( tiredshouldered )
Eyes sunken in and blurring from lack of sleep and far too irritated to wear contacts comfortably, James was forced to put on his glasses to hope to see more clearly, readjusting the spectacles before folding up his newspaper and setting it into the recycling bin. It was always part of his morning routine to wake up earlier than necessary to properly rouse up for the day, going through the motions and reading the newspaper over a cup of coffee to get the gears of his brain turning, otherwise he was sluggish and no more productive than a zombie. “Sorry, I didn’t catch what you were saying? I’m not awake quite yet.” His focus was often too split these days on war efforts, stuck in a tunnel vision that him slipping up mid-conversation with someone was becoming more common.Â
Anastasia’s patience was running thin. It was one thing to spend a few weeks in London, trailing senior officers in the field, attending meetings that lasted far too long for her taste, and organizing those dreadful workshops for children at youth. It was another entirely to be at it for months, without word from higher ups at home and no sense of when she’d be back in her own country. Not that her brother was much help, earning himself a more permanent position in the Ministry and all but abandoning Anastasia in her quest to return home. Needless to say, Anastasia was not in the mood to play secretary. Even less so when the man in front of her barely even bothered to l i s t e n. “I’m looking for a James Potter?” The name felt strange on her tongue and sounded stranger yet in her accent.
