Hi All

Yes I know, I'm horrid. I haven't been working on my other fic. I'm really sorry but I am battling with it a bit – the next chapter just doesn't feel natural, so I'm taking a break.

This is a once-off… please read and review!

A touch on my cheek, featherlight. Soft sunlight drifting lazily in through an open window, warming my cheeks. Sighing, I turned on the couch, keeping my eyes closed, hoping against hope that the fleeting touch would remain. It did. I turned my cheek into the softness of the sensation, feeling my very soul breathe out on a soft sigh of relief. Slowly, lazily opening my eyes, I gazed before me at …

"Potter!" I scrambled up quick as my wobbly legs would allow, my skin turning fiery crimson and wincing inwardly at the memory of his touch on my cheek. Unconsciously my hand lifted to rest on that spot where he had, just moments ago, laid claim.

His eyes, which just seconds ago had shone with some golden light, now darkened as the gentle set of his face firmed and the mischievous spark – so well known to all – returned.

"Aw Evans, don't go trying to change your mind now, you were all but begging for it a moment…" his sentence was cut short by the sharp sting and 'crack!' of a slap, echoing through the common room.

Silence

Immediately I knew that I had gone too far. The slap – besides being far too hard for such a foolhardy comment – was (and we both knew it) more of a cover up for my embarrassment than of my taking any insult from his words.

Slowly he turned his head, and I winced inwardly as I was confronted with the bright red palm mark left on his smooth cheek. His eyes, I could see, were roiling, as if in some inner turmoil, and emotions that I could only guess at flashed before becoming calm once again.

The look that remained hit me like a bludger, swift and to the stomach. Never before had there been such … such… apathy in his expression when turned towards me. I had always been safe in the knowledge that, no matter how much I screamed or shouted, how many glares I sent or advances I revoked, he would always look at me with that softness, that golden light, which he showed to me and no other. To see nothing for me now in his expression frankly scared the heck out of me.

We just stood there, my eyes searching his face for … something, whilst his eyes regarded me blankly, stonily. My eyes were alight with some inner curiosity, and seemed to shine with anxiety at not finding what I was looking for. Without even realizing it I reached a hand out, almost in supplication, but not having the strength of will or the courage and fortitude it soon dropped back to my side. His stony gaze flickered for a second, and then, suddenly, he turned, and strode out the common room, leaving me there, alone, bathed in the morning light.

James Potter stalked away, using every inch of his strength and stamina to take those few remaining steps out of the common room, and away from… her. He closed his eyes and slumped against the wall at the thought of leaving her behind in the common room, but he had needed to get away from there, to save his sanity. He let out a meek laugh and ran his hand through his head, wondering if he really had any sanity left at this point.

Six years.

For six years long he had harboured the hope, the yearning, the wish, that one day Lily Evans would wake up and somehow see that he was – and had- always been here for her, waiting, patiently, and she would realize just how right they were. For six years that calm certainty that she would one day realize all this was all that had held him together through all her mocking and taunting and – sometimes if he were honest – cruelty. He was not as strong, adaptable and resilient as everyone thought and truly only Sirius and Remus could know and understand just what hell he went through some days. Those days – when his inner darkness rivaled Sirius' and they feared for him, were the days when he wouldn't get out of bed, or when he would fly into rages against himself and the world, questioning everything about himself and why he wasn't good enough. Yes, James Potter knew something about hope and heartache and desperation and endurance.

And he had endured

Through six years. And while recently he had managed to let down his protective shell of arrogance and witty sarcasm, she had managed to lower hers of angry defensiveness, they had managed to sort-of get along and he had tried so so very hard not to mess it up, and here he had done just that. When he had seen her dozing on the couch this morning he couldn't help but reach out and run his palm over her cheek – it was as if he was drawn to her by that same invisible pull he'd always felt from her. Lily, his Lily. He had not been able to stop himself, and it had been heaven, being so close to her and not having her scream or shout, but smile softly in his presence. It had made his heart feel ten times lighter and somehow managed to erase the always underlying feeling of hurt and betrayal she – hopefully unwittingly – managed to cause.

But she had woken up, and in that one resounding crack that echoed like the seal of his doom in his heart, she had managed to break him apart once again, and the little boy inside of him, desperate for love and acceptance, was so weary and battered and bruised and could not fight anymore. He had reeled back from that slap, wondering why his cheek didn't hurt but somewhere deep inside his chest it did. It felt as if that one slap had slammed them from wherever they currently were into somewhere banal and resonate with finality. His gaze searched her face, and while he was floundering on the inside, he managed to somehow school his features so she wouldn't be aware of the internal agony she had once again caused.

His gaze roamed her face so intently that he wasn't even aware of her hand lifting towards him. The little boy inside cried out in anguish and begged of him to turn, to flee whilst he still had some sanity to try and preserve his last dredge of self. And still he searched. Finally, with a dull, sick thud in the bottom of his stomach, James Potter turned away and walked out on Lily Evans, the one thought in his mind that now, even in the last moments of whatever they were, Lily Evans still showed nothing of her feelings for him, which had to mean that there weren't any.

He stumbled a bit, and slid down against the wall, his mind somehow echoing on how desperately and hauntingly beautiful she had looked when he had left her there in the common room. Just awakened and eyes still heavy from sleep, the ethereal goddess had been framed in the warmest tones of sunlight, lighting a halo in her fiery red hair and highlighting the translucence and pale perfection of her skin, and all of this creating the perfect backdrop for the emerald orbs that gazed so deeply and saw so little.

James Potter knew he was done and finished. He knew, now, that it was over. It had to be. He was not strong enough for it to be any other way. But he would never forget the touch of her skin for that brief, endless moment, or the look in her eyes when she, too, felt their undeniable bond break. She had broken him, and he knew it.