw one last longing look at Lily's name on his contacts and the call button underneath it. Don't, his brain warned again. He swallowed the knot that had taken shape at the back of his throat, finally casting his eyes away from his phone and shoving it in his back pocket.
It wasn't just Lily's messages that he'd ignored. He had several missed calls from Remus, even more from Marlene and two worried messages from Peter. Oddly enough, nothing from Sirius. But he'd have an easier time lying to them than to Lily. He could deal with their inquiries later.
James breathed out a deep exhale, fixed his messy hair in the mirror and left his lodge, heading to the beach for his afternoon lifeguard shift.
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The Three Broomsticks pub thronged with people that evening - which was not unusual, but James hardly found it this packed, unless a karaoke or live music night was taking place. Loud pop music blasted from seemingly every corner, and the long mirror at the back of the pub reflected the swarms of sweaty bodies and drunken youth that danced about, drinks in hands, their screams rising above the music. Most tables and chairs were pushed towards the walls to allow people space to move around. It very much resembled a nightclub.
He pushed his way through a particularly packed crowd, muttering needless "excuse me's" that were drowned out by the noise. When he finally reached the counter, James all but threw himself onto a circular chair, panting in relief. Dorcas, the pretty bartender, let out a laugh upon seeing him.
