James Had Gotten Good At Faking It. He’d Gotten Good At The Soft Touches, Roving Eyes, And Deep Kisses.

James had gotten good at faking it. He’d gotten good at the soft touches, roving eyes, and deep kisses. He bought flowers and wrote poems and he got good at it.

He got good at faking it to Lily. He never thought he’d have to fake it with Lily.

He’d gotten so good it at that he almost forgot what attraction really felt like until he accidentally walked in on Sirius stepping out of the shower, wet hair hanging over his forehead.

And James was a good guy, so he told Lily, saying the words for the first time out loud: I’m gay.

It was the most agonizing thing he’d done in his life. After years and years of professing his love, convincing her to go out with him, just to turn around and tell her he never felt a thing at all when she finally loved him back.

What hurt too was that Lily was good. She was beautiful and kind and smart, and she forgave him. But James couldn’t forgive himself for letting that perfect life with her slip from under his grip. The picture perfect marriage like his parents had, the picture perfect kids he and Lily would have had. She would’ve made a great mother.

What hurt most was that he couldn’t confide in his best friend. He couldn’t. But how to keep a secret from someone you shared everything with? When that was the exact reason he couldn’t confide in Sirius; they’d shared everything: touches and hugs and beds and kisses. If he opened up about being gay then he’d have shared that with his best friend too, implicating all of their intimate moments.

James was in love with Lily Evans.

That was a fact of life. At least it was for James, and so it would remain for Sirius.

He’d tell Sirius that Lily dumped him, that she’d given him a chance, but found nothing to come of it. They’d go to a club, get drunk, then he’d make out with some random girl and it would all be okay.

Then Sirius offered they go to London’s number one gay club.

James was fucked.

Sirius had gotten good at faking it. He’d gotten good at the smiles and the flirting and the hinting at women sharing his bed. He mentioned the clubs and changed the pronouns and he got good at it.

He got good at lying to James. He’d never wanted to be good at lying to James.

He’d gotten so good at it that when James and Lily broke up and James needed an outlet to “let loose” that he’d turned to Sirius and asked where he normally went.

And, of course, Sirius had given the name of the only bar he could think of.

One he hadn’t been to in a year, which could be in his best interest now as hopefully none of his old hookups would be there. But still.

He’d very much given the name of a gay bar to newly singly James Potter.

He debated calling in help but Remus wouldn’t understand the urgency. Had never understood why Sirius didn’t go out with it and tell James he was gay. James would understand, Remus was certain. It wouldn’t change anything.

But Remus didn’t know about the countless practice kisses. The times they’d share beds to stave off the cold. Didn’t know that the only reason James couldn’t see Sirius’ feelings was that he’d never thought them possible.

Sirius was a womanizer.

He’d carefully made sure James knew that. Believed that.

Because otherwise, his friend might see. Might see the arms thrown over shoulders, the lingering hugs, the blushes, the smile he couldn’t control at hearing Lily had finally left him.

Things that a straight best friend might get away with. Things that a queer friend wouldn’t.

But then he’d gone and given James the name of London’s number one gay night club.

And he was fucked.