James Pоtter had always been a tactile person. That was just who he was. He slung his arm around Sirius without thinking, mussed up Remus' hair when he was feeling particularly good about something, and let Peter lean against him on the common room couch after a long day. It was normal. He was normal.

But it was different with you.

And maybe it had always been different, but it was sixth year now, and James was starting to notice things in a way that made him feel slightly sick. Like how he always gravitated towards you in a room. How his first instinct when something funny happened was to turn and catch your reaction. How your shoulder pressing against his on the Gryffindor common room couch made him feel like his skin was burning, like he'd been hit with a weak stinging hex.

It wasn’t normal.

What was even less normal was the way you let other people touch you. James hadn’t realized how possessive he was until he saw you laughing at something stupid Evan bloody Rosier said in Potions, your fingers idly twisting the rings on his hand as if it were the most natural thing in the world. James had almost knocked over his cauldron.

Then there was that thing you did, letting your fingers linger on Regulus' wrist when you handed him his book back in the library. It was casual, fleeting, and James had no reason—no reason—to be fuming about it twenty minutes later as he threw himself onto the couch beside you, stretching himself out so you had no choice but to lean against him instead.

"Busy later?" he asked, his voice light, too light.

You shrugged.

"Not anymore," he declared immediately, tone far too victorious for something that should have been a normal friend activity. "We’re doing something. Dunno what yet, but something."