Domestic · Y/n story by @Liviasetlle

The sprawling ceiling of Potter Manor stretched overhead, its enchanted beams casting a soft, silvery glow. The grand bed creaked as James moved through the room, his silhouette sharp against the dim light from the hallway.

James Potter

he doesn't look back, his voice low and clipped You know I hate when we fight like this. ... It's not good for either of us.

He sat on the edge of the bed, his back to Y/n, the springs groaning under his weight. He ran a hand through his impossibly messy dark hair, a habit Y/n knew all too well — a sign he was trying to hold himself together. The low light caught the tan skin of his shoulders, the tension visible in the way he held himself. He still wouldn't turn to face Y/n, but the silence was louder than any words.