Chapter Text
Turns out, casually dropping ‘hey, I think I’ve got feelings for you,’ into everyday conversation is not as easy as one might think. James would assume their long friendship should play in his favor here—after all, there’s no person in the whole world he loves talking to more than Sirius. Plus, Sirius is privy to all his secrets, from the innocent to the embarrassing. So sharing one more should be simple. No big thing. Easy as pie, a cakewalk, walk in the park, a picnic—in short, all the food and walk-related idioms.
Instead, it proves near impossible. The friendship isn’t a helpful factor at all because every time James tries to bring up the topic, an alarm goes off in his mind, warning him about making things awkward. About scaring Sirius off. About not only being rejected, but also losing his best friend in the process.
So he keeps his mouth shut and bottles up his feelings until he’s almost sick from the firestorm churning inside him. And their shared proximity, one of James’ greatest joys, becomes his personal torture chamber.
Merlin, he’s never noticed how many casual touches he and Sirius exchange on a daily basis. Kisses welcome and goodbye. Legs tangled under the table at breakfast and dinner (they take lunch at their respective workplaces; otherwise, the game of footsie would occur during lunch as well). Shoulder slaps, pats, and bumps. Arms thrown around each other when they snuggle on the couch, watching the Muggle TV Sirius installed on Lily’s recommendation.
Before, James barely registered those touches, considering them nothing more than an expression of their friendship. Now, every single one of them whips through him like raw magic, leaving his core humming with aftershocks long after Sirius has withdrawn. Something’s gotta give. James is only human, for Merlin’s sake. He can’t spend the rest of his life shaky and frazzled as though he just got hexed.
Three days after his epiphany, a cold morning finds James pacing the kitchen, raking his hands through his hair as if he’s trying to rub out a spark of an idea from his head. So far, the strategy has proved futile. He’s just as unsuccessful in finding a solution to his dilemma as he was when the realization first hit him.
There’s simply too much at stake for him to accost Sirius upon his return from work, tell him ‘I’m in love with you now, do we order in tonight, you good, okay, thanks, babe,” and then pretend everything is normal.
The entire situation would be a lot easier if James had an inkling which way Sirius was leaning. Team friendship or team… more. But the trouble is, despite James being able to read Sirius like an open book in certain aspects, his romantic life has always remained shrouded in mystery. Rarely discussed. Hidden behind a veil of shrugs and the occasional overnight disappearance, which they never discuss in the light of day. James knows that Sirius is attracted to men and not opposed to casual dating, but his knowledge doesn’t extend any further.
He has never seen Sirius actively pine for anyone. Or in love with someone. Sirius has never brought home a Dick or Thomas or Francois to introduce as his new boyfriend.
Thank Merlin, if James is being honest. The idea of Sirius being in love with a faceless stranger is enough to turn his stomach and set all of his possessive instincts (which he suddenly has more of than he’d ever thought) on high alert.
Defeated, he sinks into a chair, props his elbows on the table right next to a half-eaten toast and a mug of cooling coffee, buries his head in his hands, and lets out a groan loud enough to rattle the windows.
If only. If only there were a way to find out how Sirius felt. A surefire method of assessing his romantic inclinations. Ideally, without having to reveal the sorry state of James’ own heart. Like one of those Muggle litmus strips that show acidity, except this one would show emotions. Put it on someone’s forehead, and if it colors pink, bam, they’re in love with you. Case closed.
The Wizards are woefully behind in this area.
The only way to get someone to spill the truth is with Veritaserum, which is unacceptable. Out of the question.
Shame there isn’t another potion he could use, since that’s in his wheelhouse.
He shoots up from his position so fast he nearly topples the chair over, smacking himself on the head.
Of course.
Why didn’t he think of it earlier?
There’s one potion guaranteed to wreak havoc on every teenage relationship when the Hogwarts curriculum demands they master it.
A single whiff, and people learn things about themselves they never suspected. Hopefully, with one carefully selected question, so will James.
Outside of Hogwarts, this potion requires a special dispensation due to its potential for abuse, so it’s a good thing James company uses it as one of the main components for their signature perfume, Toxic Affection.
James has a strong suspicion that they might be running low on their current supply.
He’d better start brewing.
And then, when the time is right, let Sirius pick him up at work.
***
“Jamie? Where are you?” Sirius’ voice rings out, carrying through the empty shop to James back in his workshop.
“In here,” he hollers in response, sweeping his eyes over the bubbling cauldron. He’s really outdone himself this time. Good old Sluggy couldn’t have done a better job—a flawless mother-of-pearl sheen, steam rising from the surface in perfect spirals. And of course, the scent of broom polish and his mum’s treacle tart, wafting through the air along with a subtle smell of cedar and bergamot. Sirius’ cologne.
If James needed proof of his feelings, he’s certainly received it, as solid as the vapors tormenting him one inhale at a time can be. But this isn’t about him. He was already sure he was in love with Sirius, so this merely serves as a reminder of how pathetic he is. Hopefully, in seconds, he’ll discover Sirius reciprocates, and he’ll be free to confess his feelings, and the universal balance (and his peace of mind) will be restored. Followed by James shutting Sirius in a bedroom and not leaving it until they’re wrecked and drenched in each other.
Sirius pokes his head inside. “Hey? Ready to head out?”
“Yeah, just need to wrap this up. Come on in. It’s gonna take a minute.”
“Sure.” Sirius saunters over, leaning against the worktable like he’s posing for the cover of Witch Magazine Weekly, all long lines and languid grace. Completely at ease with the world and himself, his body loose and relaxed as he pushes a misbehaving lock of hair from his face. “Alright, Prongsie?” he flashes James a smile, and James heart thumps so hard it’s a wonder it doesn’t warrant a trip to Mungo’s.
“Ugh. Yeah. Fine. Running a little late because Agniezska is sick, and I had to man the counter most of the day. I’m just now catching up on brewing.” James waves toward the cauldron, his hand wobbling slightly. He shoves it into his pocket before Sirius catches wind of something strange going on.
“I was wondering why you didn’t want me to pick you up at our place as usual.”
Sirius inhales deeply, his eyes fluttering closed for a beat before he tips closer to James. The cedar and bergamot of his cologne mesh with the fragrance of Amortentia, making it impossible to distinguish between the two, and James is doomed. Completely, utterly, foolishly doomed because his friend, whom he’s known for over a decade, has leaned in. He didn’t do anything remotely suggestive. Just leaned in and took a breath, as humans do when they don’t want to suffocate.
“Why does it smell so strange in here?”
James puts on a face so innocent it would make lilies pale with envy. “What do you mean?”
Sirius’ eyes snap open, liquid silver and shrewd glint framed by lashes blacker than dark magic.
“It’s just—familiar. Effie’s roast dinner and motor oil and,” he takes another whiff, and all the silver sharpens, zeroing on James, “what is it you’re brewing again?” he edges closer, crowding James against the bench. Caging him in.
A whimper trills at the back of James’ throat, ready to break free the second he loses grip on his composure. In about five seconds, give or take, if Sirius continues looking at him like this, cold fire barely contained behind his gaze, searing through James’ sternum and filling his bones with molten desire.
“Nothing unusual.” Nothing like obsession in a bottle. “Finish the thought. Effie’s cooking, motor oil, and? And what?”
“And licorice,” Sirius says without missing a beat, taking a step back.
“But I hate licorice,” James blurts out, his entire body sagging with disappointment.
Sirius raises an eyebrow. “Mate, I’m aware. The incident in year two, when you threw up all over my bed, made that very clear.”
“Yeah, thanks for reminding me.” James averts his gaze, busying himself by reshuffling some vials on the desk.
“You’re welcome. Now let’s hustle, or we’ll be late for the game.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive. It starts in twenty minutes. Even if we Apparate right this second, we’ll be cutting it close.”
“No, I meant about the licorice.”
“Sure. Why does it matter? Are you developing a new perfume or something?”
James shakes his head, vanishing the contents of the cauldron before Sirius connects the dots and realizes what schemes he’s been concocting. “No. Just experimenting a little with some fresh ingredients. Testing what people find appealing.”
Sirius slaps his arm fondly. “Well, now you know. Come on, I want to pop by a kiosk before the match starts.”
James makes a face. “Let me guess, to buy licorice wands?”
“No, you numpty. Cornish pasties. I’ll treat you to some, too, since you sprang for the tickets.”
“Thanks.” James pushes down any lingering dismay. So Sirius didn’t smell anything associated with him in the Amortentia. Big deal. It’s hardly conclusive. That potion is famously fickle. Perhaps James messed up the process. Besides, people’s preferences change constantly, and perhaps Sirius doesn’t find any of James’ signature scents enticing. Does he even have any?
There’s his shampoo, he supposes, the one he developed to smell of the green apples from their family orchard, but who knows. Perhaps Sirius doesn’t like apples.
It doesn’t mean he doesn’t like James.
And because James is a lot smitten and more than a bit pathetic and determined to salvage the situation by enjoying the game he used as an excuse so he could lure Sirius into his shop, he nestles into his friend as they step out, looping his arm around his waist and drinking his bergamot-cedar scent like a thirsty animal.
Sirius smirks as though he catches onto James’ intentions, but he doesn’t pull away, so they make their way to the nearest apparition point wrapped in one another.
It’s not the proof James wanted. In fact, it’s not unusual behavior for them; they always find new ways to touch, new excuses to remain close.
It’s not proof, but it’s not nothing.
James looks at Sirius’ profile, gilded by the sun and outlined in sharp strokes against the blue sky as he roots for the Magpies, mouth open and hair whipping around his head.
Longing strangles him, brutal and unforgiving, ravaging his entire being and changing the rhythm of his pulse so it beats along the notes of Sirius, Sirius, Sirius.
It’s not nothing.
And for today, it’ll have to be enough.