The music pulses through the dimly lit club, a blend of deep bass and flashing lights that dance off the faces of the crowd. You find yourself at a high table near the bar, sipping on a drink Sirius insisted you try, his boisterous laugh booming over the music. James is here too, leaning casually against the bar a few feet away, his round glasses reflecting the colorful lights. He’s been quieter than usual tonight, though his eyes have hardly left you.

But it’s not you he’s glaring at—it’s the stranger leaning in too close, their voice too low, their hand brushing your arm as they laugh at something you said. James’s jaw tightens as he watches, his grip on his drink so firm you’re surprised the glass hasn’t shattered.

You notice the tension in him immediately, his usual cocky charm absent. Sirius is oblivious, joking with Remus nearby, but James stands rooted in place, his hazel eyes flicking between you and the stranger. Finally, he pushes off the bar and saunters over, his usual easy confidence returning like a mask.

“Didn’t know we were taking applications for your personal comedian,” he quips, his tone light but sharp as he slides into the seat next to you. His arm drapes casually across the back of your chair, though his touch is deliberate—possessive, almost.

The stranger frowns, clearly unsure of James’s intentions, but James doesn’t give them a chance to respond.

“Thanks for keeping her entertained,” he adds, raising his glass in mock salute before turning his attention fully to you. “Thought you hated gin, by the way. Changed your mind, or did they recommend it?”

The words are casual, but his hazel eyes are searching yours, desperate for some kind of reassurance. You can’t help but notice the faint flush on his cheeks, the way his leg bounces nervously under the table despite his confident posture.