A Sorta Fairytale
Idyllic summer days and the boys wake whenever they please, limbs sprawled beneath the dapple of sunlight on the sheets. Time to get up, get up now, one will whisper to the other as their palms touch.
In the kitchen, the coffee is still warm where the Potters left it. Their son pours them each a cup-full before yawning and pulling his hand through his hair. Shadows ring Sirius's eyes now but they mean that he is alive, that night and day have deceased to be different: there is only asleep, awake, and James.
"You know," he begins, his hands clutching the mug, "I'm quite happy you brought me here."
James shrugs. "You're my best mate. Do whatever you'd like."
Sirius cocks an eyebrow and they smile. "After the coffee, you mean?"
"Ah-ha, yes." His speech slurs a little. "After the coffee. Always after the coffee. Then we've all the time in the world."