Summary: "I loved you once, you know." James knew that things would be different. He just hadn't known how much they had changed.
Disclaimer: Lily, James, Hogwarts, and anything else you recognise belong to J.K. Rowling; the plot, however, is mine.
He rings the doorbell nervously. Will she remember him? It's been so long…
"James!" There she is, standing there in the doorway. It takes all of his self-control to keep his jaw from dropping; was she always so beautiful?
"Lily," he replies, trying to keep his voice normal.
"What are you doing here?"
He shrugs.
"I was in the neighbourhood, and I thought I'd look you up. See how my old classmate's doing."
She smiles tightly.
"Just your old classmate, James?"
"A very good friend," he corrects himself with a smile. She shakes her head disparagingly and laughs slightly as she steps to the side, holding the door open.
"Come in," she says. "Don't stand out there in the rain; you'll catch your death of cold."
"Still the same old Lils," he smiles as he walks in, water rolling off his cloak and onto the linoleum of her foyer. "You haven't changed a bit."
Her eyes glaze over slightly and her smile becomes even more strained as he walks past her and casts a drying charm on himself before hanging his dripping cloak in the closet.
But I have, James, she thinks, her mouth twisting slightly as she watches him. I really have.
"So, how've you been?"
They're in her living room, each holding a glass of wine as they sit opposite each other on her plush couches. The mood is decidedly awkward, but they try to ignore the tension hanging between them and act as if nothing ever happened.
"All right, I guess," she answers. "I mean, I'm not exactly the wealthiest woman in the world, but I'm doing all right."
"From the looks of things," he sweeps his gaze around the room, "I'd say you're doing more than all right."
"Thank you," she says, colouring slightly. Then, to divert the attention from herself, she asks, "How's everything with you?"
"Oh, the same old, same old."
"I wouldn't know what the 'same old' is," she points out. "We haven't spoken for…how long?"
"Let's see. It was…end of Hogwarts?" She nods. "So that would be…" He frowns in concentration, and then looks up. "Wow. We haven't seen each other for almost eight years!" She nods again, smiling faintly.
"It's been a while."
"A lot of water under the bridge," he agrees.
"So, what do you do?"
"Oh, nothing much. I'm just an Auror."
"So you didn't get thrown out of the program," she laughs. "Impressive." She claps a little, and he laughs, too.
"And you?"
"Nothing quite so exciting, I'm afraid. I'm a psychiatrist with the Magical Reversal Squad—told you I would be."
He laughs again.
"Yes, you always did have to be right, didn't you?"
"Still do."
There is a pause, and then he asks the question that has been bothering him.
"Are you—married?"
She looks genuinely surprised, and then laughs slightly.
"No."
"Engaged?"
"No."
"Dating?"
"No."
"Have you had any romantic interactions with any members of the opposite sex?"
She laughs again, shaking her head.
"I'm a psychiatrist, James; it's not exactly easy for me to meet people who aren't emotionally fragile. I've dated a few men over the years, but…" She shrugs. "I never really felt like settling down with any of them." She then focuses her gaze upon him. "What about you; any family waiting for you back home?"
"I…no."
"No girlfriend?"
"No."
"So you're as single as I am."
"I suppose." He sighs. "There was one girl, Jane. I almost married her, but in the end…" He shrugs, as she did. "Things just didn't work out."
"The story of our lives," she says sagely. He smiles slightly at that.
"I suppose so, yes."
She stands up suddenly.
"Do you want to stay for dinner?"
He smiles.
"Dinner would be great."
Dinner is over; the plates have been cleared and put away, and the leftovers are stored away in her refrigerator. The two of them are sitting in the living room again, faces just a little flushed because of the wine they've been drinking. Neither says anything as they contemplate just what, exactly, this evening has been.
And then she decides to be daring.
"I loved you once, you know," she says, gazing pensively into the glass of wine she's holding in her hand.
"Did you?" he asks, looking at her carefully. He is surprised by this sudden declaration, but does not show it.
"Yes." She swills the liquid slightly before bringing the glass to her lips and sipping delicately. "But not any more."
"Really?" The one-word question is a challenge. Prove to me that you don't love me any more, he's saying. Prove it. She notices the tone of his voice and looks at him out of the corner of her eye. Slowly, she puts the glass down.
"Love's a funny thing, isn't it?" She turns and faces him, her eyes piercing. "One word…and yet, it has so much power.
"Quite honestly, I have no idea what people mean when they say, 'love.' There are so many descriptions of it everywhere: some people say that it's wonderful, some say that it's painful, some say that it's beyond reason, some say that it makes perfect sense…then there's 'opposites attract', people loving people like them, 'everyone is drawn to the bad boys'…" She shakes her head. "How can anyone know if they're in love, if there are so many different accounts? What if everyone feels love differently?"
"I…don't know."
She returns her gaze to her wine glass.
"I don't know, either. I was hoping you could tell me."
"So then how do you know you loved me?"
She laughs quietly.
"I don't know," she says, almost to herself. She then looks up at him, her voice becoming louder, more confident. "But what is love, really? Is it just a desire to have something so amazing, to be able to say, 'I'm in love'? Is it a certain feeling you have, maybe the bottom dropping out of your stomach or your heart fluttering whenever you see or talk to someone? Is it just a pretty name to disguise lust?" She pauses, lost in thought. When she speaks again, her voice is strangely quiet. "Or is it something…magical, something that can't be described, no matter how much we try?"
"I…I honestly don't know."
She laughs again.
"Find me someone who does, and I'll show you a fool."
He stares. She has changed…
He remembers how she was years ago, when they were friends in Hogwarts; an ingénue and a bit of a romantic, she talked endlessly about how she felt about love. He can still recall the first time they talked about it, during their Sixth Year…
"It's a beautiful thing," she smiled at him, hugging her knees to her chest. "I mean…you're in love, and suddenly the sky is bluer, the grass is greener, you feel so much happier…"
"Why, have you ever been in love?" he asked. She shook her head.
"No. But everything I've read, everything I've seen, everything I've heard…it all points to love being the most beautiful thing in the universe." Her gaze became piercing. "Have you ever been in love?"
"No…but I won't believe anything I hear until I experience it for myself."
"Ah…you're a doubter."
"Possibly."
"Well…" She smiled, looking so innocent and carefree that no one would have believed that she was almost seventeen. "I'm not. I want my knight in shining armour to gallop up on his noble white steed, swing me up in front of him, and ride off with me into the sunset." She blushed. "I know it's clichéd, and old-fashioned, and totally unrealistic…but fairy tales have to come from somewhere, don't you think?"
"They could. I think they were just written by love-deprived, unhappy loners."
"Oh, you're so depressing."
"Just realistic."
She shrugged.
"Maybe, but I prefer to believe that it's wonderful…" Her eyes glazed over slightly before she shook herself, her expression clearing. "I'll know when it happens, I guess."
"Probably."
How ironic, he thinks, that their roles are now reversed. But maybe it's fitting. Fate has a funny way of doing things, after all.
He pulls himself from his thoughts; she's talking again.
"I used to think that love was something special, that it was this brilliant feeling I had, that it was the reason I always blushed and found myself tongue-tied around you." She hesitates again, picking up the glass for what seems to be the millionth time. He wonders at her fascination with it. "But now I'm not so sure."
For a second, there's a look in her eyes that reminds him of when he first met her, years ago, a young Muggle-born girl who, like him, had just started Hogwarts and was dazzled—and a little frightened—by all the magic surrounding her. She had been rather shy during those first few weeks of school…
But that look in her eyes… It's a strange mixture of fear, anxiety, and hope. There's also a bit of twinkle to them, and he realises that her eyes don't light up a room like they used to; they're hard and cold now. Well, not now—she's looking like a sixteen-year-old again—but…in general.
Suddenly, she squeezes her eyes shut, looking pained, and then opens them. The change is remarkable; in less than a second, the young, innocent look is gone, replaced by the icy expression that seems to be permanent.
He realises that she's watching him, waiting for him to say something.
"Why not?"
"Why not what?" She sits up, confused. Good. She needs to be confused for a bit; it'll do her good.
"Why aren't you sure that that's what love is?"
She sighs and sinks back into her chair.
"Because love's supposed to be something beautiful, something that makes life worth living."
"So…your love wasn't beautiful?" he asks hesitantly.
She shakes her head ruefully.
"I loved you when you didn't love me back, James. It's not beautiful; it's painful." Her face twists. "But even unrequited love is supposed to be wonderful. 'It is better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all,'" she quotes bitterly. "Is it really?"
He starts to answer, but she cuts him off.
"No, don't say anything; I know that you don't know. You've never loved anyone, have you?"
Her eyes are on him again, challenging him, daring him to say otherwise. He knows that if he denies it, she'll pursue the issue further—and he'd really rather not rehash everything that happened. It's just so much easier to deny everything…
"No," he says quietly. "I haven't."
She nods, satisfied.
"I knew it."
"Then why did you ask?"
"I wanted to make sure you knew it, too."
"Well, I do." He's suddenly frustrated. "Is there even a point to this conversation?"
"Is there a point to anything?"
He finally snaps. "Will you stop answering my questions with questions, damnit?" he bellows, rising from his chair. "Just give me a straight answer for once!"
"You never gave me a straight answer. Never. Why should I give you one now?"
She's turned her attention back to her glass. What is so bloody interesting about it?
He's about to ask, but her question confounds him. When has he ever not given her a straight answer? He asks her, and she smiles mysteriously.
"Think," she commands. "When have you ever given me a straight answer, really? When have you ever answered anything truly complicated so honestly and completely that you never left any room for any further questions?"
"Always," he responds automatically. Her smile widens slightly as she shakes her head.
"You're not thinking," she chides him. "Think. And I mean that you should really rack your brains for the answer to this one. When a girl asked you if you liked her, when your mum asked you if everything in school was all right, when anyone asked anything that really mattered, did you ever tell them straight out, 'Yes' or 'No'?"
He is silent, knowing that she is right. And she knows it.
"See?" she asks. "You're just as elusive as I am. You just choose to be less obvious about it."
"That has nothing to do with anything," he says sullenly as he looks away, wanting to nullify her words. He feels like they're back in Hogwarts again, and she's using him to practice her psychoanalysis, pulling him apart in front of his eyes and ripping down all his barriers. Just once, he would like to shake her, to pull her apart and shred every mask she's ever worn so he can see what she's really like. Is the real Lily this almost emotionless psychiatrist, or is she the young, innocent girl he once knew?
"It has everything to do with everything," she says seriously, pulling him from his thoughts. Her smile is gone and the glass is back on the table. Her eyes bore into the side of his face, compelling him to look at her. He does.
"How so?" he queries.
"You're a hypocrite. That's why I don't love you any more."
He stares at her in shock, but she just laughs.
"Oh, please; you were dying to know why from the moment I told you that I don't." She returns to gazing at her wine glass, and realises that it's empty; she's been sipping its contents absently as they've been talking. She pours another glass for herself, and looks up at him.
"Some more wine?" she asks.
"I…no, thank you," he replies, sitting down. His brows are furrowed, and he seems to be in deep thought.
"How am I a hypocrite?" he asks finally.
"You say things you don't mean, you don't follow your own advice, you accuse others of faults that are your own…" She shrugs. "The usual reasons that someone's a hypocrite."
"Give me a particular example."
"Fifth Year," she says promptly. "Remember that group project we had in Potions? You lectured all of us long and loud for not doing our sections of the work on time, and then, when it came to the end, we discovered that you'd been lying the whole time about your progress, and only did your part the week before, ending up doing a terrible job that we had to take the blame for."
"That was once."
"You did it countless times in school. And don't forget all your preaching of equality while you still cursed Snape every time you saw him in the halls; that was hypocrisy if I've ever seen it."
Realizing the verity of her statement, he has the grace to look ashamed, but then thinks on what she said. His hypocrisy—a very human flaw—caused her to stop loving him?
He glares at her, suddenly furious.
"You stopped loving me because I was a hypocrite?" he demands. "That's the most bullshit reason I've heard for falling out of love." She looks at him in surprise, and then her lips quirk slightly as she tries not to smile.
"Maybe it is, but unrequited love will only last for so long before something causes it to either become requited or dead."
"And your love is dead?"
"More or less."
He shakes his head.
"You still have a heart, don't you?"
She's surprised at the question, but answers all the same. Her eyes start to narrow, a sign that she's growing irritated.
"Yes."
"You still have family, don't you?"
"Yes."
Her eyes are almost slits now. But he pushes on, heedless.
"You have friends?"
"Yes."
"Then don't you still love them? You have to love someone. We can't live without love."
She laughs again, and it's the bitter laugh he's come to hate.
"And now you play the game of misconception." Her face becomes hard once again. "See, that's where you're wrong. We don't need love to survive. We need love to keep us happy, maybe, or maybe we need love to keep us from becoming what society deems to be 'bad', but we can live without it. Food, water, shelter:" she ticks off her fingers, "those are the necessities, the things without which life is impossible. But love? A mere sideliner.
"And besides, the love that you talk about is platonic love. It means nothing."
"So you're saying that the only type of love that matters is the deep, earth-shaking love?"
"Yes."
"You're an idiot."
She sits up, her eyes blazing.
"Excuse me?" she demands.
"You're an idiot," he repeats. "Tell me that it doesn't matter that your mother loves you, that your father would die for you, that you have friends who would go to the ends of the earth for you. Tell me that you wouldn't care if everyone you ever cared for or everyone who ever cared for you—or both, really—suddenly left you, telling you that they didn't love you any more. Would the loss of that love matter? Would you care?" His back is ramrod-straight now, his eyes challenging her to contradict him.
She is silent, her eyes cold, and he slumps back into his chair, defeated. He's failed; the girl he once knew really is gone.
"Never mind," he says, standing up in exasperation. He starts walking towards the stairs. "I was a fool for thinking that you could ever care."
But just as he reaches the landing, she speaks.
"Wait."
He obeys, as he always does; there's something compelling about her, something that makes him want to pay attention to her like he does no one else.
"I…I do care." The mask is slipping again, and he feels joyous. Guilty, yes, because he's tearing down everything she's worked so hard to build, but joyous all the same; he's missed the girl. "Sort of. I mean, those things do matter…" There's a pause, and then she says, "But I could live without them."
He nearly groans as the façade slams back into place.
"How long will you play this game, Lily?" he asks quietly. "How long until you decide that you're tired of pretending?" He shakes his head. "I'm an idiot, I really am." He looks up at her, feeling terribly bitter, and sees her eyes narrowed into slits again.
"Why are you so determined to pull me down?" she demands in return. "Why are you so hell-bent on making me into the girl you once knew? I'm not who I was eight years ago, James. Why can't you see that?"
"Because I came to see Lils." Her eyes widen with the use of her childhood nickname as he continues, ignoring her reaction. "Quite honestly, I don't know why I just had to talk to someone who hasn't spoken to me for years. I don't think I'll ever know. But there was something in me that said, last month, when I was looking through my photo albums, 'You have to go see Lils.' And here I am; but while I didn't exactly expect a warm welcome, I didn't expect to meet a stranger." He shakes his head. "I expected to see Lils…but you've changed. I didn't think I'd have to struggle to understand you. But I was stupid to think that we could go back to how things had been; it's been eight years, after all."
She smiles slightly.
"A lot of water under the bridge, as you said," she agrees. Then her mouth twists wryly. "You expected me to be almost preserved in time, didn't you? Thought you'd come and find an innocent girl who still looked at the world through those rose-colored glasses and dreamed of falling in love with a knight in shining armour and riding off with him into the sunset." She pauses. "But innocence is always the first thing to go, isn't it, James?" she says softly, repeating the words that he said to her so long ago. She shakes her head. "You're right; Lils is dead, and long live Lily. But maybe I'm not so different. Maybe I'm just the same, only a little older. You'd never know, because you'd never take the time to get to know me."
"You're not exactly allowing me to."
"What do you expect?" She stands up and walks over to him, eyes flashing. "You come here uninvited, unannounced, and think I'm suddenly going to open up to you, just because we were fairly good friends once? Just because I spilled all my secrets to you when I was young and naïve doesn't mean that I'm willing to do it again." She shakes her head. "You betrayed my trust, James. Excuse me if I'm not exactly willing to trust you again."
"We could try."
"Try?" She throws her head back and laughs, still bitter. "You mean that we could try like that time years ago when we tried dating and it ended up as a disaster, with both of us not speaking to each other? You can't erase what happened so easily, James."
"What happened that day, anyways?"
"Don't tell me you've forgotten; that's a lie. But if you want to believe that you have, then I'll remind you: You took me out for dinner, everything was wonderful, and then we kissed. And you ran away and didn't talk to me for a week after that—and you only started talking to me again because Remus ordered you to."
"What was I supposed to do? Here was one of my best friends, whom I cared for deeply, and we'd gone out to dinner, had a splendid time, and then we were suddenly kissing madly in Hogsmeade, and I discovered that you fancied me…I was confused, Lils, and I needed some time to sort myself out."
"But you took a week to do it, and didn't tell me why." He bows his head in silent acknowledgment of the fact. She continues, "I hate to tell you this, James, but you were an arse." There is a pause, and her eyes glitter maliciously. "No, wait. I don't hate telling you that, because I've been wanting to tell you for eight bloody years!" She hesitates again, then says, a bit quieter, "You have no idea how good it feels to tell you that."
"I get it." He feels sick. This was why he didn't want to see her again: he was afraid of rejection… "I should never have come; I'm going to go, now. It's obvious you don't want me here."
But she's shaking her head. "You don't get it, James. You just don't get it. I do want you here; you were the best friend I ever had. But we were stupid to allow something as stupid, something as incidental as love to come between us—"
"We? Us? I never said anything either way!"
"No, you didn't. But can you honestly look me in the eye and tell me that you never loved me? That you didn't care for me as more than a friend, just a tiny bit, and wonder what it would be like to date me?"
"I can."
"Then do it."
He looks her in the eyes and gulps. He's never seen her so determined, so frightening, so timid—and all at the same time. She's ready for whatever he tosses at her; she's left the door open, and it's up to him to either shut it or step through.
"I…" He averts his gaze. "I never loved you."
"Look me in the eye and say that."
"Fine." Their eyes are now locked; he couldn't look away if he tried. He swallows nervously. "I…" His voice falters, but he summons the little that's left of his courage and continues. "I never loved you."
The silence is overwhelming. He forces himself to stay firm, to keep his eyes locked with hers…but he can only hold her gaze for so long, and he soon averts his eyes.
"That's what I thought," she says quietly, looking at him as if she's never seen him before. He turns away.
"I think I've made enough of a fool of myself; I'm going to go now. It was nice seeing you again, Lily. I'm sorry."
"For what?" she asks quietly.
"For everything."
She nods.
"I'll just…go, then, shall I?"
"If that's what you want."
She's still watching him with that maddening expression.
"Will you please stop looking at me like that?"
"Like what?"
"Like you don't know me…like you didn't know me before I told you that I didn't love you."
"Maybe I didn't."
"You knew me for years."
"Doesn't mean I truly knew you."
"Gah!" He throws his hands up in the air. "You're so infuriating."
"Thank you."
He sighs, turning away.
"I really should get going…"
"If you think so."
He nods, and then walks downstairs and dons his cloak. At the door, he stops and turns around to see her standing on the stairs, still watching him.
"I'll see you again?"
"If you want."
"I do. When is good for you?"
"Tomorrow night is fine."
He frowns, thinking, then his face clears and he nods, a slight smile on his face.
"Tomorrow night is fine for me, too. I'll take you out to dinner, if it's okay."
"Sure."
"I'll pick you up at seven?"
There is a pause as she considers his offer. Is she really going to accept the proffered olive branch and start over with him? She looks at him carefully; his pleading gaze makes up her mind.
"It's a date."
They smile tightly at each other, and then he turns and walks out without a backward glance.
She watches the door close behind him, thinking. Suddenly, she reaches a decision and runs out the door. It's stopped raining, she realises as she gets outside, but it's freezing cold. And she's forgotten her cloak. Perfect.
"James!" she calls, looking around. There he is—just at the corner of the street. "James!" she calls again, running towards him. He stops walking and turns around, waiting for her.
"Something wrong, Lily?" he asks, one eyebrow raised. He appears nonchalant, but she can detect the faintest hint of worry behind his eyes, and a bit of tension in his casual stance, so she shakes her head.
"Not really," she says. "But…" She frowns. How does she say this? "You told me how you feel about me."
Brilliant. Now he's staring at her as if she's grown a second head. She hasn't, has she? Patting her head as if she's checking her hair, she breathes a sigh of relief; no extra heads.
"Yes," he replies slowly.
"You said you never loved me." She pauses, then continues, "You lied."
His response is immediate; he looks at her indignantly, angrily.
"I did not."
"You looked away."
"You know that I always lost staring contests."
"You looked away," she repeated. "And you came to see me, didn't you? That says something."
"It says that I want to be friends with you again."
"Just friends, James?" she asks quietly.
"I…"
"Tell me the truth."
"I…can't say."
"Then tell me through your actions."
"Can't do that."
She rolls her eyes.
"Fine. Blink once if you never loved me, blink twice if you loved me but don't any more, and blink three times if you loved me—and still do. I think that's easy enough."
"I…"
"James." Her voice is soft but firm; she will brook no evasions.
Sighing heavily, he looks her in the eye and blinks once. Twice…and then he hesitates. She closes her eyes briefly and starts to turn away, but he grabs her wrist, forcing her to look at him again. He blinks for the third time, and then releases her as he looks down at the ground, hands in his pockets.
"So…you love me." Her voice is slightly hoarse, her eyes wide. So her bluff really worked…
He nods, not trusting himself to speak.
"Well, since you've told me how you feel, it's only fair that I tell you how I feel."
"I thought…you said that you'd stopped loving me." He's still avoiding her eye, but…is that hope in his voice?
"I lied."
His head shoots up.
"You—you did?" Oh, yes, that's definitely hope. "Then…how do you really feel?"
"Cold, a bit. And my feet are pretty wet; I wish I'd put on proper shoes."
She grins as he becomes frustrated.
"You're impossible, you know that?"
"Only for you."
"I'm honoured. Now…how do you feel with regards to me?"
Oh, wonderful. The moment has come—the moment where she says what she's going to say, and then she jumps into his arms, and they ride off into the sunset together, him wearing shining armour that gleams so brightly it's almost blinding and riding a white stallion, and her in the most beautiful white gown imaginable…
He coughs, bringing her back to reality. She blushes slightly; she's no longer a girl, so why is she daydreaming like one?
"I'm waiting," he says, tapping his foot and looking at his watch.
"Oh, stop being an arse," she snaps. "I'm trying to tell you that I love you here."
There is silence. He stares at her, and her gaze challenges him to call her on a lie. But why would she be lying—again?
"You're not…you're not joking?" he asks, his voice strangely hoarse. She shakes her head, placing her hand on his cheek and looking at him seriously.
"I wouldn't joke about something like this."
"But you said you'd stopped."
"I already said, I lied."
She says it so flippantly that he stares. How can she be so…casual about something like this?
"Why?"
"Why what?"
"Why did you lie?"
She sighs, dropping her hand.
"I thought you didn't love me; what's the use in rekindling an old flame if there's nothing for it to warm?"
He laughs.
"I love how you speak in metaphors."
There's a pause, then:
"I love you," she says quietly.
Her statement settles him, somehow, and he suddenly finds himself leaning forward. She's leaning in, too, and their lips are getting closer and closer…
And then a car goes by, drenching them thoroughly as it drives through a puddle. Both laugh, a little awkward, and avoid looking at each other studiously before suddenly turning back and locking gazes. They stare at each other for a few painstakingly long moments, and then she shrugs.
"I should probably get back home," she says. "I do have to go to work tomorrow…"
Still a bit dazed, he says nothing, but only nods. Then, he realises what she's just said.
"Wait."
"Yes?" She turns around.
"You just said you loved me."
"Yes." She's smiling now, obviously restraining her laughter.
"And now you're going to go away?"
"I do have work tomorrow."
"We're not going to…you know?"
She raises an eyebrow, her smile growing even wider.
"What do I know?"
"That…that…"
"That what?" He says nothing, and she sighs. "James, if you have something to say, just say it. Otherwise, I'm going to go back."
"Well…after two people confess their love for each other, it is customary for them to…to…"
"Kiss?" she finishes for him.
"Yes." He's now slightly red, and she laughs, leaning in and brushing her lips against his.
"There," she smiles. "That's your kiss."
"That's it?" he splutters.
"Of course." She smirks. "What, were you expecting a full-blown snogging session?"
He flushes even further. "I…suppose."
She laughs again. "You're so cute when you're flustered." Before he can respond, she's kissing him again. Really kissing him. And while there aren't any fireworks or feelings of how right it is to kiss her, he can't deny that it's quite nice to be standing there, soaking, his arms around her waist (they moved there of their own accord) and his lips against hers. Finally, the need for air causes them to break apart, breathing heavily and both quite red.
"Well," he says.
"Well," she echoes.
"That was…nice."
She tilts her head, a smile spreading across her face.
"Just nice?"
"More than nice," he corrects himself, feeling a little heady—almost like he's had a bit too much to drink. Maybe it's the lack of air.
"How much more?"
"Much more."
She laughs.
"Are you always this eloquent after being kissed?"
"No. Yes. I don't know; this is the first kiss in a long time, so, I mean, it's strange, and, well, it was really nice, and—"
She places a finger against his lips, effectively silencing him.
"You were babbling," she says, by way of explanation, removing her hand.
"I tend to do that," he admits sheepishly. She laughs.
"You know how you shut up someone who's babbling?"
"Put your finger on their lips?"
"Kiss them, of course."
And then, all of a sudden, they're kissing like there's no tomorrow. Outside. In the cold. In the freezing cold.
She shivers suddenly, and he pulls back.
"Cold?" he asks worriedly.
"Just a little," she nods.
"Here, come on. I'll walk you back."
"Thank you."
He takes her hand and they walk back up the sidewalk to her house and up the steps. She stops and looks up at him.
"Well, this is it." She opens the door and walks inside, then turns around and faces him. "So…'bye."
"'Bye," he echoes, stepping in and kissing her lightly. "See you tomorrow. Seven, was it?"
"Yes." She smiles at him warmly. "Tomorrow, then."
One final kiss, and then he smiles at her.
"Good night…Lils," he says, walking out and closing the door behind him. She leans against the wooden surface and touches her lips in wonder, scarcely believing the events of the past hour. She smiles dreamily.
"Good night, James."
FIN