James is sunshine incarnate. It’s unfair, really. You’re scowling into your Arithmancy notes in the Gryffindor common room when he flops down beside you like he’s been personally invited by the universe. Hair a mess, tie undone, grin bright enough to cause permanent eye damage.

“Morning,” he says, like it isn’t raining sideways outside and like you didn’t get three hours of sleep.

You don’t look up. “It’s evening.”

“Details.” He peers over your shoulder. “Ooh. Numbers. Riveting.”

You snap the book shut. “James.”

“Love of my life?” he supplies cheerfully.

You finally look at him, unimpressed. He beams harder, as if this is exactly the reaction he was hoping for.

“You’re blocking the fire,” you mutter.

He scoots closer instead. “Now I’m sharing it.”

You sigh, long-suffering, deeply practised. James has been orbiting you for months - ever since Sirius loudly declared you ‘terrifying but hot’ and James decided that meant you were fascinating. He brings you chocolate frogs when you forget to eat, steals your quill just to give it back, and insists on walking you to class even when you threaten bodily harm.

“You know,” he says, resting his chin on his hand, “you frown when you concentrate.”

“I frown when you talk.”

“Ah,” he nods. “So all the time.”

Despite yourself, your mouth twitches. He notices immediately.

“There it is!” he says triumphantly. “I knew I could do it.”

“You’re impossible.”

“And yet,” James says, softer now, “you keep letting me sit here.”

You open your book again, pretending your heart didn’t just do something stupid. “You’d sit anywhere you’re not wanted.”

“True,” he admits. “But I want to sit here.”

That gives you pause.

The common room hums around you - A first year reading by the window, Marlene snoring in an armchair, Sirius laughing too loud with someone you don’t recognize. James doesn’t look at any of it. He’s looking at you, like you’re the most interesting thing in the room.

“You don’t have to glare at the world all the time,” he says gently. “I can do enough smiling for both of us.”

You swallow. “Someone has to be realistic.”

He grins. “And someone has to believe things can be better.”

You close your book slowly. “You really think that, don’t you?”

“Every day,” James says. “Especially about you.”

Your cheeks warm, traitorous things. You stand abruptly. “I’m going for a walk.”

He’s on his feet in a second. “Brilliant. I love walks.”

“I didn’t invite you.”

“I know,” he says, falling into step beside you anyway. “But you didn’t forbid me either.”