So, yeah, I love her, which is like, totally great, y'know, given the fact that she is not only my roommate and teammate but also my bleedin' best friend and that's way off limits but you don't know how bloody attractive she is when she's standing at the kitchen counter in an old T-shirt of mine that goes almost to her knees with her red hair all tangled and a cup of coffee in her hand and dark circles under her eyes. Which is sort of the test of love, I guess, when you can just sit there looking at her all day and to anyone else she would look like shit.

         So my name is James Tristan Potter, I am twenty-one years old, Chaser for the Liverpool Lords, in no state of fiscal distress, and completely and totally head over heels in love with my best friend. I'd have a killer life if I hadn't fallen in love with Lily Evans.

         Sirius says everything would be just peachy if I got up the nerve to ask her out, but Sirius has no foresight at all and doesn't realize that my entire world would come crashing down around me because she'd leave and hate me forever and I'd never get the chance to stare at her somewhat unprimped self as if she were a modern Venus De Milo again.

         Which is what I'm doing now, of course. I think it's her fourth cup of coffee but I've been watching her since her first—without her knowing, of course. I've become an expert in scrutinizing while looking just spaced out. It's all in the focus, I tell you.

         "James?"

         "Eyuuuuh?"

         "We've got practice in half an hour. Maybe you should snap out of it and eat some breakfast."

         "Kaaay."
         See? What did I tell you? All in the focus.

         "Right, well, there's some cereal." She grabbed her wand off the counter and pointed it at the cupboard. Two plastic bowls flew down, were met by the cereal box and milk container, and had two spoons thrust into them. She snatched one up, inhaled it (whoever said guys are sloppy, fast eaters has never met Lily), and walked out of the kitchen before I could get a bite in my mouth.

         Great Wizards, I love her.

*

         Okay. Ten minutes later I've had a shower, pulled my hair into a semblance of a ponytail, donned sweats, and am standing at the front door with a broom slung over my shoulders.

         "James, hurry up!"

         "I'm ready, I'm ready!" He comes out from his bedroom looking dead sexy with wet, tousled hair; a red Tshirt (I am exceedingly happy with the way it's sticking to his wet torso); and sweatpants. I don't know if he would look dead sexy to anyone else (James, while nowhere near unattractive, is not exactly on the list of 100 Most Delectable Wizards), but he's dead sexy to me and that's what matters right now. He has finely honed muscles from training, and tall and dark never suit anyone better (six three? I think he swallowed Greedill's Great Growing Concoction when he was a baby or something), and his glasses work really well with his face, and his nose, despite having a noticeable bump in it from when he was hit with a Bludger two years ago, is really quite nice, and he has lovely dimples, and—

         Well, I could go on listing his virtues all day, but I suppose the fact is that he's not, technically, traditionally handsome.

         Eh, what the hell. I could care less.

         "I thought girls were supposed to take more time," I chide with a smile. "What, are you following Sirius's every-morning primping tips now?"

         "I'm sorry I don't eat breakfast as fast as some people," he replies, grabbing his broom and opening the door. "Let's fly there. I need some wind on my face."

         "But not in your hair," I wisecrack, and follow him out the door, surrepitiously regarding his rear end.

*

         After Quidditch practice, Lily headed over to the Muggle mall for a new dress and I went back to my flat. I had precisely two seconds of relaxation before the Terrors came over.

         Usually they aren't so bad. Their names are Kirsten and Lucas, and I babysit them on Saturdays and Tuesdays for a few hours while their poor mother takes a much needed break. I wouldn't be surprised if she doesn't go sleep. However well-meaning Kirsten and Lucas are, the fact remains that they are two sugarcoated bouncy balls of energy. Dealing with them is like dealing with an atom that has just been split apart.

         So I'm sitting here, playing Candyland with them, and it's been another one of those days. Kirsten, a lively and charming five-year-old with brown ringlets and eyes, walked into my apartment, said goodbye to her mother, asked me for some juice, and promptly spilled the grape-raspberry liquid all down the front of her white dress.

         Thank Merlin for bleach. I can't very well perform reversal charms with two little children who would immediately want to test my wand out on their own watching. So I bleached the dress and slipped one of Lily's T-shirts over Kirsten's head (Kirsten was honoured. She worships the ground Lily walks on), and if Lucas—a cherubic blond two-year-old—hadn't proceeded to break a lamp, everything would have been just peachy.

         Right now it's fine. I conjured up lollies surreptiously, and besides the brightly coloured stains on their cheeks, it's all perfectly scrumptious with them. It's just me that's a bit tired.

         "No, Lukeman. No chewing on the Candyland pieces. No." I snatch the red playing piece from him and put it down several spaces ahead of where it was before.

         "That's not fair," whined Kirsten. "You cheeeated."

         "Okay. Fine." I place Kirsten's piece one space ahead of Lucas's. He blows a raspberry and smiles at me.

         "Now it's your turn, Jam."

         "Okay." I draw a card, move it three spaces, and rub my temples. Darling kids, really. And I love kids. But three hours with those two sort of short-circuits my brain all the same.

         "Ooh, Lily's shirt smells gooood. I bet she wears purrfun."

         "You mean perfume?" I ask. Kirsten nods enthusiastically.

         "My mommy wears it, too. You smell it."

         I obediently sniff Lily's shirt, clench my fingers, and tell myself I will not go off into Lilyland. Lucas follows the example and slams his head into Lily's shirt. The doorbell rings.

         "Just a minute."

         Knowing better than to leave Lucas alone with the Candyland pieces, I pick him up, wish men had hips to balance children on, and carry him to the door somewhat like a mother sloth carries her children.

         "Gagoo," Lucas says, and grabs my hair. It's okay, though. I lost nerve endings in my hair loooong ago.

         So I open the door and there's this guy standing there, and as guys go, he's pretty goodlooking. I'm thinking this asexually, of course. I don't think I could be in love with Lily for four years and be gay, because she's most definitely feminine.

         Actually, maybe it's not the best idea to think about Lily's femininity. Yeah, dangerous ground.

         "Uh… is this Lily Evans's apartment?" he asks. I gently unscrew Lucas's fingers from my hair and nod.

         "Yeah. But she really hates solicitors, and actually—"

         "Oh, no, she asked me to stop by."

         "Oh?"

         "Yeah." Now he's nervous, and he obviously has no idea what I'm doing there. "I mean, she asked me to call, but her telly number got smudged, so I just came over here. She's here, right?"

         "Actually, no. I'm her roommate, and—no, Luke! That hurts—here. Why don't you just come in for a minute and I can put him in his high chair."

         "Well… okay."

         He closes the door behind him and looks around uncertainly. So I forgot to clean this week. Can you blame me?

         "What did you say your name was?" he inquires timidly. "You're on the Quidditch team, right? I don't pay much attention to sports, though…"

         "Yeah, I'm a Chaser. Name's James, James Potter." Okay. Kid in the high chair, slide board across, pour Cheerios onto plate for amusment, and hand rest of box to Kirsten so she doesn't throw a tantrum about the injusticeness of adults in this world.

         "And you're Lily's roommate?" he questions. I rake a hand through my hair and nod.

         "Yeah, we've been living together for a while now. Sorry about the kids. They're a bit of a handful at times, but they mean well. I'm sorry Lil's not home right now. Would you like me to give a message to her tonight?"

         "Er… actually, just—tell her Gabriel called."

         "Okay. Can do."

         "Right. Bye."

         And he scurries out the door.

         Well, that was interesting.

*

         "JAMES FUCKING TRISTAN POTTER!"

         Uh oh. Did I leave my wet towel on the floor again? She hates that.

         "Uh, yeah?"

         Lily stomps over to me like a woman possessed. The 25mph wind slaps strands of her ruddy hair across her equally ruddy face. Just as I'm about to think about whether her face is ruddy from wind or anger, she slaps me.

         Well, that answered my question.

         "Owwwww. Dammit, my wet towels aren't—"

         "I DON'T GIVE A FUCK ABOUT YOUR WET TOWELS!"

         Er, yeah. That sends me into submission.

         "What'd I do this time?" I whine. I notice the rest of the team is gone. We were talking about strategies since practice was canceled, but you know what they say about women scorned, especially when that woman is Lily. I think they hightailed it out of there when they heard the "Tristan."

         "LIKE YOU DON'T KNOW!"

         "I don't!"

         "One word, Mr. I-Like-Breaking-Up-My-Best-Friend's-Relationships: Gabriel."

         "Hey, he was that guy who came over yesterday, wasn't he?" I straighten up, finally knowing what this is about.

         "YES!" she roars, and I shrink back into submission.

         "Er, wait. He broke up with you?"

         "YES!"

         "Why?"

         "I DON'T KNOW BUT MAYBE YOU COULD TELL ME!"

         You know, she's awful cute when she's angry.

         "Tell you what?"

         "What," she says, and she says it so patiently I start getting really worried, "exactly, verbatim, word-for-word—"

         "I get the point," I say quickly. Lily's like a walking thesaurus when she wants to be. She glowers, but finishes her sentence.

         "Did. You. Say. To. Him. Yesterday."

         "Okay… so…" Alright, no one ever said I was an elephant. I forget things very easily. "Kirsten and Lucas were over, right? So he knocks, and asks for you, and… then I told him to come in… and… he asks who I am… so I say I'm your roommate…"

         "Is 'roommate' the precise word you used?" she inquires, eyes flashing. Ooh, really cute when she's mad.

         "Well, first I said 'roommate,' and then I said… I think… that… er…" I squint and try to remember. "Oh! I said we were living together and had been for a while."

         "YOU WHAT?"

         "Yeah. And then he sort of looked at Kirsten and Lucas kinda weird."

         "I HATE YOU, JAMES POTTER!"

         But I duck her hands and manage to avoid being killed at a young age.

         Once.

         Then she does it again.

         "Lily, stop! Lily, I totally didn't mean to! I still don't get—oooooooooh."

         I think my mind is slower than a snail.

         I also think my face is currently purpler than a plum.

         Maybe I should work on these things.

         "Please let go," I beg her. Her hands are like a vise. She squeezes a little harder, then releases me, and I'm left gasping for air like a fish out of water.

         Slow and forgetful I may be, but never let anyone say I am bad at similes.

         "Well, you listen to this, James Potter. You just ruined my chance with maybe the best guy ever." She pokes me repeatedly in the chest. Hard. "He was sensitive, and sweet, and caring, and goodlooking, and nice, and—"

         And what am I? Pond scum?

         "And you know what? He loved me. I think he really did."

         "But here's the real question," I cry, and grab her wrists roughly. "Did you love him? You are just so ignorant, Lily, I can't believe it! You just ramble on and on about this fucked up Gabriel guy and there may be someone even better who loves you even more right in front of you. And this guy may not be as handsome and he may not be as good with words and he may not be as sensitive or caring, but you know what? He loves you with every single atom of his being and if you can't even appreciate that, then I don't know who you are."

         I drop her wrists and force myself not to look into her wide green eyes. I force myself to run. Run far, far away.

         I don't want her to be there when I start to cry.

*

         Shhhhhhhit.

         Shhhhhhhhhhit.

         Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhit.

         Mirror mirror, on the wall, who's the stupidest one of all?

          Yeah, that's right, Lily.

         So… James just professed his love for me. At least I think he did. Maybe he was talking about someone else—Sirius? Nah. He's too serious with that Eleanor chick. Remus? Gimme a break? One of our teammates? Uh, no.

         So… James loves me.

         James loves me.

         JAMES POTTER FUCKING LOVES ME!

         So I'm smiling now, but who can blame me?

         Oops. I just ruined everything with him, didn't I? I just yelled at him, and kicked his proverbial ass around, and humiliated him, and…

         Okay. Let's modify this sentence.

         JAMES POTTER FUCKING LOVED ME!

         And I screwed it all up.

         I really hate my life, sometimes.

         Okay. Single malt, where, oh where, are you.

*

         It's dark out when she walks in. There's a faint scent of alcohol clinging to her, but she doesn't seem drunk. She probably fixed things up with that Gabriel guy (what sort of shitty name is Gabriel, anyway?)  and went out to a club with him and forgot about my lovely little soliloquy. Good. I feel just happy lovely dandy now.

         "James?"

         Pretend to sleep mode: On.

         "James, I know you're not asleep." She closes the door behind her. The room is so much darker without the light from the hall.

         "Go away, Lily," I mutter into the couch pillow. Lesson Number One: Never go in for a good, long cry on the couch of the apartment you share with the woman you just ran away from after professing your love for her. You never get any privacy.

         "I won't."

         And somehow it seems timid, quiet, almost scared. I flip over onto my side and stare at her. The moonlight from the window hits her figure in the most flattering way I can imagine. I don't give a damn that she's wearing a Tshirt a size too big or ratty sweats. I never did.

         She walks over to me and drops to her knees, looking me in the eye, biting her lower lip. I resist the temptation to yell at her to stop looking so attractive.

         "I am sorry, you know," she whispers. A bit too close for my own good.

         "For what?"

         She widens her eyes.

         "Everything!"

         "I don't know which everything you're talking about," I tell her. A silence. "It doesn't matter anyway, I guess," I whisper. "I just wanted to know if you knew what you were sorry about."

         "For yelling at you… for slapping you, and strangling you, and…"

         "And what?" So I'm not the nicest interrogator. What would you do in my position, hm?

         She doesn't say anything for a moment. "Who exactly were you talking about on the pitch?" she inquires. I stare at her in disbelief.

         "If you don't know, we don't need to be discussing it," I inform her, and am off the couch and heading towards my bedroom before she can say anything back.

         "James! James, stop it. Just… just stop."

         "I can't stop forever," I say softly. There's a choked sob. The last thing I ever wanted to do was make her cry.

         "I just wanted to know," she chokes out, "because the fact is, I happen to love you, too. But if you—"

         I don't know who stepped first, but in a millisecond she's in my arms, and my nose is in her hair, and I can stand there forever if she wants.

         "It's not some… schoolgirl thing," I tell her.

         "It never was," she responds, and kisses me hard.

         Staring at her, dreaming about her, living with her, talking to her day after day for four years and then some could never have prepared me for this. It's not just kissing, because I've just kissed before, and it's not just touching, because I've just touched before, but it's something more powerful and all consuming. And the longer it lasts, the more powerful and all consuming it gets.

         I suppose I've just described not only our first kiss, but our love. It's like that, you know. Lily, ever the walking thesaurus, would be quite, quite proud.

*

Erps. I'll just post this and go on my merry way, I guess… feel like reviewing? Please do. I'd like more than five reviews this time around, if it's possible.