"Yeah! She's great. A pain in the ass, but great."

"So, James," Peter says. "I do have a question for you - do you have any hobbies? Beyond your commitment to himboism."

"What, is that not enough? Himboism is a very time-consuming activity, I'll have you know! Okay that was a very obvious dodge, I'm bad at talking about myself. I am on the basketball team—or was, they do new tryouts every year so technically I'll need to go at it again. If my parents are anything to go by I'll eventually even be tall, but right now I'm just quick."

"Basketball! Respectable. I'm a footballer myself - real football, not American. Susan does lacrosse. Edmund is surrounded by sport fiends and hates every minute of it."

"Maybe I'll be the corrupting influence that brings him over to the sport side of the Force."

"Good bloody luck."

"You would have a time of it, I'm afraid. The only physical activity he's ever expressed an interest in was fencing, and he abandoned it because it turned out to be... what was it you said?"

"A bloodless mockery of the noble art of swordsmanship," Edmund sighs. "I was eleven."

"Hmm... what did you like about fencing?"

"I liked the fact that it involved swords. Conversely, I disliked the fact that it didn't actually involve swords."

"...okay that is actually hard to replicate. If some VR game existed that mimicked the swords-having of swords including the blood, do you think that'd scratch your itch?"

Because James has a reality-altering book and he's not afraid to use it to make reality better.

"...yeah, probably if there was really good VR that handled proprioception and stuff I would be into it. Let me know when that comes about."

"Will do. Might give you it as a gift."

"Well. I'll look forward to it."

They pull into a driveway. "Home again, home again."

James feels like he should be feeling nervous in some way but he's just kind of excited. He kisses Edmund on the cheek and hops off the car.

"Eee," Edmund declares.

The Pevensie home is a large Tudor-style house, not quite a mansion, white with a gray roof and large windows. Edmund shows him into the living room, which contains:

- two couches and two armchairs

- a baby grand piano, its lid currently closed

- so many fucking books; in addition to the full bookshelves along two walls, there is a three-foot stack of them by one of the armchairs

- a forty-something man reclining in one of the armchairs, reading Gravity's Rainbow in the nude. His relation to Peter is obvious, at least below the waist; his face is closer to Edmund's.

The man looks up from his reading as they enter, then rises from his seat to extend a hand to James. "Henry Pevensie. You're the friend of... one of my children, I assume?"

"Boyfriend," Edmund clarifies. "Mine."

Henry raises his eyebrows. "Was that what the cupcakes were about? I thought they were just a first-day-of-school thing."

"Yes," Peter says. "Yes, that is what the cupcakes were about."

Henry squints at him, then sighs heavily. "I don't want to know, do I."

"You certainly do not."

James shakes the hand firmly. "James, a pleasure to meet you, sir. Your children are delightful, you must be very proud of them."

"Deeply and profoundly," Henry says happily. "I somehow raised four truly excellent children, despite putting in the minimum viable effort and generally not paying much attention to what I was doing."

"It keeps you from overthinking," Susan contributes as she climbs the stairs.

Henry beams. "I'm thinking of writing a book with the secrets of my success."

Oh this man does not know what the 'minimum viable effort' is, of this James is certain.

Well, Edmund is his tour guide slash reason he's here so he turns his smile to the boy and waits expectantly.

"Shall I show James around?" Edmund asks on cue. "And you can get back to your reading."

Henry sighs. "You may, and I suppose I should. Never read Pynchon, my son. Your mother says he's a delight, and your mother is lying."

"I'll bear it in mind. Come along, James."

He comes along! "No idea who Pynchon is," he says to Edmund.

"He wrote the book Dad's reading. Dad hates it. More than this I do not know."

Edmund shows him the kitchen! The kitchen contains a woman about Henry's age, wearing an apron and long insulating gloves as she removes a tray of shortbread cookies from the oven.

Edmund reaches to snag a cookie and receives a withering glare. "My mother, Helen Pevensie née Scrubb. Mother, James Orland, my boyfriend."

"Don't tell people my maiden name, for God's sake, I gave it up for a reason." Helen puts the tray on the stovetop and goes in to hug James. "It's lovely to meet you! I'd offer you a biscuit but they need to cool, Edmund."

He hugs her back with a grin.

"He'll burn himself and be punished for his impatience. And it's lovely to meet you, too, Mrs. Pevensie, I'll make sure to forget your maiden name at the earliest opportunity."