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“Your dry wit does not help me, Moony!” James twisted to frown at him, threading his hands through his thick hair in visible distress. “I just want to understand what I’m doing wrong! Do I not shower her with affection? Do I not give her flowers? Do I not write poems–”
“I didn’t know you’d written poems.” Peter popped his head up from the armchair with a loud, resounding hiccup. “What kind of poems?”
“Limericks, mostly.” sighed James. “The occasional haiku if I’m feeling inspired.”
“Let me try.” Slouching against the sofa, Sirius grinned, his legs spread wide. “There once was a redhead named Lily, who made young James Potter act silly! She jinxed him with bats and bogeys and rats, but James only thought with his willy!”
Remus threw a cushion at Sirius’ face.
The summer of '76. Remus wants Sirius. Sirius doesn't know what he wants.
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“ It was the following evening, and Remus ached a little less after sleeping an entire day away and forcing down the occasional slices of burned toast that Sirius had brought him, like strange offerings dragged in by a house cat. ”
i giggled
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