17

Mickey wakes up with a massive headache. He's in Sirius' old room — his room now, he supposes — and there are no curtains, so the morning sun shines all the way through the blinds.

It warms his bare torso, but he could really do without the shine. He doesn't have a hangover (he didn't really drink that much), but he could've done without waking up today altogether.

All the memories of last night come flooding back, and it makes Mickey wish he wasn't trying so hard to give up his smoking. He can't figure out why the universe hates him so much, and why he would be the first one James goes to for a drunk rebound kiss.

He pulls a pair of jeans over his boxers and forsakes the shirt. He trudged into the kitchen and grabs a mug out of the sink. He rinses it out and pours the kettle of black coffee to the brim.

He takes a tentative sip, winces at the bitterness, and then turns around to lean against the counter.

He almost screams.

There's a man sitting at the counter, watching Mickey from over the brim of his newspaper. "You must be Mickey."

Mickey couldn't think of a worse way to greet the dad of his best friend. His best friend that he kind of wants to be more than a best friend. Merlin, he's not doing too hot.

"Hello, you must be Mr. Potter." Mickey reaches a tentative hand out for a shake. "Sorry I am not wearing a shirt. I promise I'm not— I'm not weird or anything."

"Not weird?" Mr. Potter lets out a mellow laugh. "If any of James' friends weren't weird, that's when I'd be nervous. Tell me, Mickey, what do you do?"

"Quidditch, sir." Mickey says. "I'm the Hufflepuff captain."

"Oh, James used to write all the time about you," Mr. Potter says. "Before you two were friends, I guess. Always jealous of you, James."

"Jealous of me?" Mickey scoffs and shakes his head at his coffee.

"That's what it always felt like. Anyway, are you a fan of steak?"

"Steak?"

"I like taking all my boys out for steak dinners," Mr. Potter says, and there's a soft gleam in his eyes. "We catch up and talk about things. I give them my articulated advice. I'd like you to come as well, if you'd like."

"Okay," Mickey says quietly. He still feels a bit unsure, but this man is giving off the same chaotic, kind energy that James has, so he might grow to trust him.

"Did you guys have fun last night?" Mr. Potter winks, and Mickey chokes on his coffee.

"What?" He sputters.

"James is always so quiet when he's hungover. I've never seen anything like it. I tried to get him to have some coffee, but refused."

"It's too bitter," Mickey says, turning around to find another mug. "I'll make him some tea."

"If you can get hungover James to obey you and drink something that will help, I'll truly be amazed. He's in the garage now, inhaling paint fumes, the dramatic boy."

Mickey giggles. While the tea steeps, he finishes his coffee. "He's always has a bit of a flare for the dramatics, hasn't he?"

"That's my boy," Mr. Potter grins. "He's good, though. Always trying to improve himself."

Mickey smiles. "He is."

Mr. Potter lifts up his own mug and traces the coffee ring that is left on the counter. "So listen... James sent me a letter... about what happened—"

"I'm sorry," Mickey is quick to react. "If it makes you uncomfortable, I can—"

"—And if you need me to beat up your old man, just say the word. I also know a few potions that will, um, how do you say, take away any manly prowess he might have."

Mickey giggles, relief floods through his stomach. Then he registers Mr. Potter's words. "Wait, you mean like... give my dad permanent flaccid dick? Gross."

Mr. Potter shrugs. "I did it for Sirius' dad. Old Black couldn't say no to an anonymous gift of wine. Add in some potion, and he can't please anyone any more."

Mr. Potter has a shit-eating grin on his face, and it makes Mickey think of himself. "You know, my brother could take a blow to his ego like that."

"There we go," Mr. Potter says, and the mirth in his eyes lets James know that he might have been joking this entire time, but the support is definitely there. "That would be very cruel, if I did that to all of my enemies," he amends. "But anyone who hurts my boys; it's worth a little rule-breaking."

He winks at Mickey.

Mickey blinks. My boys. As in, Mickey is part of the family. As in, this is Mickey's first time meeting Mr. Potter and he's already been called his boy.

Like, his son.

"James didn't tell me his parents were so nice," he blurts out.

"James didn't tell us a lot of things," Mr. Potter giggles to himself, like there's some kind of secret going around that Mickey doesn't know about it.

The tea kettle whistles, so Mickey takes it off of the heat and begins to pour it. "I'm gonna go force him to talk about his feelings. I'll be back. Oh, and thank you, Mr. Potter."

"Nothing to thank me for, Mickey, but I accept."

-

James has been staring at the leather jacket for the better part of the hour. He can't figure out what he wants to paint on the back. He found a few quotes at the library during his very long and sobering walk this morning, but he can't think of love quotes without thinking of Mickey and he can't think of Mickey without thinking about the kiss.

Sober James hates drunk James. Who gave that guy vodka, anyway?

James keeps replaying Mickey's words in his head. How could he think James was using him as a rebound?

Then again, Mickey doesn't even know that James likes boys. In his mind, James wouldn't kiss Mickey unless he was wasted and it was a rebound.

James wishes he could take it all back. He regrets his impulsive tendencies and wishes he could do things with a more calculated mind.

He can't even enjoy the thought of the kiss because all that's running through his mind is what if Mickey didn't want it?

He can't remember asking permission or being polite or making sure Mickey was comfortable, and that bothers him. He knows he's going to have to confront Mickey about it if he wants the truth, but the truth might be too hard to swallow.

He hears the garage door open, and there's the devil himself, not even wearing a shirt. Mickey walks up to him and offers him a mug.

"No thanks," James wrinkles his nose. He hates his dad's coffee.

"It's tea," Mickey insists, shoving the hot mug into James' hands. "And you haven had anything to eat or drink all morning, I bet."

"You're right," James says. He takes a sip of the tea, and decides that the scalding after against his tongue is a good distraction from the shirtless boy in front of him. He downs the entire thing.

"Are you crazy?" Mickey takes the mug out of his hands.

James chokes on the tea. He feels his face warm up and shrugs. "The idea sounded better in my head."

Mickey laughs. "You're cute, Jimbo."

James chokes again. He knows his face is red now. "Geez, Mickey. Are you trying to kill me?"

"I would never," Mickey says. He leans over towards James, until their noses are touching. "Would I?"

James' breath hitches. Does Mickey remember last night? Merlin, he's so close and his eyes are so blue and his lips are so pink. Have they always been that pink? "I don't... I don't know."

Mickey leans forward, bumps his nose against James'. Then he scrunches his nose, and James feels like this is far too intimate to do with a friend.

Then Mickey giggles, mouth so close to
James, and retracts. "So, what are you doing?"

James is a huge fan of distractions, in case anyone is wondering. "I'm trying to paint the jacket that Sirius gave me."

"Can I help?" Mickey grabs a small paint brush and a tube of blue paint. "What are you painting?"

"I want a quote. Something I can wear to parties. Something that says something about who I am." James ponders over the jacket, struggling to push the panic away from his bones.

"Which explains the poetry books," Mickey flips through a Robert Frost collection. "Two roads diverged in a wood and I— I took the road less traveled by, and that has made all the difference," he reads.

James looks up, surprised. He's never heard that poem before. But it makes him think of Mickey, and the way the curly-haired boy is smiling at him right now. He wonders if he'd be as happy as Frost if he were to take the road less traveled. If he were to be brave. Brave like the pretty boy standing in front of him, pants hanging off of his hips, lips pursed in thought as he silently reads from the poetry collection. "I want that one."

Mickey flips the page back to the poem and smiles softly. "I like it, too. My mom used to recite it to me after— well, after I came out to her. She made me feel less alone, less lost, reading this poem. If I take the road less traveled by, it might make all the difference in the world. A good difference, you know?"

James feels his stomach stir with affection. He couldn't imagine anyone refusing to love Mickey, no matter his choices. He couldn't imagine his own heart beating for anyone else.

He can't explain it, but this isn't like what he felt for Lily. Lily was fun, and he enjoyed the banter they had, but it wasn't love. It wasn't whatever he feels for Mickey.

Because with Mickey, James pictures an actual future. Like, a picket-fence kind of future. Mickey makes him think of a future where they're together, and Mickey wearing James' old quidditch jersey. He's a star quidditch player, and James is his number one fan. He wonders how selfish it would be if he wished for Mickey to bring him a mug of tea every day.

"James?" Mickey slams the book closed, and James jumps. "Were you listening? I asked if I could outline the words. Since you're better at painting pictures..?"

James bites his lip, willing away futures of painting beside Mickey in a makeshift art studio. "Okay. You write the words. I'll make an outline of the woods. We can do yellow leaves."

"Great!" Mickey sits cross-legged in front of the jacket's neckline, and James sits on the other side.

James finds his thinnest brush and his tube of grey paint. "Here. You stencil the words first, and I'll trace around it."

Mickey twists the jacket around and gets right to work. "I'll do my best," he says, before he begins to make a space for each word. "This is going to be so cool. You're gonna look like a rockstar."

"We'll share it," James decides, and the small promise is worth every second of Mickey's excited "Really?".

"Wait." Mickey looks at James. "I have a jean jacket. We should make them match."

"I took the road less traveled by—"

"—and that has made all the difference," Mickey finishes. His ears swiftly turn red and he averts his eyes back to the jacket. "I mean, it's kind of weird but I thought it might look cool."

"Are you kidding?" James feels like his cheeks are going to rip at the seems from how wide he's smiling. "Can you imagine how great we'd look at a concert or something? We'd be a pair, always matching! We can always find each other!"

James says it out of excitement, but the thought of any of that coming true has his stomach erupting with tiny little butterflies that seem to fly up and up and up until they get stuck in his throat.

Then Mickey is scratching his chest absentmindedly. "We're okay then? After last night?"

And the butterflies in his throat come spilling out into what can only be described as word vomit. "I was wrong. I mean, not wrong to kiss you. You aren't wrong to kiss. I mean, kissing boys isn't wrong— but I just— It had nothing to do with Lily. I was drunk and made impulsive choices, but they weren't to make you a rebound. I swear."

Mickey smiles. "James Potter, are you telling me that you didn't mean it when you said my collarbones were kissable?"

James feels like he just got slapped in the face. "I said what? I thought I just kissed you!"

"Oh, you said a lot last night, Jimbo." Mickey leans back on his hand, bites his lip and winks at James.

James feels his face flush. He kind of wants to kiss the smirk off of Mickey's face. Just to shut the boy up. "I'm sorry. I'm not a very eloquent drunk. And if I made you uncomfortable—"

"You didn't," Mickey interrupts. His face takes a more softened tone. "James, you're okay."

"But what about us? Are we okay?"

Mickey reaches forward and does that thing again, where he runs his thumb across James' chin. It's comforting and adorable and there's this look in Mickey's eyes like he wants to say something but can't. "We're okay, James."

-

i gave y'all 2.4k words of fluff pls say this registered as fluff because i did my absolute best i really did.
edit: just proofread it and it's a sucky excuse for a filler chapter whOOPS!

james: i want to live with mickey forever
mickey: i want to wear matching jackets with james
james: no homo tho
mickey: yeah no homo

you guys are really cute i love reading your reactions to my book! i always love it when you guys catch the foreshadowing or hints or stuff that i sneak in ;)

mickey is my favorite oc ever and james has become my favorite marauder :) writing his motherly nature and chaotic energy is my favorite thing to do. and making mickey a lil shit is also my favorite thing to do :))

i hope this chapter did them justice <3

okay. bye. luv u guys.

ps: kind of want to enter this into the wattys but idk