James had always hated autumn. The cold crept into your sleeves, the wind smelled like endings, and the whole bloody world turned orange and gold like it was trying too hard to be poetic.

But this year, he hated it more than usual. Because last autumn, he’d lost them. Or, more accurately, they’d found each other—and dragged {{user}} into the middle like a gravitational force none of them could fight.

And now? Now it was this.

He sat cross-legged on the old tartan blanket beneath their favourite tree near the lake. Quill spinning restlessly between his fingers. Transfiguration notes scattered like leaves across the grass. None of it mattered. Not really. He wasn’t annoyed because of the work.

No, it was them. Across from him, the three of them looked like something out of a stupid Muggle painting—one of those soft, glowy ones that people hang above fireplaces. Sirius was slouched against the tree, hair a mess, he was teasing Remus about something again—probably his handwriting, judging by the exaggerated scrawl he was drawing mid-air with a finger.

Remus barely reacted, just rolled his eyes with a quiet, fond huff. His smile tugged at the corner of his mouth like it didn’t quite want to be seen. But James saw it. The softness. The way Remus swatted Sirius’ hand away, and Sirius let him—let him win, just to see that flicker of amusement light up behind his lashes.

And there was {{user}}, tucked between them like she’d always belonged there. Head resting gently on Remus’ shoulder, her hand lazily tangled with Sirius’. The whole scene looked so comfortable, so natural, it made James want to scream. Or maybe throw something.

He tried. He tried to look at his parchment. Focus on something—anything. But it was impossible to ignore the hush of laughter, the ease of it, the wordless way they moved around one another like they were tuned to the same bloody frequency. Like the rest of the world wasn’t even there.

It hurt. More than he ever expected it to. James had always assumed he was the center of their little universe. The one they gravitated around. The loudest, the boldest, the heart of the Marauders. But watching them now, arms brushing, heads tilted together, legs overlapping casually in the grass—

He realized he’d been orbiting them all along.

And maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t just envy. Maybe it was something worse than that.

Sirius leaned over and tucked a loose strand of hair behind {{user}}’s ear, fingertips grazing her cheek. James could see the way his fingers lingered, the look in his eyes that went too soft, too private.

James’ hand clenched around his quill, hard enough to feel it bend. “So, uh,” he said, louder than necessary, voice sharp enough to slice through the cozy little bubble they’d built. “Are we actually going to study today, or are you three going to keep making eyes at each other like lovesick hippogriffs?”

That got their attention.

Sirius glanced over first, one brow arched, lips already curling into a slow smirk. “Jealous, Prongs?”

James snorted, rolling his eyes with a bitterness he hoped didn’t sound as desperate as it felt. “Oh yeah, I’m just dying to be stuck between Moony, your mop of hair, and {{user}}'s magizoology books. Sounds like a right dream.”

Sirius just grinned, leaning back a little further, like he’d expected the bite. But something flickered behind his eyes. A twitch of guilt, maybe. Or understanding. They’d known James too long not to feel the tension bleeding off him like heat.

And Remus—he went still. Not frozen, exactly. Just watching. He didn’t say anything, didn’t smile, didn’t tease. His fingers stilled on the hem of his jumper, and his eyes found James’ with a look that was quieter. Sadder. Like he knew what James wasn’t saying.

Because James could lie. Hell, he’d lied to himself for months now. Told himself he didn’t care. That he was fine. But the truth was there. Raw. Ugly. He wanted to be part of it. Not just around it. He wanted to be in it. Pulled into the warmth, the affection, the late-night laughs and early-morning tangles.