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on joints and movies | frat au prongsfoot | 652 words
It isn’t fair. It isn’t fair. It isn’t fair.
It’s the only thing Sirius has been able to think all day. It isn’t fair, on violent repeat in his head, and it isn’t. Just last night, James had been on top of him— James, with his beautiful brown eyes and his soft honey skin and everything else that Sirius is addicted to— and now they’re back to being friends.
It isn’t fair, but it’s the only way it can be. Because for all the drunken nights and kisses and confessions, neither of them are gay. They aren’t. James runs through girls at a pace that is truly impossible to keep up with, and Sirius— Sirius has had sex with girls before, and it’s not unbearable. They seem to like it, at least, always wanting to spend the night and get coffee in the morning, and that’s more than can be said for James.
“Here,” James reaches over his shoulder, offering the joint to Sirius. He’s sat on the floor in front of the couch where Sirius is perched, watching Superbad for what must be the millionth time. One of the sororities had an event tonight that’s left the house mostly empty, and so it’s just the two of them in the living room.
Sirius takes the joint and puts it in his mouth to take a puff. He’s glad James is facing away from him. All day, he’s been putting forth a very concerted effort to not think about the pit in his stomach or the way his heart skips a beat every time James looks at him, but it’s futile, now. All he can think is it’s not fair, and all he can remember is the feeling of James’ fingers wrapped around him.
It might never happen again— maybe that’s what scares Sirius the most. Last night could’ve been the last time James ever touches him, and he’ll have to be at ease with that. This thing wasn’t ever going to last very long, anyway. James will pick one of his girls to start dating, and Sirius will find one that he doesn’t hate very much, and this entire thing will be a faded memory, a dalliance they might laugh over with their wives.
Except, as his fingers brush James’ handing the joint back, he knows it won’t. Not for him. James is facing away from him, like he always is, and Sirius is melting into the couch. Sirius is being soaked up by the beer-stained fabric, and James doesn’t notice. Sirius is thirty years in the future still clutching on to the memory of James kissing his neck, and James is married with kids who don’t know that he experimented in college.
By the time the credits roll, Sirius is doing his best to hold back tears. The weed wasn’t a good idea— it makes everything feel worse, every emotion feel amplified. It makes it all feel inescapable: that he can’t keep brushing off what he feels about James, that it means far more than what he’s been telling himself it does, and that none of this changes the fact that it means absolutely nothing to James.
They sit in silence until the screen fades to black, and even then it takes a minute for James to reach for the remote. Once the TV is turned off, James sets the remote back on the floor and turns to Sirius with those big, gorgeous eyes.
“Are you okay?”
Sirius’ heart stutters in his chest, because this is James. This is his best friend, his roommate, his soulmate. James, who isn’t a distant and apathetic love interest— he’s Sirius’ friend. And he’s right there, right in front of Sirius, and he knows that something is wrong.
“Can we talk about it later?”
They won’t, but James agrees. It’s enough, the little admission that there is something. It isn’t fair, but it’s enough.