James Potter was in love. He knew it the minute he saw her on the train station that September first. He wanted to hold back, really, he did. Lily and he were mates and he didn't want to blotch it. He liked being Lily's mate.

So, James spent all of sixth year, and a good part of seventh year, holding back and being her mate. Letting her cry into his comfortable shirts about some bloke she fancied who didn't like her back - not like that, at least.

To be quite honest, James thought that said bloke (whose name Lily refused to say) was sort of an idiot. Who would look at Lily - kind, witty, funny Lily, and not fall in love with the view? It baffled him how some pricks threw away the simplest opportunities to be happy.

The only thing James wanted to do when he saw her crying was to punch something. But Lily wouldn't tell him the idiot's name, so brooding in his dormitory would have to suffice.

Being Lily's mate wasn't so terrible, after all. They were in a far better place than they were, say, three years ago. They walked to class together, ate their meals together, studied, laughed, and grew up together.

Obviously, something was bound to go wrong.

It was just before his birthday - twelve hours before, actually. James was sitting on the couch, staring at the fireplace. The Common Room was flooding with students, so he decided it was for the best if he got up and went for a walk.

He stepped through the portrait and the cold air made him shiver. But James was a manly man, and manly men such as James didn't shiver, so he shrugged it off and continued his stroll through the corridors. That was when he heard a sob.

It wasn't very noticeable. It's just that the corridors were deserted and the paintings had chosen this particular night to keep quiet. Naturally James looked around, trying to locate the origin of such melancholic sounds.

He didn't notice her the first time. But a second, more thorough look revealed a crying girl, curled up in a dark corner of the corridor. Her bright auburn hair told him everything he needed to know, and it broke his heart seeing Lily Evans there.

She was a strong girl, really, and she didn't even cry that much. But this past month had been brutal to her. Suddenly, she was constantly moping and wouldn't open up to anyone about it. Not James, not Sirius, not even her friends.

He walked towards her crying figure and lowered himself to her position.

"Hey." He said, lamely. She didn't acknowledge his presence, not even when he sat down next to her and slipped his arm around her shoulders. "What's wrong, Lily?" She didn't speak.

Instead, she just started sobbing harder and harder. It took everything he had to hold it together, but he had to. It was his job as her mate.

"Hey, hey..." He whispered. "C'mere." He pulled her closer, and this seemed to calm her down. Her sobs had been reduced to a small flow of tears here and there.

Lily rested her head at the crook of his neck and mindlessly traced patterns on the back of his hand. "You see." She croaked. Her voice was raspy from all the crying but James thought she was beautiful, even like that. Especially like that, looking so vulnerable. With her hair dishevelled, her cheeks stained by tears, her lips full and dry. It was especially in times like this where he wanted to kiss her the most. (Not that he didn't want to do it constantly, but it was in moments like this that the resolve to hold back weakened the most.)

"It's rather difficult when you fancy a bloke who just wants friendship." She began and James didn't dare to interrupt her, too happy that she was finally letting him in. "Denial is great, did you know that?" Oh, he knew.

"Because when you acknowledge you do have feelings for said specimen, things get rather tricky, don't they?" James find himself nodding at her words, not even bothering to notice Lily had stopped tracing patterns and had, instead, threaded her fingers through his.

"You start overanalyzing every action, every interaction, trying to find something that's just not there. Because this boy, he's charming with everyone, so why should you feel special? But you feel special anyway." She stopped talking for a little bit, leaving James stuck in his thoughts. He knew that feeling all too well. He felt it every time he looked at her.

"He's a prick." He finally said.

"But he's not, and that's the problem." She finished.

"If he let you go, he's a prick, no matter how charming he is."

"It's not about charm, James." She looked up at him for the first time that evening. "It's about love."

Love? She loved this bloke? And he was letting her go? The stupidity of the Hogwarts population never ceased to amaze James. It really was a losing battle, and he was crushed. He had hoped, maybe once she got over this arse, maybe he'd have a shot. But if she loved him... he knew there was no coming back from there. But then again, James never seemed to pick the right battles to fight.

"Oh." Was all he could say. What was there to say? "He's still a prat, you know."

"No, he's not a prat. He's wonderful. He's smart and he's fiercely loyal." James wasn't going to stand there and listen to Lily praise some other kid who had tossed her aside. He loved her; maybe even more than he loved himself, and that is why he couldn't stand there, listening to an amazing girl like her belittling herself over some stupid git.

He stood up. "I'm not going to sit here and watch you mope around for someone who doesn't give a damn about you. You are far too good for that, you deserve better."

"But that's the point, isn't it?" She too was standing now, and she seemed angrier above everything else. "He doesn't seem to think that, he's given up. And you're not exactly one to talk, either." What was she getting at?

"What do you mean by that?" James asked, exasperated.

"You don't think I notice your mood swings? I know they're not just 'off days', James. I notice every time you shut yourself in that goddamn dorm of yours. How you fume alone because of some bird."

"What?"

"Sirius told me. And yet here you are, blaming me for loving someone when you do the exact same thing for someone who isn't worthy of half the guy you are. How do you think that makes me feel, James? Seeing you mope about some slag who probably doesn't give a crap about you? Don't you think that breaks my heart?" She was crying again.

"Why would your heart be broken, Lily?" He was getting angry now. Wasn't she supposed to be in love with this other chap? "Aren't you so infatuated with Prince Charming? Stupid, prattish Prince Charming who doesn't get how amazing you are? And you're giving me shit over the same thing?" How dare she? What right did she have to stomp all over his heart? Make him feel like she did care? James had been holding back for a while, but he wasn't holding back anymore. "Are you happy?"

"Of course I'm not, I'm miserable!" She shouted. The hours were stretching thin and they had class the following day. James couldn't be bothered.

"I know! And that breaks my fucking heart."

"Oh." She said, realizing something. Lily walked slowly towards him.

"Oh? Oh, Lily? That's it?"

"Shut up, James, just shut up for a minute."

"No! I am not shutting up! How do you think I feel, seeing you mope around for some idiot? I love you, I'm in love with you, and you don't even care!"

"You were right." She finally said. "The poor bloke really is an idiot."

"But you still love him!" He shouted, lifting his hand to his hair.

"Of course I love you!"

Silence.

"What?" James was certain he had heard her wrong. She couldn't possibly... No.

"You're the prick, you dolt." She was laughing.

She pulled his face towards hers and closed the distance between their mouths. Their kiss was messy, rough and aggressive, weeks of unresolved tension drawing them in. James couldn't think anymore. All he saw was Lily. She was kissing him. Lily Evans was actually kissing him.

They stayed like that for a while, kissing passionately and making up for lost time. Hands roamed and he pulled her closer. It was like Lily Evans was the ocean and he was desperate to drown in her. She tasted like salt - probably because of her tears - but her lips were soft and she smelled of strawberries. He thought right then that he'd never get tired of her.

"God, you're a moron." She closed the distance between them once more. A slower, sweeter, more innocent kiss, because now they had all the time in the world. She ran her fingers through his hair as he held her cheeks between his hands.

"Ugh, fuck." He muttered. "You're going to be the death of me, Evans."