James Didn’t Want To Take The Shots Sirius Offered Him. His Brain Was Already Working At A Solid 0.5

James didn’t want to take the shots Sirius offered him. His brain was already working at a solid 0.5 synapses per minute and alcohol would blur his thoughts even further.

He wanted to think on this. Puzzle it over, pull it apart, follow all his options around and around like they were the tiny footsteps on the Marauder’s Map.

Forget his whole plan, ignoring Sirius, kissing a random girl. Being straight.

Something much more important had entered his field of vision and he was locked in like a homing missile.

Sirius was gay. Why didn’t it click? Was it the plethora of mystery women he’d bragged about bagging? Or was it James’ own commitment to wallowing, to hunting something he could never achieve. His own marriage to the game, his own boredom of winning.

Would this change his plans? It didn’t have to, logically. But something deep down in James’ gut told him that this needed to change everything. He needed it to change everything.

He was thinking for too long, no doubt boring holes into Sirius’ forehead with his scrutinizing eyes and furrowed brows, and that wasn’t a nice way to react to your best friend coming out to you.

So James decided to be a good boy and take his shots.

“We don’t have to go anywhere.” he said, wiping smears of rum from his lips. “If you like it here, then so do I.”

Turns out the scary part wasn’t admitting to himself he was gay, or even telling his long term girlfriend. It was being gay, existing undeniably in a gay space, with his gay best friend that he was in love with standing in front of him, watery eyeliner framing his perfect eyes, biting his lip, buff arms hanging languidly from the liquor at his sides.

Sirius was simultaneously the most beautiful and horrifying thing he’d ever seen in his life.

And it was time to be a Gryffindoor.

James grabbed one of Sirius’ arms and swiveled them towards the dance floor, the disky-ball Sirius had mentioned sending stars twirling over everything.

He took a deep breath, letting the liquor cloud his whirling mind, letting it take the wheel. “Teach me,” he said. “How a bloke dances in a gay club.”

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.