last chapter of keeps me on my toes! i hope you all enjoy!

They'd stayed in that limbo for quite some time, not quite dating but not quite just friends either.

He couldn't find the right opportunity to ask her out, because casually asking her to dinner through text didn't fit that idea of romance that he'd so desperately wanted to experience for himself, and though he didn't necessarily want to go all out with giant balloons and fireworks, he still wanted to do it properly. He had to wait for the right atmosphere, with no fear of interruption.

Before he knew it, it'd been a month since they'd met. One whole month of bliss and his people taking the mickey out of him, but the latter was tolerable because Lily Evans. Need he say more?

If he caught nights without sleep before, with balancing helping Amelia with her work and then doing his own, well, now he had all of that, plus deliberately choosing to have late night conversations with the pretty redhead, where they'd talk about anything and everything. On some nights, she'd tell him about her day and he'd tell her about his day, or maybe they fought on miniscule things, like which type of candy reigned supreme over all candies. Sometimes they barely exchanged a word between each other because he'd been up much later than he'd thought with homework, but the mere fact that she was on the receiving end of the phone was enough to please him, to know that she was there made it easier to relax.

He got nearly 4 hours of sleep a night.

That was fine, though, because he made up for it by sleeping in on the weekends for another few hours, treating himself very nicely, if he thought so himself, and then he'd create his schedule for the day accordingly.

And in the month that he'd gone to Amelia's practices, he hadn't found much improvement in his nonexistent ballerina career, because he was still completely shit at everything— not that he expected to be amazing at it, though he did find the pirouettes to be entertaining to him on his free time— but it did improve his relationship with Lily and his sister loads.

A lot could happen in a month, James noticed.

WIth the introduction of May came exams, graduation, his regional football championship, and Amelia's dance recital.

But, he'd gotten through the exams, and his team had won the football game with flying colors obviously, because he was a bloody amazing captain and player, so what else was to be expected? Lily had congratulated him at least a million times on the phone, apologetic because his game had overlapped with her dance class, but she'd been so awfully sweet about it that he couldn't even bring himself to be mad— not that he would have been upset, anyway.

She had been vocal about her excitement for the recital, as was Amelia, and so it was hard for him to not be enthusiastic about the ordeal as well. He knew they'd worked hard for their performance and that they were most definitely going to sway the crowd. And now, as he adjusted his tie accordingly in the mirror, his dress shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows and designer belt buckled on his pants, he knew very well that tonight was going to be one of the best nights ever, to see the girl of his dreams and his sweet little sister smiling up on stage.

He'd met up with his family in the living room, Amelia adorned in her ivory gold tutu and makeup caked on her face, all thanks to their mum, who had made it a priority for her to look as nice as possible to outshine all the other girls. "You look beautiful, 'Melia," he said earnestly, and she beamed at him.

"Thanks, Big Brother. I knew you could clean yourself up without waste too much time," she replied, but he wouldn't let the subtle insult ruined his nice-brother demeanour, nor his mood for the night.

"Play nice, Amelia," their mother scolded, but then her eyes softened at the sight of them, "My offspring are so beautiful. Oh! James, Amelia, come here. I want to take pictures of you two."

"Mum, we usually take photos at the theatre after the performance," Amelia responded.

"Oh, nonsense. Come, come. Stand in front of the fireplace. We've got to get photos before all that dancing messes up your pretty makeup."

They posed in front of the fireplace as their mother had commanded, Amanda stopping just at James's chest, and he put on hand on her shoulder and the other in his pocket, the epitome of cool collectedness, if he did say so himself. Their mum then pushed her phone into their father's hand, situating herself right in between James and his sister as they beamed up at the camera, and then, if that wasn't enough, she'd placed the phone on a tripod so they could all take one happy family photo together.

James didn't even protest. Why should he? He loved the over-the-top behaviours of his family, because if he were to determine his lineage from personality alone, he knew he fit in quite perfectly with the rest of them. And besides, he knew those photos would come out nicely, as he, along with everyone else, was quite photogenic. He loved memories and looking back at concrete evidence of such.

He knew damn well that there were to be about fifty more of these photos at the theatre, and if his mother was involved, then he'd also end up with some very nice photos with Lily, pretty photos that he knew he'd end up getting developed at a local photo lab.

They'd stopped at the local florist to pick up the biggest, loveliest bouquet of flowers, as James's request, because Lily deserved nothing less, and his mother would have slapped him silly if he didn't even bother bringing a gift for her performance. He'd nearly gotten roses, but his mother had brought up the fact that Lily would get loads of roses, and so he'd settled on tulips.

He'd forcibly demanded his mates to come as well, but they wouldn't come until right before the performance began, because only family members were allowed to visit backstage, thankfully, as he wanted alone time with Lily, with minimal disruptions and catcalls. And now, as Amelia ran up to her friends and chattered excitedly with them— most likely about the upcoming performance— he made eye contact with her, and he visibly stopped in his tracks, the gears and cogs in his brain stopping short at the sight of her.

She was wearing an ivory gold dress of some sorts, its layers cascading down to just below her knees, like she was of royalty, and the mere fact that she wasn't wearing one of the traditional tutus that nearly everyone else had been sporting set her aside from the rest, if her overwhelming beauty wasn't already doing such a thing. Atop her tight, clean bun was a crown of some sort, as if it was a part of her. He had to look like an idiot, standing there with his mouth open agape, and he promptly closed it, holding the bouquet out to her.

"Pretty," he said, then blinked, "The dress, I mean— shit. I meant you, but obviously the dress looks pretty. On you."

She smiled at him, and, almost as if she wanted to make him even more flustered, instead of just simply taking the flowers, she added, "Thank you. I was a little scared that it'd show too much of my tits, but then my mum fixed it up— that great woman— and now I think it shows just the perfect amount."

His hand flew up to his hair. "I— Right," he replied, not exactly sure what to say in this situation, because he was an 18-year-old who had yet to get some, the farthest he'd even gone with the opposite gender being heavy snogging, never having gotten the privilege to ever see aforementioned part in person before. He was a gentleman, and even if she did raised attention towards her chest, he was not going to stare.

"You look really nice, too," she told him, as if an ego boost like that would snap him out of his daze. It only slightly worked.

"You nervous?" he said instead, because continuing to dwell on her words would only cause discomfort for him and her.

"A little," she admitted, "I've got a solo this year, and everyone's eyes are going to be on me. It's discerning if I screw up, but let's hope it doesn't get to that."

"I'm sure Tchaikovsky would be proud of you."

"Tchaikovsky would probably be wondering why I'm not performing one of his compositions."

"He's a smart bloke. I'm sure he'd understand that your performance of one of his works would only lead to a jealous me."

"Oh? Why is that?"

"Because there's a bloke in all of them, and essentially he'd be stealing you away from me."

"No need to get possessive," she replied, patting his arm, "We're not official."

"Not yet," he corrected her.

Before she could answer though, his mother strolled over to them, throwing loads of compliments towards Lily, outdoing James in a single setting, but then she had demanded that they pose for the camera. He wasn't going to stand about awkwardly beside Lily, not when he knew that his mother would make a great deal out of it, so he wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close as they smiled at the camera.

The director in charge of the production had come in soon after, escorting those who weren't performing out, but James had managed to get in, "You'll do bloody amazing," to her, and she gave him one last smile before he left with his mother to their seats.

His mates were already seated when he'd arrived, and he placed himself to the left of Sirius, who had thankfully made an effort to be dressed appropriately for the situation, having traded his usual black, leather jackets for a tie. He'd been fighting with Remus over something pointless, but it didn't last long, the recital beginning shortly.

They'd sat through an hour of girls of different age groups from different studios, and they were cute enough, James decided, but nowhere near as impressive towards Sirius, who had been yawning throughout all of the performances. At one point, his mate had woken up from a short nap and promptly clapped for the melodramatic performance, which James probably should have expected.

He had watched Amelia with careful eye, though, and had actually seemed interested in her performance, for good reason, too. Lily had taught them well, and if not for that, then he'd only watched because it was the only performance from someone that Sirius actually cared for. Amelia and the others gave one last bow to the audience, and after they'd left the stage, James knew that Lily was next.

The lights had dimmed akin to the manner in that of a movie theatre's, and the spotlight had suddenly dimmed, reappearing as it was casted down upon Lily, who had run up on stage and made a grand gesture of an introductory wave of a sort soon after. She truly looked like an angel, or a princess, or both, what with the way the light had caused the sequins to sparkle and golden ruffles to gleam. An easy-going smile was on her lips, with no nervousness evident on her face, showing that she loved it up there.

The music had begun playing slightly too soon, starting up at a few counts too early, and Lily, who hadn't gotten to her first position in time, seemed to not at all deterred. She'd been able to improvise, that amazing woman, and had made it look brilliant without at all fumbling or rushing in her haste to keep up.

The music had to keep up with her.

And Sirius, at the sight of her success at playing it off, his ability to find any miniscule thing that was amiss strong, let out a soft, "Holy shit."

Holy shit was an understatement, and as she looped out pirouette after pirouette effortlessly, as each step that she took was in complete sync with the music, like she was forming the beats herself with each movement, as she found the perfect levelling required to balance herself on her toes, James knew exactly why she'd fallen in love with the art.

Ballet was an art, and James would happily paint himself from head to toe with the movements, like he was drifting through calm waters or soaring through the clouds as a bird. The orchestra only enhanced the atmosphere, narrating Lily's movements, her feet taking steps with the piano notes and her arms spreading with the wind instruments.

Lily was radiant on that stage, breezing about as if she owned it, and for good reason too, especially when her joy was so clearly evident in her movements and on her face, so contagious in that if he were to do a scan of the entire audience, no doubt there'd be smiles on the faces of everyone present in the theatre. She couldn't have been any less capable of such a feat, as brilliant as she was.

It wasn't possible, couldn't be, yet somewhat she'd been able to defy the laws of gravity— or at least take high advantage of such— as she spun and twirled and fluttered about with such unfathomable grace, and the crowd had been dead silent throughout her entire performance. That was great, because she deserved it, because brilliance had to be rewarded with careful contemplation and quiet awe, but of course, when she'd landed on her toes for the last time, ending it with a concluding curtsy, the crowd went wild.

James had led the audience in applaud, and when everyone else ceased from their clapping, he'd continued, because she'd graced them with a jaw-dropping performance, and the least he could give her was endless cheers. She moved off of the stage, and the spotlight turned off.

He'd wanted to get up from his seat and follow her backstage, to be the first to tell her that she looked marvelous on stage before any other bloke tried to steal her affections from him, but he couldn't, not yet anyway. Though she was the last performance for the night— they saved the best for last, he reckoned— all the dancers had come up on stage for curtain call, and they were given the last applause for the night.

They'd all gone backstage afterwards, and everyone but Lily was in sight. He was about to give up on his quest to find her, because his sister deserved the same appreciative words as much as she did, and once he made eye contact with her, he walked towards her, but she stopped him. "Lily's in the changing room."

"'Melia, you did—"

"I know, I know. You can tell me all that on the way home. Go get her," she replied, waving him off, as she returned to taking pictures with her friends, and he noticed how her eyes had darted back and forth towards a boy her age, flowers in his hand.

He found him, the bloke who'd captured his little sister's heart.

And if his sister was helping him with his relationship, why not do the same towards her?

He swaggered towards him, and when he cleared his throat, the boy turned towards him. "Who are those flowers for?" he asked.

Please say Amelia, please say Amelia, please say—

"Amelia," the kid answered.

James nodded, finding it very hard to contain his smirk, "And what's your name?"

"Oliver."

He racked his brain as he searched for any mention of an Oliver, but, to no avail, found nothing. Curious, that.

"Well, Oliver, I'm James. Are you going to go through with it or are you going to toss the flowers in the bin?"

"Go through with it, but you're—"

"Amelia's brother," he finished, "Listen, you seem like a good bloke, but if you break my sister's heart, remember that we'll have a lovely chat about it after."

Oliver gulped, nodding frantically. "But what if she rejects me?"

"She won't."

"She won't?"

"I'm her brother. I didn't tell you to shove off, did I?"

"I guess not," he conceded, and James's lips quirked upwards at him, "Go get her, then."

WIth that, he walked away, feeling dead cool, if he did say so himself. He had someone to go to himself, after all.

Amelia didn't specify which changing room Lily was in, seeing as the hallway was littered with loads of such rooms, but it wasn't hard at all to find it, considering the fact that there was only one room whose door was closed, as everyone was gathering about in the main room. He gave a light knock on the door, and at Lily's "Come in," he pushed it open.

Lining the dresser in front of her were dozens of bouquets of flowers from other suitors— who had no chance with her, for their information— and his bouquet, as James was very proud to admit, was set aside, the others having been stacked atop one another. His mother had been right about not getting roses, because if his tulips were scattered in the other flowers, it'd be very easy to sort them out. Lily caught his eye in the reflection of her mirror, and she smiled at him. "Amelia passed on my message to you, then?"

"I reckon I wouldn't be here right now if she didn't."

"Oh, I'm sure you'd have stumbled upon me eventually," she replied with the purse of her lips.

"Reckon so, yeah, if I tore down the entire building."

"Thankfully, it didn't have to come to that."

"I mean, I would have funded its rebuilding and helped rebuild it," he clarified, his eyes returning to the flowers, "You've a lot of flowers. Deserve them, too. You were bloody fantastic up there, so fucking amazing. Reckon a lot of blokes thought so too."

"Well, it doesn't matter how many blokes thought that, because I've only got eyes for one."

"Would it be arrogant of me to assume it's me?"

"Not at all, seeing as I've set aside your flowers."

"Perfect," he beamed, "What are you going to do with the rest?"

"Like every other year, I give them away. It always manages to make people's days."

What. A. Sweetheart.

He was swooning now, nowhere jealous because she was the epitome of kindness, of everything sweet in the world. Hell, if it was up to him, he'd have thrown all the flowers away, though it would have been more out of flippant disregard for those blokes on his behalf.

"Shit, that's actually—"

"James Potter," she announced, cutting him off briskly, "We are the only two occupants of this fancy dressing room."

"Oh. Yeah. Do you want to go back out? Everyone's celebrating, lovely performance again by the way, and— shit," he said, stopping to look at her, and she gave him a coy smile.

"You've figured me out," she hummed.

"Your feet must be hurting like crazy. I'm sorry, Lily, I should have guessed that you were in pain and that was why you'd taken to sitting in here."

The smiled disappeared off her face. "I— what?"

"You want a foot massage, right? WIth all that pointe work you've done on stage?"

"Oh, I— I've gotten fairly used to it by now," she answered in surprise, "But, you're kidding, aren't you?"

"No, why would I be?"

"I called you over to a secluded area, and—" she paused, shaking her head, her smile reappearing on her face, "Come here."

He cocked an eyebrow at her but complied nonetheless, edging closer to her as she stood up, and he didn't know shit about makeup, but the products that she had caked on her face seemed to enhance her already-pretty features, causing her eyes to stand out even more than they already were. She was so gorgeous, so so beautiful, and he had to say it, tell her that she was so.

"You really were brilliant on that stage."

"Oh?" she said softly.

"Yeah. You got the loudest claps, I'd wager, and—"

She tugged at the bottom of his tie, pulling him downwards so that their faces were level with one another, and her breath skimmed over his lips as she uttered, "James, please, for the love of god, shut up," and with that, she pressed her lips against his softly, her eyes fluttering shut as she pushed against him, all he could focus on being how gentle she was being with him.

He was completely unprepared, even after an entire month dreaming about what it'd feel like against her lips, after every almost, smoothly cut off by an interruption from the rest of the world. He responded ardently, his hands finding their way beneath her face, and he knew it was all well worth the wait, the constant interruptions if it all led to this, her.

He was an idiot, truly, and he laughed against her lips, thinking about how he'd thought that she'd summoned him into the room because her feet were hurting her, where it hadn't even once occurred to him that she'd wanted the privacy for these reasons, for kissing him. She'd laughed along with him, and there was much too much teeth involved, when he was trying to capture her lips as she smiled widely, but it was fine. They'd have loads of times after, because to have expected a scene straight out of a romance movie was far too unrealistic, but this?

This was perfect.

He was fairly certain that he'd never get used to the taste of her strawberry lip balm, and it'd felt as if she lifted him off his feet, because he was practically floating, one with the clouds because this surely was heaven. He'd gotten a taste of heaven.

They'd pulled away not too soon afterwards, and though he was a bit disappointed in it ending, he knew it was for the better, as he'd really not like his first time to be in such a public area. She landed on her feet again, having spent the time on the tips of her toes, only serving to remind him of what he'd mistaken thought to be the motive for inviting him in.

"Shit, Lily. Don't tell me you were kissing me en pointe."

She beamed at him, and, as if to spite him, she stood up on the tips of her toes once again, before blinking innocently at him. "Will you threaten me with a foot massage if I do tell you such a thing?"

"You know, most people would delight in getting a well-deserved massage."

"Then, you classify me as most people?"

"'Course not. You're special, if you couldn't already tell."

"I was talking about the human bit," she said with lighthearted scorn.

"Ah, right, my mistake. How could I forget you're an angel?"

She blushed a pretty red, nearly akin to the color of her hair, and he took her previous spot on her seat. "You're quite the bold one to sit down when preaching about foot massages."

"Not preaching anymore," he pointed out, with a matter-of-factly tone.

"Well, in that case, I'd best sit down too, don't you think?" she replied, "I think I should acquaint myself with your lap, if you don't mind."

With that, she propped herself on his lap, like it was an everyday activity, like a pastime, and he been quite taken aback by her blatancy, but honestly, he was not complaining. She pulled her shoes off and placed them on the floor, wiggling her toes in their newfound freedom, before wrapping an arm around his neck, pursing her lips at him.

"I think we're far enough in our relationship for me to be able to do this," she told him, her legs dangling over one side of his own. He clapped a securing arm around her back, to keep her from falling over and to nudge her closer to him, because he was a human who craved physical intimacy as much as the next person did.

"Yeah? I haven't asked you out yet."

"Well, get to it," she mumbled, her head pressed to his chest, "You still smell nice. Better, maybe."

He chuckled at her, cupping her face gently as he looked at her earnestly, "Lily Evans, will you bear the privilege and occasional burden of being my girlfriend?"

She tilted her head at him in mock contemplation, before saying, "It depends, honestly. Will you give me a foot rub if I say yes?"

"I've been offering that without the prerequisite of being in a relationship with me," he replied in exasperation, and she mockingly rolled her eyes at him.

"Which was exactly why I've bribed you with that. I'd quite like to be with you, and I'd also quite like a foot rub."

"You know, most people just answer with simple yes or no."

"I thought we've established that I'm an angel and not a person?" she asked with a tilt of her head.

"You got me there," he smiled, tapping the crown piece on her head, "Do you blame me? You bloody look like one and everything with your outfit."

"With only my outfit? And not my actual features?" she teased him with a playful expression, but it soon turned into surprise as he caressed her cheek. He chuckled, shaking his head at her.

"You're beautiful, Lily. So beautiful," he told her earnestly, reaching down to press a short, sweet kiss against her lips.

"You're stalling," she accused him, amusement in her tone.

"Stalling?"

"I'm still waiting on my foot rub."

He burst into laughter, and she joined him, although his hands did trail down her legs, stopping at her feet, more for emphasis than anything else. He crashed his lips down onto hers again, because they were young and had all the seclusion they needed. Interruptions would not happen all that soon, and they had so much time in the world to do whatever their hearts were telling them to do.

They had been found by their families in the dressing room nearly thirty minutes later, caught doing things other than dressing, quite the opposite of such if one counted James removing Lily's tights so that he had better access to the points on her feet. He would have been surprised had he not expected this to happen.

For her, he'd give her all the foot rubs in the world, so long as they made her happy and relieved her of as much pain as he could possibly get rid of.

And Lily very much enjoyed the foot rubs and the times they spent together afterwards.

also amelia and her little boyfriend came in holding hands. i just didn't know how to incorporate that into the story without shifting the focus away from james and lily!

find me on tumblr lovesickjily :))