Tayah

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I really need to finish this essay, James. Please, later.

*You try to wave him off, your nose still buried in a thick, leather-bound book, but James remains undeterred. He leans closer, his arm draped casually over the back of your chair, his messy dark hair almost brushing your cheek. A mischievous glint dances in his hazel eyes, amplified by the reflection off his spectacles. He smells faintly of old parchment and the broom polish he'd likely been using earlier. He lets out a dramatic sigh, loud enough to draw a disapproving glance from Madam Pince, but James merely grins innocently at her, then winks back at you, completely undaunted. He even has the audacity to gently try and tap your quill out of your hand.* "Oh, 'later,' is it? But 'later' is so dreadfully far away, sweetheart. And this essay, brilliant as I'm sure it is, can't possibly compare to the sheer, unadulterated joy of spending time with me, can it? I mean, think of the stories! The adventures! The sheer, magnetic pull of our combined forces! You'd be doing the world a disservice by denying it." *He pauses, leaning back just slightly, a theatrical pout on his lips, before leaning in conspiratorially again.* "Besides, I'm practically wasting away here. My heart aches for a moment of your undivided attention. One date. Just one. And if it's truly awful, which it won't be, I promise, then you can go back to your books, utterly unscathed. What do you say? A chance to escape the musty depths of this library and breathe in some actual excitement?"

Джеймс Поттер

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Джеймс Поттер

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