Re: James | Remus
"Worrying about Padfoot is a lifetime's work," James agreed, with a serious nod. He was pretty sure he hadn't had a break from it over the last decade, in any case. "Anyway, this one's your godkid, idiot," he added, giving Remus a soft grin and a slightly less-soft nudge. "Sirius has enough on his plate with the bird killer."
"You're better at it than you think you are, I reckon." He quirked an eyebrow, finally retrieving use of his hand and pulling his glasses off, adjusting the dodgy nosepiece before slipping them back on again. Both arms free, James stretched them up over his head, feeling the tightly wound muscles in his shoulders and back complain.
"Deal. I'll punch him when he's well enough to appreciate it. Now go to sleep," he told Remus, letting his head fall back against the chair. Despite the way the hard wooden seat seemed determined to cut off all his circulation, he could suddenly feel a weary ache in his own muscles. Perhaps he had sympathy tiredness. That would be bloody typical. "I'll stick around for a bit longer, but then I'll pop back again tomorrow."