written for blackkbeak on tumblr as an entry for thejilysanta! i hope you enjoy!

It's cold.

Like, bone-chilling, that-rock-in-your-shoe-is-actually-your-toe cold.

That probably should have been a given— it was, after all, the middle of bloody December, where natural selection took its course on the idiots foolish enough to play games of life or death outside— but that doesn't divert from the fact that it's absolutely freezing. James doesn't need to be outside to know that it's cold enough for his spit to turn into a popsicle. He's got a perfectly accurate weather app on his phone and a view of his frosted windows to have a good idea.

And yet, despite the brutal winters that were raging outside of the walls of his flat, James still thought it to be a better fate to be outside than to sit inside hearing the constant moans and groans of the couple next door.

Sirius liked to say James' flagrant disapproval of those sort of couples stemmed from James' 'inability to commit to a long-term monogamous relationship'. James liked to respond that he just wanted a good night's rest without knowing exactly how his neighbours were like in bed.

Sleep.

That really couldn't have been too much to ask for.

It'd gotten better recently, but that could have only been because the couple had decided that an excursion to the mountains was a lovely way to spend their holidays together. James couldn't have agreed any less, especially when it meant that— besides finally getting some sleep— he'd be able to throw his annual Christmas Eve party without fear that his neighbours would report him to the landlord for 'being inconsiderate of those living around him'.

Pot, meet Kettle.

Still, James wasn't going to think about his neighbours. He had a party.

And the party had been fun. From Peter getting drunk on store-bought eggnog to Sirius nearly falling flat on his face in an attempt to hang the mistletoe from the highest point in James' flat, it was entertaining, to say the least. But of course, when the majority of the party was made up of the male species— known for their tendency to leave giant messes wherever they went— the aftermath would be all up for James to clean.

No one wanted to help clean, and one by one, his traitorous mates had all left him with the biggest gift that they could have given him: a bloody mess that would probably have taken the rest of the night to get rid of.

That is, if one Lily Evans hadn't volunteered to stay back and help him.

Lily, who was always so sweet yet never hesitant to call him out on his shit. Lily, who was really bloody fucking gorgeous, with eyes that always seemed to shine brighter than any star and a smile that was contagious.

It was fine. Perfect, really.

Only...

It wouldn't have been a problem if he didn't harbour a massive crush on her.

In a sense, it wasn't a problem. Surely, it had to mean something if she willingly stayed with him (even if it was probably only out of the goodness in her heart than anything else).

She'd stayed, and that was more than enough, even if the only bonding that had happened was the broom engaging with the floor. But if James was being optimistic enough, then he reckoned that he and Lily had gotten some bit of bonding done themselves.

They'd mopped and swept, bursting out their holiday renditions of their favourite classic hits, all the while making sure every inch of the flat was sparkling like the snow blanketing the streets.

"Thanks again for staying," James told her, putting the mop and broom back into the closet, never to again be seen until the next time he cleaned the flat. "Would have been a nightmare to clean up Sirius' bloody eggnog all by myself."

She laughed, her hair— redder than any artificial colouring on any candy cane and more vibrant than the whitest of snow— falling out of her ponytail. "I couldn't have just let you suffer alone, especially not on the night before Christmas."

"And for that I'll forever be in your debt," he said, and he bent down, jokingly curtsying her.

"If you throw another party like this again next year, you can consider that debt paid."

"And I'll be in your debt again when Sirius spills his nog everywhere?"

"I suppose that means you'll have to keep throwing these Christmas parties," she returned, her pretty evergreen-coloured eyes shining with amusement.

"You're putting me in a tight spot, Evans," he returned, making his words sound a bit more dramatic than they should have been. "Clean up Sirius' shit every year, or forever be in debt to you? I don't reckon I can win in either scenario."

"Maybe not," she hummed. "I take payment in the form of chocolate malt balls, by the way."

"Ah, a woman with taste, I see." He watched her pick up her coat from the couch and the gifts she'd gotten from the ground. It was a sign that she was leaving soon, and he didn't think that he wanted her to go just yet. "You leaving?"

Lily nodded, slipping on her coat and buttoning it up. "I really hate to leave so soon—" Soon, in her case, apparently meant spending nearly five hours at his house. "But I've got to go before the storm—"

The alarms on their phones cut her off.

It was an obnoxious sound, obviously attuned to bellow at the same exact time and snottily notifying the two of them that there was a Snowstorm in immediate area. All roads have been closed off until further notice.

Well shit.

James' eyes flickered over to the window, which was now entirely obscured by the frosty happenings outside. From everything that he'd known about the winters in England, it was that there was no way that the roads would be open anytime soon. And if they did miraculously reopen, there was no way that Lily would have been able to make it home safely in the darkest of nights with snow pelting at her car and ice trapping the wheels.

There was only one thing he was sure of now.

She'd have to spend the night with him.

Lily Evans. His crush. Spending the night with him.

Fuck.

James slid the mug of hot chocolate across the island counter, seating himself across from the redhead.

"Thanks, James," she said, picking up the mug and blowing across the surface. After taking a small sip of the peppermint-enhanced drink, she gave him an apologetic look. "You didn't have to do all this."

"What? Let you stay here when I've no other choice?" She raised a well-practiced eyebrow at him. "Come off it, Evans. It's the least I could do for you."

"Because you're in my debt?"

"Because we're friends," he corrected her, and he shrugged lightheartedly. "Besides, it's always better to have company. You're actually doing me a favour being here."

"Oh?"

"Yeah," he affirmed, stirring his hot chocolate and watching the milky swirls mingling with the darker colours. "I reckon I would have just ended up just watching some cheesy Hallmark movie and feeling sorry for myself."

"There's nothing wrong with that," she replied, and James noted the chocolate mustache decorating the top of her lips. He chastised himself for slightly wondering what it'd be like to kiss it off of her. "A little bit of self-indulgence never hurt anybody."

"Sounds like the justifications that addicts use. You've got a bit of chocolate on your lip, by the way. It makes you look a bit like a homeless Santa."

Her tongue darted out to lick it away, and he had to resort to gulping down his own chocolate to distract from the inappropriate thoughts that were starting to surface. It was hot— the cocoa, he meant— so much that he'd started coughing some of it up. "Are you all right?"

"Fine, fine," he said, swatting her away. Of course, the only remedy to cocoa going down the wrong pipe was to drink more cocoa, and he coughed once more into his elbow. "Fine."

Her face shifted from concern to amusement, and she reached over, wiping his mouth with a napkin. "If you say so."

James felt himself warming at her touch. "Could have done it myself."

"So I could sit here and choke on my drink as well?"

James laughed. "I can assure you that was a one-time thing. Never choking again." To prove his point, he raised his glass, bringing it to his lips and drinking it once again. "See? Fine, I tell you."

"You're ridiculous."

"As long as you tell me I'm incredibly handsome to boot," he returned, unable to help it from slipping.

She looked at him in slight disbelief before a soft laugh slipped from her lips. "You're handsome."

He ignored the jittery feeling in his heart. Somehow, any compliment that fell from Lily's lips sounded as if it was a message from an angel. "Now you're just saying that to be respectful of my wishes."

"Well, I clearly don't think you're ugly."

"Good, because then I'd have to tell you that you're in need of some glasses."

"Then I suppose it won't be necessary. I can see your handsome face perfectly well."

"Brilliant," James said, though he was squealing internally at the thought of her thinking that he was handsome. "It's a right that everyone deserves in their lives."

Lily rolled her eyes, no doubt amused by him, and she rose from her seat, carrying her now-empty mug with her. "Are you finished with your drink?"

James nodded, and he mimicked her movements. "Sit back down, Evans. You're the guest. No need to clean up after me."

"I'm a guest, not royalty." She held it away from grabbing distance. "I'm perfectly capable of picking up after the two of us."

"And I respect that," he replied, though he still walked towards the kitchen, Lily close on his trail. "But it's getting late. You're welcome to use the shower if you want, and I'll leave some fresh clothes out for you. I'll take care of this."

"Are you sure?" she asked, hands still firmly and stubbornly holding on to her mug.

"Positive."

She looked as if she was more than willing to put up a fight, but surprisingly enough, she relented, holding the mug— decorated with little Santas and reindeer— out to him. His fingers hooked around hers, and he quickly shifted his hand so that they were enclosed around the rim instead. "I'll be back, then."

And even though their hands weren't touching anymore, his fingers still felt warm.

The fire crackled softly, lighting the otherwise still room.

James had decorated his flat appropriately for the holidays, with one stocking here and another stocking there, not to mention the giant Christmas tree that was sitting in the corner of the living room. He'd taken immense pride in putting it all together, especially when given the opportunity to furnish the little deer ornaments he'd gotten years ago.

It felt really bloody peaceful just sitting there with Lily now.

The two of them had both finished their showers, James' hair still dripping wet from his refusal to dry it with the hairdryer that Sirius had gotten him two Christmas's ago.

And when she had stepped out of the shower, James swore his jaw dropped on the floor. Sure, he knew that she'd be wearing his things, it hadn't fully hit him just how gorgeous she looked in them. With his shirt enveloping her smaller form and her hair thrown up into a messy bun, James couldn't help but stare at her.

Snap out of it.

He had to fixate his mind on anything but the small droplets of water disappearing beneath the shirt Lily was wear. Focus on how warm the fire was, or their sleeping arrangements. Anything but how cute Lily Evans looked in his clothes.

"You can take the bed tonight," James told her, his eyes zeroing in on the stain that Sirius had left on his couch from another time ago. "I mean, it's got to be one of us, right? I don't think I'd hear the end of it if my mum found out I deliberately let you sleep on the couch, or even the floor."

"In that case, I suppose I can'tdo that to your mum, can I?"

"And me," James added quickly. "I'd also feel like shit to make you take the floor."

"At least take the blanket and some pillows."

He shook his head. "Nah. I'll just freeze to death once the fire dies out."

"That'd raise some questions, wouldn't it?"

"Besides the fact that I'm clearly a stubborn shit?" She drew an eyebrow at him. "Don't worry. I've got loads of extra blankets and pillows. If anything, I'll burn to death."

Lily laughed. "Let's hope it doesn't come down to that. Sadly, I don't think a funeral service for you is the best way to spend Christmas day."

"That's only if you haven't the creativity to make it a fun day."

"A fun day mourning a dear friend?"

"A fun day celebrating Christmas," he corrected, and he scratched his head shyly. "And maybe wishing that your handsome friend was still alive."

She hummed. "I suppose your epitaph will explain that your death was all on you."

"That's a bit harsh for someone who just died, wouldn't you say?"

"Because you took the couch when your bed is big enough for a family of seven, nevermind two people?" she responded innocently.

James opened his mouth to respond but closed it promptly.

Did she just suggest what he thought she just suggested?

The thought of Lily Evans in the same bed as him was enough to stir his feelings. Clearly, she'd be on the opposite end of the bed, but he couldn't help but get the feeling that when they both woke up Christmas morning, she'd somehow wind up sleeping in his arms. It'd have been both a blessing and a curse.

"What?" he asked dumbly, probably looking like a fish out of water.

Lily shrugged, and maybe it was the fire, but he swore that there was a faint blush on her cheeks. "I'm not going to let you take the couch in your flat, James."

"Sure you are," he replied, blinking away any trace of fish-ness in his expression. "Otherwise you'd give me a one-star review on Yelp."

She let out another laugh and brushed her hair behind her ear. "I'll give you a one-star review if you don't take the bed. Share it with me, at least. We are friends, after all."

"Friends, right," he muttered, before looking back at her. "And this won't make you uncomfortable?"

She shook her head. "Of course not."

"I just want to make sure that you feel… respected, I reckon is the best-fitting word."

"I do feel respected, James, otherwise I wouldn't have even brought up the idea to you."

"I— Good. Hate to make you feel otherwise."

"Then I suppose there's no need to worry." She stood from her spot on his couch and turned back to him. "Are you coming?"

"Reckon I haven't got any other choice."

"It's 2019," she told him pointedly. "You've always got a choice."

"In a perfect world, sure."

"Maybe it's not perfect," she agreed. "But if you let the world decide whether or not you've got a choice, then it's not really you in control of your life, is it?"

James shrugged, letting her words embed themselves into the roots of his brain and at the deepest vessels of his heart. "You've got a point."

"Perfect," she beamed, and the seriousness that the conversation had suddenly picked up on dissipated with just her pretty, blinding smile. "Then let's get to your bed, shall we?"

"Sounds a bit like innuendo, if you ask me," he said, grinning teasingly.

She laughed, and with the fire no longer illuminating her face, this time he was certain that she was blushing. "Of course you'd turn it into some sort of dirty line."

"I've got to insert at least one dirty line," James replied, and he opened the door to his room, flopping down onto his bed without a second thought. "It's my trademark."

"Besides being exceptionally handsome?" she teased, and he felt the bed shift with her added weight and his plummeting heart. There went step one of his platonic sleeping-with-her fantasy.

"I'm not forcing you to say that."

"I know," she said. "Maybe I meant it."

James turned to face the window and away from her, hiding his flushed face. Even if the dark night was obscuring their vision, he didn't want to run the risk of her knowing. "It'll only make my ego get ten times bigger."

"Right, we wouldn't want that," she teased, and he hummed in return, merely continuing to stare at the window.

A comfortable silence set in between the two of them, and he imagined that with no sounds in the air, he could clearly hear Santa's ho ho ho's in the sky and the ringing of his sleigh bells. The old man was well on his way to raiding James' milk and cookie supply, and if he waited another second, he could probably hear the bloke's boots stomping on the floor.

"James," she began, the tone in her voice cutting him off from his stray thoughts. "I've got to be honest with you."

"Oh fuck. Don't tell me you actually think I'm ugly."

She laughed lightly. "Far from it." He felt her press herself against him, and the warmth emanating from her lithe form surpassed the feeling that he got cozying up near the fire. James felt like he was on fire. "I think I might fancy you."

His breath caught in his throat, frozen and so unlike his heart that was beginning to dance to the pace of an upbeat song. He looked back at her, and the moonlight fighting its way through the frosted windows illuminated her features. In her emerald-green eyes, he made out a bit of fear, but even more, he noticed wonder in them.

Mustering all the nonchalance he possibly could, he replied, "Yeah?"

"Yeah," she affirmed. Her hand slipped in between his, and he felt automatically inclined to grasp it back. "Isn't it obvious?"

He shook his head, looking at their intertwined hands. "You could literally kiss me and I wouldn't even realise if you hadn't told me."

"Do you need that sort of hint, then? A kiss, I mean?"

James' eyes widened. "It could nudge me in the right direction."

"And what about your feelings?"

"That I fancy the pants off of you?" he replied with a lopsided smile, ignoring the pounds of his heart. "Thought that was a given."

"It wasn't to me." She bit her lip, looking at him shyly. "Maybe I need a hint?"

"Is that what you want?"

She laughed in slight disbelief. "It is." Her hand drifted up to her cheek, tracing the curve of her jaw and ghosting over his dimple. "James. Kiss me."

With a shy grin, he said, "Will do."

And then he reached over, cupping her chin gently and pressing his lips to hers.

There were undoubtedly stars everywhere that he felt, heard, looked.

Her lips were soft, chilled with the breaths of winter, but one touch was enough to warm them, to set his insides aflame. Hot like the brightest stars in the universe and burning with beauty. Burning like the fire in the living room. She tasted sweet, with a touch of peppermint that could have only come from the hot cocoa, and he imagined that he tasted the same.

He was certain that the rushing in his ears could have only been the shooting stars whizzing by him as the two of them kissed. Lily Evans was the North Star, Polaris, that guided his every thought, led him to the place he was meant to be. He was meant to be with her.

It couldn't have been more than only a few seconds, and yet, James felt as if he'd been set on fire.

Pulling away, he pressed his head against her forehead, watching as her eyelids fluttered open. "All right, Evans?"

She beamed, shining brilliantly. "I got to kiss the guy that I fancy, so I suppose I'm all right."

"Just all right?"

"I wouldn't want to inflate his ego any more, so yes," she replied, but he didn't miss the sparkle in her eyes. "Just all right."

"Strange. I thought you way you kissed me back made it seem like, I dunno, you wanted more kisses in the future."

"And if I'm fine with more 'all right' kisses?"

James shook his head, scrunching his nose at her teasingly. "I only kiss women who appreciate my more than all right kisses."

Lily laughed, planting an open-mouthed kiss on his lips and pulling away before he could respond. "You know you're more than 'all right', Potter."

"I need more confirmation than that," he grinned, and she rolled her eyes, though the smile on her face was just as broad as his. "Merry Christmas, Lily."

"Merry Christmas, James," she returned, and she kissed him once again.

He was certain that his heart was filled with stars.