Ink Stained

"Remus? Pete? Either of you seen Sirius?"

"Still down in the common room, last I saw him. Cramming for the Potions practical tomorrow, probably. I told him he should've started earlier."

"You and your Prefect-ness, Moony. I'd better go down there, then, it's- what- midnight? Be back in a bit."

"With our wayward puppy in tow?"

"Why the hell do you talk like that? But, yeah, I'll bring him back."

***

The first thing James notices, obviously, is that Sirius is alone in the common room. Secondly, he notes that it's a bit dark to be studying-too dark to be recreating the atmosphere of the Potions classroom, even. And then, five almost-silent steps later, James realizes that Sirius is asleep on the sofa, head resting on the open textbook.

James perches on the edge of the couch and almost falls off as he remembers, too late, that the one cushion always slides out. He waits before waking Sirius; Sirius has been tense and restless all week. Understandable, after spending the winter holidays with that family of his. In sleep, however, the premature lines of tension are gone, instead replaced with the delicate features that came from years of marriages within the same families of the wizarding aristocracy. Said marriages and their results left beautiful females and attractive males, but Sirius, and probably other relatives of his, was rather prettier than he had any right to be. Without the constant energy and the myriads of expressions that fly across his face during the day, he does seem almost too pretty. Just the half-light of a nearly-deserted room and certain angles-- and many, many years of solid friendship and closeness that was always just a bit more than platonic. But never mind that, anyway.

James puts his hand on Sirius' shoulder, shakes him awake with a bit more force than he meant to use. Sirius looks up at him, bleary-eyed and half-smiling. He has a smudge of ink on his cheek. "Hey."

"Hey, yourself. Planning on spending all night down here? Hot date with your Potions notes?" And normal conversation is almost too easy to slip back into- James thinks he loves this effortless, comfortable familiarity.

"You know it. What time is it, anyway?"

"Midnight, just about."

"Already! And I still have Charms to look over in the morning-hey, and so do you. It's going to be another one of those 'five hours of sleep' nights, by the time I actually can. Fall asleep, I mean."

"Oh, go to bed, honestly. You're making even less sense than usual."

"Still more'n you. So you have to get your ass upstairs, too."

"Yeah, yeah." But he stands, offers a hand to Sirius. Sirius has left an odd dent in the lumpy sofa, and he pokes it before he moves forward.

"Whatever would I do without you, James?" It's teasing, but not insincere.

"Wake up late with ink on your face and no time to wash it off, probably."

"Probably. Wait-ink? On my face?" Whatever would he do, indeed.