A/N: Hey y'all. So I feel like I owe a bit of explanation for my loooong absence. This past August, my boyfriend was diagnosed with cancer. I had to take some time off to deal with the emotion and worry and stress that that was bringing into my life, as well as devote time to him and our now long-distance relationship as he goes through chemotherapy. But he's got two treatments left, so things are looking up, and I finally found some inspiration to write. Thankfully! I was reading through some of my old fics and found Storm, which was always one of my favorites. So I couldn't sleep until I wrote this. Lord knows that I'm rusty, and it probably doesn't have the same feel, but I really liked it (when I wrote it), so I'm putting it up here. Even though it started out a little more... steamy than it ended up. Still, though. I like sweet L/J.

Anyhow! Enjoy, and I hope everyone is happy and doing well.

Always,
Mina

So James is Quidditch Captain, right? Although that entails a lot of brain-work, like cleverness and quick-thinking and ingenuity, it also means that he's doing a lot of physical work. Sometimes he spends more time on the pitch than he does in his bed. He visits the Hospital Wing more often than he does Hogsmeade. Last week? Last week, he fell off his broom twice while demonstrating a tricky move he saw at a Falcons and Kestrels match once. Pomfrey had a bed ready for him when he came in cradling another broken arm.

So yeah, he's Captain, and that's nice and brilliant and his dream come true, but he is so bloody sore all the time. When he does rest, he wakes up feeling like his joints are fused together. When he doesn't rest, he falls asleep during class or during patrol, both of which get him yelled at.

So it's easy to say that the Prefect's bath is his favorite place in the world lately.

After a rough game with Slytherin -- the damn snakes won, but just barely -- he trudges down the empty corridor, ready for a bath and then blissful, near-comatose sleep. Tomorrow is Saturday, and he knows he'll probably sleep well past noon. Just the thought makes him crack a small smile.

Well, at least it feels like he's smiling.

It grows when he pushes open the bathroom door and feels steam hit him full in the face. For a moment he just stands there. He could very nearly melt right where he's standing. The mermaid on the stained glass winks at him, and even though he's fully clothed, he still blushes a bit.

Not that he's ashamed of his body or anything. Or of the absurd amount of time he spends in this bath. Or of the girly scents that he likes to use.

He steps into the room and lets the door fall shut behind him, locking it on habit. His tie and shirt are off before he gets to the clothes bench. It hurts to bend over to get his shoes, socks, and trousers off, but eventually he does, and leaves them in a haphazard pile on the floor, next to his clean, folded pajamas. There's a mirror to his right, but he's seen enough of his pale, bruised, exhausted body to last him a while.

Slipping his boxers off, he doesn't think -- about Quidditch, or schoolwork, or anything, really, except how amazingly good the water feels -- as he steps into the pool-sized tub. It's bliss. It's sheer, absolute bliss, it's incredible, it's --

It's… it's occupied?

He's into the water at his waist when he sees it. Red. And it's not a pool-toy red, like an inner tube or something, no, it's an off-red, like the color of a carrot mixed with blood and -- that doesn't sound right, but okay, whatever, it's red, and he knows that red, he knows it --

And it's attached to a person, and the person hears James' sharp inhale and turns around, and then there's screaming. Loud, merperson screaming coming from Lily Evans' very human mouth.

She's also very naked, and James gets an eyeful before he remembers himself and spins around, putting his hands in the air to show his innocence.

"Oh Merlin, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, Evans, I didn't mean -- "

"Potter! I'm -- I'm naked! And -- you -- I can't believe -- you could have -- "

" -- and the door was unlocked so I thought it was empty -- "

" -- this is absolutely uncalled for, and if you don't get out right this second -- "

" -- I just wanted to relax, because most of the time it feels like I'm going to die."

It's quiet. At least Lily has stopped screaming, but that doesn't mean she isn't planning to turn him into a toad or bludgeon him in the back of the head. Or drown him. He almost wants to turn around and check to make sure she isn't lurking in bubbles to ambush him, but then he remembers that -- oh.

He and Lily are naked, at the same time, in the same room, in the same bathtub.

And she hasn't killed him yet.

"You aren't going to die," she says.

She doesn't bother to hide the scorn in her voice, but she doesn't bother to hide the sympathy, either, and the two of them together utterly confuses him. Especially when her voice is closer than he expects it: "I suppose we could share."

Then, as he's still holding his breath and subtly pinching his arm to make sure he's awake and not passed out in the hall, dreaming, she says, with more force, "I mean, as long as you stay on the other side and don't peek."

He's still quiet. They're friends, which is a new thing, this year, but it's never been more than that, and this whole situation just screams more than that to him. Does she fancy him? Is she just pitying him because he's been working himself to exhaustion? What does this mean?

"I was just startled, I'm sorry," she says softly, as if she regrets the freaking out thing. She's farther away now. James can hear her fiddling with the taps. "Vanilla, right?"

Okay, so it's for real. He turns around, because it's just so unreal, why not, and before he can answer, she pulls a lever and vanilla starts to permeate her mix of cinnamon and honey. It smells like a bakery, and he knows that he will never, ever be able to get this memory out of his head. Lily has covered her chest with her arm, and bubbles have obscured the rest, but she's just… she's Lily, and she's beautiful, and he wades further into the water, keeping his distance from her.

She blushes. "Sometimes I come in here after you and it still smells like vanilla. That's how I know."

"It's alright," he says, trying not to stare. He is trying so hard not to stare. He is trying so hard to make things as easy as possible for the both of them right now. "I didn't mean to -- if I had known you were in here, I never would have -- "

"It's alright," she echoes, shaking her head from across the tub. She's still blushing. "I didn't lock the door. I just needed some time to relax, you know? I guess I wasn't paying attention."

This time, he laughs. He knows. He can already feel a release in his muscles, in his shoulders and neck and calves. They're quiet, and James allows himself to just be. Even if he is here with a naked Lily, they're both here for the same reason, and at least she's trying to make it less awkward.

It's silent for a few minutes. James, though relaxed, is hyperaware of every sound in the room, every swish of water that he hears that doesn't come from him. He doesn't know what to make of any of this. He doesn't know if he wants to. Shit happens, right?

It just so happened that he walked in on Lily naked. And her pale, freckled skin, and --

No.

No.

"You really should take a break," he hears her say.

He breathes relief, because if that train of thought had left the station, well… He's just glad it didn't. He opens his eyes, and she's staring at his face like it's a particularly difficult Arithmancy problem. Either she's coming closer or, no, she's definitely coming closer, and he holds his breath and doesn't move.

"I'm sorry about your game," she says.

He shrugs, like it's no big deal, like it isn't bothering him, in the back of his mind, that he lost. But she looks at him and he knows she knows. Of course she does. She always could read him easily.

"It happens," he says.

She's an arm's length away, and he keeps his hands on his thighs. She's covered up to her shoulders, so it's not like he can see anything anyway -- it's not like he would look, because he is determined as hell to be a gentleman, and her trust means more to him than that -- but still, he's nervous. Especially when she reaches out, hesitantly, and places her hand on his shoulder.

He tenses.

She tenses.

"Um," he says.

She looks undecided. This is as close to her as he's been in… well, has he ever been this close to her? Besides the time she "accidentally" hugged him at the end of sixth year last year? Her eyes, so brilliantly green, aren't leaving his, and he can see her indecision and fear and worry and the little hints of things hidden deeper.

Here, she's just so naked to him. All of her thoughts, all of her feelings, are plain to see on her face. Oval-shaped and pale, thin lips, sloped nose, wet hair. He watches her looking at him and thinks that maybe there is more than that, she was just hiding it too well.

"I mean it," she says, her fingers squeezing his shoulder. She glances at her own hand, as if it was moving on its own, before meeting his eyes again. Shy. Nervous. Doubtful. "You're going to burn out if you keep it up."

He should tell her to stop, he knows that, but…

"Do you want…?"

Yes. Yes, he does want. He wants a whole lot of things, but he only wants most what she's willing to give him, and if she wants to touch him, bare, for the first time, than yes. Yes. But only if she wants to.

She reads the answer in his eyes and motions for him to turn around. He does so, slowly, and leans his forehead against the edge of the tub. The stone is cool to the touch. The room is so quiet that he can hear his heart thump-thump in his ears.

After a long, stretching pause, in which James is sure Lily has thought and re-thought this decision seven times over, he finally feels one of her hands slide up his back. It sends shivers down his spine, her mere touch.

She pulls her hand back. "Did that hurt?"

"No, no," he says a bit too eagerly. Then, "No, it felt good. You don't have to do this."

Quiet. She puts her hand back, and then the other, and slowly starts kneading the tense muscles of his shoulders. "I know."

She only does his back, but Merlin in Heaven, James feels like he becomes one with the water. Lily gets the knots out, and sometimes it hurts and he hisses between his teeth, and sometimes he can hardly hold back a groan for all of the amazing things her hands are doing to his back. He wants to cry for the relief of it all.

When she's done -- when she pulls her hands away and clears her throat -- he pushes himself off of the wall. He turns around, half-asleep, and holds himself back from hugging her. "Thank you," he says, and hopes that she can hear the utter gratitude in his voice. "You've no idea how much better I feel."

She smiles, but James can tell that she's still embarrassed, and he turns around so that she can get out of the tub. After she dresses, she tells him that it's clear, and she turns around this time so that he can dress.

They don't speak to one another as they gather their things. He watches her out of the corner of his eye, though, and her movements are slow. Lily's mind is whirring, he can tell, and he doesn't know what to say that will make her not doubt herself. They head out at the same time, walk through the halls in silence, and as they're about to part ways in the Gryffindor common room, they turn to face one another.

James speaks first. He doesn't know what to say, exactly, but decides that apologizing might be best. "I'm sorry for walking in on you."

"It's alright," Lily says, looking down at her slippers. Her hair falls damply down her back. "We ought to go to bed. Long day tomorrow, and all."

"Right," James says. She wants to drop it and move on. Right. "Well, thank you. Again. I probably won't be out of bed until dinner, but at least I'll be able to move. See you tomorrow?"

He doesn't know if he means tomorrow as in the ordinary hey, I'll see you tomorrow, or if he means he'll run into her in the Prefect's bathroom again. He doesn't know which one he wants it to be. His feelings for her, for a long time, have been confused between just friends and more than that, and right now it's as if the needle is pointing exactly between both.

It's up to her, though. It's always been up to her.

She nods, as if thinking the same thing and coming up with no answer, either. "Yeah. Tomorrow."

"Tomorrow it is, then," James says, smiling at her. He turns and starts up the stairs.

"James?"

It's quiet, as if she didn't want him to hear her, but it's there. With his heart beating faster, he turns, and she walks up to him, wraps her arms around his waist, and puts her head against his chest.

Um.

He doesn't know if he should put her arms around her, but he does, and then they're just standing in the stairwell, hugging. It's vanilla and cinnamon and honey and so, so warm, and she must be able to hear his heart gradually slow, because she pulls away too soon and looks up at him.

"Thank you," she says.

He doesn't ask what for. He just says "you're welcome," and leans down, slowly, giving her time to pull away, to place a soft kiss on her forehead.

They go their separate ways, and he gets into bed not entirely unthankful for his sore muscles and bones. Sometimes shit happens, and sometimes people are at the right place at the right time. Whether or not this really is more than that, James knows that things are changing, and he dreams of the look on Lily's face as she tells him thank you. It looked a lot like love.