Chapter Text
James POV
Rain slashes outside the windows, the clouds low and grey and oppressive. It’s been like this for days, and according to the weather report, there’s no end in sight. James Potter sighs, feeling as though he is going to go mad.
“I feel like I’m going to go mad,” he says, throwing his head back.
“You must be. You’re not usually this dramatic.”
James lifts his head to glare across the table at his best friend Remus, who hasn’t so much as raised his gaze from the laptop he is currently hunched over, nose barely a foot from the screen because he refuses to wear his reading glasses.
“Moony. It’s this weather,” James pleads desperately. “I feel like the sky is caving in on me.”
“James,” Remus says, finally looking up. “You’ve lived in England your entire life; surely you know what to expect from the weather.”
James grins, struck with sudden inspiration. He stands and crosses the short distance to the other side of his kitchen table, closing Remus’s laptop with a satisfying snap.
“Oi! I was working on something!”
“It’ll autosave,” James says, waving a hand dismissively. “I’ve got a proposal for you.”
Remus narrows his eyes. That seems as much of an opening as James is going to get, so he seizes it, dragging his chair over towards Remus’s side of the table and flipping his laptop to face them both. He allows a moment for Remus to take in what he’s showing him.
“What am I looking at?” Remus asks flatly.
James looks back at his screen, ensuring that in his haste to bring his laptop over, he hadn’t accidentally clicked over to another tab. There it is, though: an Airbnb listing for an absolutely adorable little bungalow on the beach. James wonders if the colors are really that vibrant or if someone has edited the saturation on these photos. All that blue…
“I thought it was pretty obvious,” James teases. “Come on, Moony, you’re the smartest person I know.”
“It looks like a listing for a vacation rental,” Remus says, poised to open his laptop again.
“It is—phase one of Operation Vacation,” James announces proudly.
“Is this what you’ve been doing over there?” Remus asks incredulously. “I thought you were crunching numbers!”
“I was—for this trip. I sent my numbers in for work like a half hour ago, but you seemed like you’d hit your stride in whatever Godric and Salazar are up to in this chapter, so I didn’t want to bother you.”
Remus writes fantasy books that focus heavily on the queer romance/rivalry between his characters, Godric Gryffindor and Salazar Slytherin. He is notoriously reclusive in spite of the notoriety of his books. He is long overdue for a vacation—and a shag. James isn’t sure when he’d last seen Remus so much as flirt with someone else.
Not that he, James, has much room to talk. He hasn’t been in a serious relationship since he and Lily ended things, and his casual flings are… well… few and far between. It doesn’t matter—the point is that James is unencumbered, and so is Remus, and what better time to travel with your best mate?
Maybe it’s the rut because of the typical English weather, maybe it’s because they’re both painfully, obviously, in a dry spell, but either way, the two friends are in dire straits. A dry spell and a rut are, as far as James is concerned, the perfect combination for a little jaunt across the pond to shake things up in the routine of their lives. Drawing his attention back to the sun-drenched photos on his laptop, he clicks through once more, smiling to himself. They need this.
“Where is this, anyway?” Remus asks, opening his laptop and typing away.
“Folly Beach, South Carolina,” James announces proudly.
“This trip sounds like folly,” Remus mutters dryly, but James knows he has him and he grins before clicking the button to book their trip.
“Pack your bags, Remus, we’re going to America!”
*****
Remus had scoffed about their trip, but he also ended up making an organized itinerary for them, so James knew he was forgiven. For his part, James doesn’t really care where they go. He mostly just wants to lounge on the beach and drink something boozy and frozen and topped with fruit and a little umbrella.
Emerging from the Charleston airport, James is immediately assaulted with humidity, nary a breeze or a cloud in sight. It’s hot, but the sun is blazing overhead in a cornflower blue sky. The airport is landscaped with tall palm trees and tropical foliage teeming with flowers in brilliant shades of hibiscus pink and sunshine yellow and vibrant fuchsia.
Remus rolls his suitcase behind him, stepping beside James, his jaw dropping open.
“Well. This is certainly a far cry from London, isn’t it?” Remus says.
James grins, feeling better about their (okay, his) decision with each passing second.
*****
After a drive through traffic and the outskirts of the city (along a highway with a rather astonishing number of billboards for injury lawyers), they make it to the coast at last. The tiny bungalow is perfect, all pale hardwood floors and white walls and sea glass accents. The kitchen cabinets are painted turquoise and match the pots and pans stacked along the shelves. It has, inexplicably, a fireplace, and two double beds in the singular bedroom.
The best part, though, is the back area, where a porch houses two Adirondack chairs in the palest of blues, a small circular table between them, and a view of the ocean. The place certainly did what it said on the tin: they are steps from the beach. The ocean rolls in against the pale sandy coast, dotted with multicolored squares, beach umbrellas, people sprawled out or splashing in the surf.
“Do you believe this?” James asks.
“A breeze, at last,” Remus spreads his arms out, the extra fabric of his shirt rippling. “Felt like trying to walk through a bloody pot of soup when we got out of the airport.”
“And now?”
Remus turns to look at him, resigned.
“This is a vacation,” he smiles.
James throws the windows and doors wide open, listening to the surf crash outside as they get settled. Remus hops into the shower, and James bustles around the space, peeking into cabinets and the refrigerator, making a mental note to pick up some fruit and snacks so they’re not eating everything out.
When James emerges from the shower, Remus is lying down diagonally across the bed on his stomach, the sky just starting to turn from bright blue to something softer, hazier, more golden. James pads over to stand in Remus’s line of vision, the white terrycloth catching Remus’s attention.
“Prongs, fuck off,” Remus groans. “I want to take a nap.”
“Take a nap on the beach tomorrow. If we sleep now we’ll spend the entire trip thrown off by the six hour time difference.”
Remus is quiet, which means he knows James is right.
“Let’s go sightseeing! There’s a place called Rainbow Row that’s apparently a big tourist destination,” James says, sitting down beside Remus’s prone form and swiping his phone. “According to this map, it’s near a bunch of the other things on your list.”
“You’re impossible, Prongs. Remind me never to travel with you again.”
James hops up from the bed, grinning at Remus, whose arm is thrown across his face. Remus heaves himself upright, shuffling over to his designated drawer to find something more suitable to wear.
*****
Rainbow Row is situated in the heart of downtown Charleston, surrounded by cobblestone streets and massive homes overlooking the bay. James and Remus walk down by The Battery, peeking over the railings to the jellyfish and barnacles below.
“Can you imagine living somewhere like that?” Remus leans back on his elbows, facing away from the water to stare at a pale pink house that takes up nearly an entire block.
The house reminds James of a birthday cake, or a dollhouse. Its balconies are adorned with wrought iron curlicues and rounded windows. The house next to it, a white monstrosity, is somehow even larger. James notices the marble floor tiles that are used to tile the walkway and snorts out a laugh. Even the poshest Brits wouldn’t do something quite so impractical, though he couldn’t deny that it looked nice.
“Not at all—overlooking the water would be so soothing,” James turns back to take in the distant bridge, the palm trees, the boats sailing through the harbor.
“People staring up at your house all day, snapping photos—very soothing,” Remus says sarcastically.
“Still tired then?” James asks.
“Yes, and I’m sure you can tell that it’s making me grouchy.”
“No more so than usual,” James says, then darts out of the way when Remus reaches out to smack him.
“Where’s your rainbow ridge?”
“Rainbow Row,” James corrects. “I think it’s just over there—if those multicolored houses are any indication.”
They wander down the sidewalks, weaving between groups of people on tours or walking their dogs, and Remus sighs somewhat impatiently as James stops to pet a large shaggy black dog. Horse-drawn carriages roll down the street. They’re driven by men in boater hats and white jackets, snippets of their regaling the riders with the history of the area reaching James’s ears like the gnats that float lazily through the air.
Soon they find themselves across the street from what is, unmistakably, Rainbow Row. The pastel-colored houses look like Easter eggs, all lined up beside one another in pink, yellow, blue, green, and lavender. Flower boxes explode with a riot of purples and yellows and whites. The effect is such that even Remus is smiling.
“Shall we cross the street and get a closer look?” he asks, and James nods.
The sun is low in the sky, the shadows long across the sidewalks. Golden light seeps through the buildings, casting everything in a warm glow. James reads a little placard affixed to one of the buildings—homes, he corrects himself.
“Remus, this would be your nightmare,” he mutters to where Remus is reading over his shoulder.
“People hanging around in front of my house day and night you mean? Yep.”
Apparently, James learns, the homes were originally a pastel green and dated to the 1700s, though following the Civil War, they fell into disrepair until one woman renovated her home and painted it a pastel pink.
“We should probably get a picture, yeah?” James asks, reaching into his pocket for his phone.
“I suppose,” Remus sighs.
“Here, squat down a little, I can’t get you in frame without cutting off some of the houses.”
“Why don’t you let me do it, my arms are longer?”
“Just squat down, Moons,” James stands on his toes slightly.
“Hey, do you need us to take a picture for you?” a smooth voice calls.
“How embarrassing,” Remus mutters, flushing.
Two men approach—they have to be brothers, if their coloring is any indication: light eyes, black hair, paler than even Remus. One is the slightest bit taller, with long hair, and he wears a black t-shirt, blue and white striped Bermuda shorts, and Vans. The other one has shorter hair—still longer than James or Remus wear theirs—a halo of curls around his head. He wears linen trousers and a button up with the sleeves loosely rolled around his wrists. He glares at his companion.
“Oi, other Brits!” Remus calls.
The one with the longer hair chuckles, but as if he’s letting James and Remus in on the joke. He reaches out a hand for James’s phone, and James hands it over, moving to stand beside Remus as the long-haired man angles the phone and takes a few photos.
“Here you are,” Long Hair says, handing James his phone.
“Thanks—want us to take yours too?” James offers.
“Oh, no, we live here, we’ve seen this enough,” he says, smiling. “Where are you and your partner visiting from?”
Remus flushes, and he and James both begin sputtering awkwardly.
“No, we’re not—”
“He’s just—”
“We’re best friends,” Remus finally finishes.
“Oh, well then,” Long Hair smiles again, his eyes twinkling. “Shouldn’t have assumed. This is my brother, just to be clear.”
Even though the one who is speaking is clearly attractive and very friendly, James can’t take his eyes off his companion, who shrewdly narrows his eyes at James. James realizes that his mouth is hanging open.
“Uh, yeah, that sounds great,” Remus says.
James forces his attention back to his friend, who is clearly experiencing the same gut punch reaction that James is.
“What sounds great?” James asks.
“I just wanted to see if you two wanted to join my brother and me for a drink? I’m Sirius, by the way, and this is my brother, Regulus.”
Regulus.
Suddenly, James thinks, their vacation got considerably more interesting.