Goosebumps race down Scorpius's spine, his sides, and bubble up beneath James's breath, hot on his skin. Scorpius is dying here. The kisses, the tenderness. If this is what James Potter is like when he's a little drunk, Scorpius is going to cling to him with a bottle of alcohol at every chance. It's...nice. More than nice.

It's fantastic.

"Probably," Scorpius agrees. But he doesn't move away to leave.