Warnings: brief sexual situations
Author's Note: Written for the Stag & Doe Comment Ficathon at LJ for the prompt of "Lily tries out a new hair style; James is fascinated."

It's strange walking down the corridors on rounds and not seeing the sway of Lily's long hair from the corner of his eye. A little part of him misses it—the way it'd get in her face as she rounded on him to tell him off, the way it shifted with her every move. He also misses its familiar weight in his hands, thick strands tangled in his fingers. She'd been growing it out for as long as he can remember, probably for as long as she'd been insulting him—which, honestly, is practically the same thing.

But despite all that, he thinks it's a good different, this new hair. He's still mulling it over, of course. It makes her look a bit unlike herself. More sophisticated, maybe. A touch older, definitely. James likes how this new cut shows him the smooth curve of her neck, the way it makes her face look a little fuller. And blimey, who knew that something as simple as a hair cut could make a girl look so unlike herself.

Lily turns her head as they pass the portrait of Wendell the Wicked, eyebrow quirked. Her eyes question him, and James shrugs before he takes a few steps to catch up to her. At her side, he feels her thread their fingers together. And it's amazing—this. After all these years of being told she'd rather date the Giant Squid, Lily Evans is actually holding hands with him.

"You've been acting strangely all day," she says, giving his hand a squeeze. "What've you done?"

"Always thinking the worst of me."

"No, I just know you is all."

Her mouth pursed, she scrutinizes him. And it's only after a moment that green eyes widen and her mouth drops open. Her hand covers it quickly before she mutters a muffled,

"You hate my hair!"

"What?" he asks, an octave too high. "What? No, no."

"You do. James Potter, you hate my hair."

"No, I don't! I love it! It's my favorite," he says, all too quickly, which probably makes his uncertainty obvious.

"Well, I like it," she bites, arms crossed in defense. "And I don't give a damn about what you think. Never have."

Lily marches off at that, leaving James both stunned and grasping for a way to set things right.

.

.

In the end, James chooses to act by not acting. This whole thing is rather lost on him. Oh, he's seen girls getting fussed about things like this before—hair or cosmetics or a certain way they wear their clothes on Hogsmeade weekends. One wrong word has them absolutely mental. The problem is that he's never seen Lilyact like this. She's bloody unpredictable at the moment, and he's not idiot enough to approach her without a battle plan. Too many years of being on the wrong end of Lily's wand has taught him that much.

So he lies in bed, listening to the sound of Sirius' god-awful snoring and wondering what has her in such a twist. It's then that he hears it—the sound of footsteps. Initially he doesn't make anything of it since Pete is usually up at some point during the night. However, they soon sound like they're coming his way. He grabs at his wand under his pillow and holds it up towards what he thinks is the part of his bed-hangings. It's so bloody difficult to see without his spectacles.

The bed-hangings open just as he's about ready to do it himself, and James can make out a blob that resembles a face and a crown of red hair. Lily? It can't be.

"Budge over."

Definitely, Lily.

He does so and feels her weight on the bed as he's reaching for his spectacles. Slipping them on, he shifts back, and there she is. The first thing he notices is the flimsy pajamas—an oversized Gryffindor tee and tiny shorts. The second, her hair done in stubby bunches beneath her ears. The third, the look of nervousness writ all over her face.

"Hey, now," he says softly, pulling her to him.

She settles on his lap, straddling his thighs, and James really wishes she wouldn't do that just now. He's only human after all, and a teenager to boot. Somehow he thinks a raging hard on just might ruin the mood, so he opts for exceedingly unpleasant thoughts.McGonagall. McGonagall in her knickers. McGonagall in her knickers on Filch's desk… Alright, that's a bit much, but it's working.

"I'm sorry for this evening. I was being a complete cow."

He winds his arms around her curvy waist, resting his hands on the small of her back. "Not a cow, no. But a bit out of sorts."

"Well I feel terrible. I just…want you to like it."

Lily runs her hands self-consciously over her bunches and fidgets on his lap. And Merlin's bollocks, she's going to have to stop that. She looks so worried, though, that he doesn't have the heart to mention it. Instead, he rubs soothing circles in her back with his fingertips.

"Why do you care what I think?"

"Because…because I like to act tough, you know? I've had to ever since first year because I'm Muggle-born and hardly knew anything about magic at the time. But I'm not a bloody ice queen. I'm a girl just like the rest, and maybe it's stupid of me, but I care what my boyfriend thinks."

His heart falters a bit at "boyfriend" because they've never qualified what's happening between them. Snogs could just be unqualified snogs. Hand-holding the same. And it's a bit scary even though he's wanted this very thing for the better part of two years. Him, James Potter, Lily Evans' boyfriend.

He moves his hand from her back to her chin and leads her down for a kiss. Lips meet, easy and deep. He pulls her a little closer—fuck McGonagall and her knickers—and feels Lily's hands on his chest. She pulls back a little—stares at him—her question so easy to read in her eyes.

"I like your hair," he reassures, tugging her bunches free.

James runs his fingers through her red tresses—dark in the low light. It feels so light now, and he can imagine how it must feel to be liberated of all that weight of before. A new Lily, then—a beautiful, grown witch ready to face the nightmares of the world outside Hogwarts. And he wants to say, Look at what you've become and I never would have thought you were that girl from the train.

"Promise?" she asks in a whisper, so close to his lips.

"I solemnly swear it." And he doesn't miss the roll of her eyes. "There's just this one thing."

"What's that?"

"That thing about you being like other girls? It's not true."

He captures her mouth, lips meeting fully. James brings her bottom lip between his teeth, drawing a small whimper from her throat. And she's doing that fidgeting thing again, though perhaps with more purpose now. His hands fist her cropped hair while her nails find his shoulders. They break with twin gasps.

And panting, he says, "There's no one in the world like you."