In Severus Snape's mind, Lily Evans belonged to him.

Even though she had now she been dating James Potter for several months, he still felt this way.

And he always would.

He, in truth, had a claim on Lily that nobody else did.

Nobody.

Not even James.

Severus had been Lily's first kiss.

The kiss itself was quick and chaste, two thirteen year olds experimenting with just what kissing was.

It was awkward and messy and innocent and simple.

But it was still a kiss, nevertheless.

A kiss that made young Severus fall in love with Lily even more than he thought was possible.

A kiss that, twenty years on, still made Severus smile.

Because he had come to the realisation that he could cry thousands of tears for Lily, his sweet, lost love.

Or he could relish the fact that he had got her.

He had kissed those smiling lips.

Stroked that fiery red hair.

And loved her pure, good heart.

Long before James Potter had even had a chance.