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･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.
"SO, YOU AND LYDIA?"
It's an unusually sunny day for the first of November and though it isn't necessarily warm - as the jarring and unforgiving late Autumnal winds make certain of this - the bright sun graces the morning with surprisingly balmy streams of light. The courtyard still smells of stale rain, lingering potently in the air as the remnants of the downpour the night before seep into the ground and the stone columns in the form of musky moisture. The gothic architecture of the Clock Tower and the castle's pointed roofs looms over the school in the cloudless periwinkle blue sky, the dials ticking quickly and counting down the remainder of their first spare of the day.
James is currently sat on one of the outer lining stone walls of the courtyard and corridors, nestled between two thin columns that make just one of the many cut outs of arched apertures along the stone. He's got a Transfiguration textbook propped in his lap and a forgotten pencil tucked behind one ear as he makes an effort to, for once, not disappoint McGonagall with his homework. It's not exactly working, as his mind wanders ceaselessly during the half an hour he and his friends have spent lounging about. Sirius is perched on the opening aperture just next to the one between James, his back pressed against one of the columns and one knee pressed up to his chest. He's been asleep for most of the morning, his head propped back idly as he basks in the glow of the sun. Now he is awake, chatting to Peter who is sat just below him cross-legged on the ground. Neither of them seem to notice or hear Remus talking, who is leaning against the wall just next to James.
When James looks over at the scarred boy, he realizes then and there that Remus has been particularly more quiet than usual, lost in a pensive trance. Now, Remus seems to be balancing a thin line between anticipatory curiosity but in a perceived nonchalant appearance.
James straightens up, closing the textbook in his lap and pulling the pencil down from his ear. "What about us?"
"It's true, then?" Remus asks. "You guys really are a thing?"
Immediately, James's mind is brought back to the night before. He hasn't seemed to be able to get Lydia's voice out of his head from when she had called him by his first name, or the way he had felt when she had said he had golden eyes.
"I don't know," he admits. Then, clearing his throat, he adds cheekily, "Well, you know how girls are, Moony. All complicated. They say one thing, but mean another."
"I have a feeling girls would say the same about us," Remus hums comically. "But what does that mean for you?"
