hiii this fic is honestly a rollercoaster of emotions ahh. part 1/3 with weekly updatess


As a child, James had always thought it ridiculous that having a particular identification mark deemed that a person was to be completely and perfectly compatible with whoever it was that they shared the unique speck with.

How in the absolute world could a mark determine a person's soulmate?

A mark shouldn't be given the power to make or break a relationship, as he'd reasoned out at the ripe age of eleven years old, where he thought he'd accumulated all the vast knowledge and wisdom that the world had to offer him. He'd gone on to support his point with the fact that the parents of his best mate Sirius— who was nowhere near as serious as his name— had thought that they were meant to be, yet all they could ever express towards each other was contempt and pure hatred.

'Soulmates' were supposed to be in love, not in hate. It was obvious that they'd misidentified their marks to be more than they actually were.

He'd done his research, and he'd learned that freckles— just one of the kinds of marks that made a soulmate— became triggered from exposure to sunlight. It meant that there was a scientific reasoning behind all of it, he'd thought, and not because of some obviously utterly-made up crap that was found in practically every single fairy tale that was told to nearly every child in an effort to get their hopes up, only for them to end up getting crushed by reality.

Besides, his prepubescent self never had any reason to believe in the concept of soulmates, especially when such an idea became an object of ridicule in the eyes of many of his pupils at the time, who had, for example, taken advantage of the opportunity to draw matching freckles on themselves and jokingly call the other their soulmate. He'd be an absolute liar if he said that he never partook in such a thing, having done so on few occasions with Sirius. They'd done quite a convincing job at that as well, and he wouldn't be surprised if people still thought that he was involved in a relationship with his best mate, who he held absolutely no romantic feelings towards.

Soulmates couldn't be real. They couldn't be.

Naturally, James had eventually come to learning the location of each and every one of his four little marks that he'd prided himself on having.

It made him sound a bit like a hypocrite, but he swore he'd done it just to be ironic more than anything else, because he surely hadn't believed that the universe cared enough to make two people perfect enough to fit in the other's mold, just as puzzles were supposed to click together. To him, it had seemed that the universe spewed out people at random, as if someone had deliberately mixed together puzzle pieces from completely different sets. It should be impossible for two pieces to fit, not unless one forced them to fit.

He was not forcing any relationships to come about.

He wanted them to happen smoothly, like a boat drifting atop a gentle lake.

According to scientific evidence, the physical signs of seeing a person didn't at all account for whether or not they were one's soulmate, because a erratic heart or sweaty hands were only signs for wanting them to be a soulmate. It was still completely possible to fall for someone who wasn't one's soulmate.

It just seemed impossible to have a lasting relationship with someone who wasn't your soulmate. No, it was impossible, as official statistics have proven, no matter how much effort two people put into keeping their relationship intact.

Also— also— he found it absolutely unfathomable how a relationship could work simply from realising that the other party had a matching freckle. An "Oh look, we've both got a freckle located exactly four and a half centimetres below our wrists and two and three-quarters of a centimetre to the left. We must be soulmates because that's how the bloody system works, apparently" was far too impractical to determine whether or not one should spend an entire lifetime with someone else. What ever happened to just finding someone with matching interests and knowing what was best for the other?

It sounds nearly impossible that in a world defined by overpopulation, making it so that among the sea of people walking the earth, there was only` one person who shared one particular little freckle with you.

It had to be impossible.

His younger version of himself had to be all-knowing and wise in this sort of stuff, these matters that he as a kid had no experience with.

Now though…

Well, he'd like a soulmate right about now, if that wasn't too much, please and thank you.

Upon entering his teen years, when he'd somehow come to recognising the appeal of falling in love with someone else, he'd begun to fall in love with the idea of love itself, and this in turn reversed the previous notions that he'd held against the concept of soulmates. Failed relationship after failed relationship, he'd learned that perhaps it wasn't too far-fetched that there would be one person who was made for loving every single inch of him. A relationship only had to work once, didn't it?

He'd come into a good— a loosely-used term here— amount of girls who'd taken a fancy to him, only to be struck with disappointment when they learned that they didn't share any of their freckles with him, and it made him feel a bit irritated at the fact that they'd checked compatibilities with a tiny little speck of dark brown on his skin. It was nearly as bad as depending solely on zodiac signs to be with someone.

It wasn't as if he had been running about desperately seeking the one person who matched him, and in theory, it didn't seem that hard, especially when there were four places that the mark could have been in, and especially when he'd thought he'd already found his soulmate. He must have found his soulmate, because there was quite literally no other word that matched up to describing the likes of Lily Evans, who had unexpectedly come into his life, dropping a seed into the depths of his heart and letting a bright red rose bloom within.

Lily Evans.

Everything about her was lovely.

There was no need to check her soulmate marks— 'soulmarks' as she'd liked to call them, saying that the name had an easy tone to it— because he'd already had the feeling that her very last mark would be the very same one he had on his stomach. It was most especially not because he'd essentially be setting himself up for disappointment when he found that they weren't soulmates, as the malicious being in the very back of his brain liked to remind him.

He'd wracked up the nerves to ask her out on a proper date a few months ago, and he swore that when the simplest 'yes' fell from her lips, the birds began singing their lovely tune just a bit more louder, and the sun began shining down onto them even more than it had already been. It must have meant that the universe foresaw them together. He didn't need any soulmarks to tell him so.

It'd become routine for him to meet her after her classes were over, and he'd memorised the directions to her classes like he'd done with the features of her face. He made it to the door just exactly a second before the class had been dismissed, and he prided himself on the fact that he'd made such trips enough times to perfect his timing. She'd been walking out with Mary, and upon spotting him, her face lit up, shining brighter than any sun he could ever see. She gave her friend a few parting words before she ran up to him. "Your timing really gets better each time."

He absolutely revelled in the fact that she noticed, and he reached over, holding her hand in his and swinging them back and forth as they began their walk together. "Swear you get prettier each time. I didn't think that was possible."

"You get flirtier each time."

"I reckon we'd both agree that you'd rather a flirty boyfriend than an arse who never cares to show affection to his girlfriend."

She hummed in agreement. "It's only understandable that the vast majority of the population prefers to not be subjected to unnecessary hostility."

"That's precisely why I remind you of how breathtakingly gorgeous you are."

"And not actually because you feel that way?"

"You know too well how pretty you are."

"You're pretty."

"Nah."

She cocked an eyebrow at him. "Handsome?"

"You're not even trying," he teased her, and she scoffed at him, dropping her hand from his. It wasn't long until she twined their fingers back together again, to which he felt his lips growing at the corners triumphantly.

"You're being awfully humble. Are you sure you're really who you say you are? Quick, what colour were my socks when we first met?"

"You just hadn't found the right word, was all," he replied, and with a dramatic pause, he added, "I'm hot. And trick question, you weren't wearing socks, not unless you wanted to burn up in the heat."

He gauged her reaction, watching a mixture of exasperation and amusement swirling in the greens of her eyes, and in the end, she broke out into another one of her dazzling smiles, the ones that seemed to exist to solely blind him. "And you couldn't find it in yourself to accept my other compliments?"

"You should know more than anyone else that you could literally call me a pile of shit and I'd be just as thankful as if you told me I'd hung the moon."

"You should know more than anyone else that I would literally never call you a 'pile of shit.' You've mistaken me for someone else. The last time I checked, I wasn't named after a constellation."

"I'll bloody make a constellation for you," he sighed dramatically, "It's only a shame that we live in a place where we can't see the stars."

"Geography hasn't stopped you before."

"You're right, but pollution has. Come over sometime? We could cuddle, and I'll get one of those lights that project stars onto the ceiling so that I could find a constellation to name after you."

"By 'sometime', I'm going to assume that you mean right now."

"I like the way you think," he responded, and without helping it, he reached down to press a quick kiss to her lips, to which she made a small sound of pleasant surprise. The electricity that seemed to exist in his heart seemed to crackle, sending an array of jolts at the sensation of her soft lips against his, even if it was short-lasted, like a flower in bloom for only one season of the year.

The palpatitations of his heart were just symbol of the fact that they had to be soulmates. There was no other explanation for how rapidly it was beating.

They'd made it outside of the building now, having taken their time in walking out, and so the campus was practically empty, save for the few people rushing past them to get out of the winter coldness. Her cheeks were red from the air nipping at their skin, or perhaps it was from his sudden acts of affection, but whichever it was, it made her look dead pretty, which wasn't even anything new.

The setting was lined with rows of flowers that were struggling to get their last breath of life before the brutality of winter inevitably caught up to them, swept them away into a pile of nothingness until the next generation came to replace them, only for that bunch to get replaced when the next battle with winter drew by. Before he met her, he would have thought the process was depressing, but because of the way she saw life with so much optimism, he now thought the way that flowers lived and died was beautiful.

It goes to show just how much she'd changed him for the better.

It meant that they had to be soulmates. They couldn't be anything less.

Their matching marks that they'd definitely have would only continue to give them that air of complete certainty. He already was confident that she was his soulmate.

He hadn't realised that he'd stopped in his steps, too busy stopping to admire her, and he knew this scenario all too well, that this one innocent little peck would escalate into something much worse— or better, depending on how he was looking at it— if he didn't find it in himself to refrain from doing any more before they both caught a cold.

A cold?

Fuck, he was an idiot.

They'd made it outside for a while now, and he was far too busy talking to her that he hadn't completely registered that he was cold, which meant that she had to be cold as well. He quickly shrugged off his outermost coat and secured it around her, the size engulfing her and the bottom of it stopping at her knees. "Sorry for letting you freeze, love."

She threw it off of her person as fast as he'd taken it off. "James Potter, you are absolutely hilarious if you think I'm going to let you freeze on your own accord."

"And you're absolutely hilarious if you think that I'd rather it be you than me when it comes to dying in the cold." She reached up to feel the fabric of his sweater, and her eyes softened, most likely because of how thin it was. "You can't tell me that you're not cold right now."

"I can and I will."

"Your priorities are honestly messed up," she said, and she attempted to throw it back onto him. They must have looked quite the sight to any onlooker, fighting over who should wear the coat.

"Are they really that messed up if you're at the very top of the list?"

"They are, because nowhere does it say that adhering to priorities means that you've got to suffer to put others above yourself."

He sighed dramatically, and he resigned to slinging his coat back on him, though not before pulling her close to him so that she was flush against his side, her long red hair clinging to the fabric of his coat. He immediately felt warmth overtaking him just from their contact, and it was even more enhanced when he felt her snuggling up against his arm. They began walking again. "I let you win this time."

"And every other time?"

He opened his mouth to protest but quickly clamped it shut, not able to spontaneously recall a single moment where he'd defeated her in any battle of wit. He knew he'd bested her before, but now, he couldn't seem to remember the exact time that it had happened. "You're very lucky that you've got a generous boyfriend."

"Of course. Generosity's been the main thing you've been giving me since we've walked out of the building," she smiled.

"If generosity is a euphemism for a kiss, sure."

The curve of her lips caused her cheeks to appear more puffed out, and she shivered slightly. She watched from the corner of her eye as he opened his mouth to vocalise her action. "Don't you dare take your coat off, James Potter."

"I'll leave it on forever, yeah?"

"If it means that you won't freeze out in the cold, then that's completely fine with me."

"You know that's far too impractical."

"Oh?"

"Yeah," he nodded, and he flashed her a slight grin, "We both know how it drives you wild seeing me without that coat. Interpret that in every single way you can think of."

"I don't suppose I'll be seeing that sight anytime soon. We'll be too busy looking at the stars."

"You'll be too busy doing that. I'll be looking at a far more spectacular sight."

"In the dark?"

"The stars will give enough light," he joked, and he saw her roll her eyes at him, but it didn't at all make her pull away from his embrace. "And if we are going to get these lights—"

"We are."

He nodded, unable to fight the smile on his face. "We need to order some of them first, so I reckon we'll have to postpone a night under the stars for another time."

"But I can still come over to your place."

"I wouldn't want anything else."

She flashed him one of the many smiles that she reserved solely for him, the ones where she was so blatantly happy at his words but didn't want to show too much of her enthusiasm, and so the end result was a curve of her lips that revealed just the slightest bit of teeth, with the smile still reaching her eyes. He'd like to say that it made her about a million times more gorgeous, but the fact of the matter was that every little thing that she did seemed to enhance her beauty, with the plus fact that 'gorgeous' just didn't completely capture her in all of her essence.

Gorgeous was only an understatement for her.

On the way, they passed some stores, most of which had been closed out of fear for the oncoming snow that was threatening to overcome the city, though it didn't stop him from noticing the manner in which her eyes had caught on to one of the necklaces put on the window display. She wasn't at all the type to ask him for any sort of material item because she found it completely against her morals to use his wealth for her own benefit. There was also the fact that, as she'd once explained in a complex fashion, it wouldn't truly come out of his heart if she up and told him that she wanted something, as it would only seem as if he'd gotten it for her solely because she'd asked.

Perhaps he should get it for her sometime.

After all, it wasn't as if she was going to completely cast it aside like it was a piece of rubbish. The piece of silver would definitely be met with dismissal, but he knew that she'd secretly be appreciative for the gesture.

He didn't entertain that thought any longer though, and he instead relished in the soft crunching of the snow and the warmth of her body beside him.

There was honestly nothing better.


"Uno!" he'd announced as they eased into their first Uno game for the afternoon, the boxes of the other games that they'd played scattered in a mess atop his bed. There were some chess pieces thrown haphazardly about and intermingling with Monopoly money as they came to rest somewhere near Lily's legs.

"You can't call Uno on yourself," she laughed.

"Why not? In this round, it's James versus James versus Lily versus Lily. We're all pitted against ourselves and each other. Trust no one."

That had indeed been the truth, as the game couldn't really function with only two players, and so they'd decided to both play two hands each. They, as it seemed, hadn't managed to work out the rules of the game, and so they'd ended up swapping cards between their two hands.

Sirius, had he been introduced to this dual game of Uno, would have slowly snuck his cards into the discarded cards pile when he thought that James wasn't looking, and then he'd accuse him of cheating if James were to speak his observations. It was, apparently, in Sirius's nature to be as much of an arse as he could without stepping too far over an invisible line that most rational people knew not to cross, James included.

"Doesn't that just make it worse for you?"

"You'd have called it anyway."

"You could have given yourself another card from your other hand."

He waved it off. "I appreciate the tips and all, but in a game without any set rules, I'm afraid they don't matter much."

"That's an overstatement. You're just disregarding all the rules of Uno now."

"Yeah? Go Fish."

He felt his smile widening like the idiot that he felt that he was, because no one should be able to be smiling so hard from just the sight of someone rolling their eyes at him, which was precisely what Lily was doing now. "Will you somehow be turning this into a game of Scrabble now?"

"Do you think we could do that?"

"Considering the fact that these cards are literally coloured cards with numbers on them, no, I don't think so."

"You're not thinking outside of the box, which is very uncharacteristic of you. Look," he started, and he held out the cards in his left hand so that she could see them, "This clearly spells out 'confabulate.'"

"Oh, of course, how could I not realise? When I look at my hand, I so clearly see one word. Uno."

Despite them not having played a proper round since the one word had fallen from his lips, she still placed a random card down onto the pile of discarded cards so that there was only one in her hand, and he felt himself smiling at her actions, because there was quite possibly no one else who would ever play along with his shenanigans like she had. There was quite possibly no one else who could ever play along or was an equal in wit— not even an equal to him, having bested him when it came to practically every one of their conversations chock-full of banter.

These moments, seeming so small and insignificant when it came to the activity matter, seemed as if they were bright little fireflies lighting up the path to an idea that had been waiting on the other end the entire time, as if the path was absolutely the only way to the only idea that could ever be true. He'd been entertaining that thought for a while, been entertaining that feeling for a while, and the more fuel he gave it, the more he knew that it absolutely had to be true.

There was no possible way that he could ever be in love with anyone other than his soulmate, and that exactly was what James was— absolutely, positively in love. He was swimming in an ocean of affection towards the redhead, the only problem being that he was afraid that if he remained in the middle of the mysteriously terrifying body, he'd somehow drown in the waves of all that he felt towards her. The thing was, though, he didn't have to be so fearful, because she was his boat, ready to keep him afloat in the case that he might drown.

It was scary how much he felt for her and how big of a reaction she'd drawn from him simply from saying one tiny little harmless word, but it was the person who had made it all the better. It was her.

"Have you any idea what game we should play next?" he asked her, and her eyes, which had been focused on the cards as she put them all together in one neat little stack, moved upwards to make eye contact with him. He had no idea how he could ever get over just how green they were. He could never get over her in general.

She nodded. "It's my absolute favourite game: cleaning this mess up."

"I don't like your game already."

"Then, do you recommend anything better?"

"'Course. I'm the most fun person you'll ever meet in your life."

"Unfortunately, I feel less than inclined to say that title belongs to my dear sister."

"Petunia doesn't count," he said, waving it off, "She's on a completely different spectrum when it comes to comedic genius."

She smiled at his response. "So, your game?"

"Ah, right," he replied, and he gingerly took the cards from her hands, swiftly sliding them back into their box before carelessly throwing the deck onto his nightstand, a soft thud filling the air as the pack landed. He secured his arms around her waist, pulling her close to him, and he felt his heart speeding up at the manner in which she was looking at him, as if there were stars shining in his eyes that she could connect together to make her own constellation.

If she connected the dots together, he wondered what she would see. Perhaps it'd be poor old Icarus, who fell to his doom after flying too close to the sun, or maybe it'd be a simple cat, to which Sirius would have taken deep offence against, seeing as cats were naturally the enemies of dogs. It didn't seem to matter what the figure would be though, because his thoughts came to an abrupt halt when she smiled sweetly at him, and she reached up to cup his face between her hands.

"What are you thinking about?" he asked her, feeling his breath catching in his throat because he never, even after all of the time he'd spent in a relationship with her, learned to get over how every intimate moment of theirs seemed to be just as slow as their very first moment.

And it wasn't even intimate in the passionate love-making way, because they'd been holding that off until he felt that it was absolutely entirely certain that they were soulmates, and the action would finally lead up to the moments that verified that they did share the sacred mark. There was no rush, not when they had all the time in the world.

Her lip twitched upwards as she answered with, "Just how hot you are."

"You got the word right this time." He reached his hand up to one of hers, intertwining them as he marvelled at how perfectly they seemed to fit together. "May I?"

"You can kiss me any time, honestly."

He fought the goofy smile threatening to overcome his face, and so he bent his head forward so that his forehead was against hers. "Yeah?"

"I've just said it, didn't I?"

"Just in case you changed your mind," he teased, and he nudged her chin upwards before he let his lips fall into contact with hers, stars filling his vision as his eyes flew closed. There weren't many sensations that were better than this feeling right here, where his love for her was overwhelmingly taking his senses and rendering him weak to the heart, not able to fully fathom just how much he felt for her.

He tasted the frosting on her lips from earlier when they'd eaten cookies, and he was sure that she could taste the same on his lips, but the act itself seemed to be tremendously sweeter than anything they could ever eat. There was just something so alluring about kissing Lily Evans, something that pulled his heart right into her hands as she held the precious organ dearly to herself. His heart was in safe, precious hands.

Everything that they were doing— every breath that he was breathing, every fleeting moment where their hands touched as they memorised every inch of the other— only served to reaffirm that he was in love with her. So in love with her, to the point that he could practically feel his affections permeating through the open air, all too ready to transfer its way over to her.

He'd almost felt the words slipping from his lips, but such words would only lead them down a path that he didn't want to take quite just yet, because he was still absolutely terrified by his feelings for her. He didn't want to think about the fact that there was a possibility that they could be anything but the cursed word that began with the letter s.

Her hands had found their way to his hair, and he revelled in how nice it felt as he pulled her closer to him so that they were chest-to-chest. They pulled apart momentarily to catch a breath, and in that moment, both of their eyes flew open, to which both of them found it difficult to refrain from beaming at the other. It merely served to reassure him that she felt equally as strongly as he felt for her.

He kept the sight of her in his mind as he felt her lips crashing over his once again, and he felt heat sweeping over him, knowing that this kiss was far more different than the first one they'd share, but he wasn't going to complain.

He loved all of their kisses.

Loved their relationship, loved her.

He wasn't sure what it was that made this time more memorable than the others or why it was that in this very instance, his newly-found epiphany was hitting him in such a manner, but he knew that with every second that he spent with her, he'd fall deeper in love with her.

At one point, at some unknown time— whether it be seconds or minutes later— he found himself flipping them so that he was hovering over her, and the sudden shift in weight on the bed led to the sounds of various game pieces falling to the ground. Idealistically, he'd have rather that he found the ability to ignore the sounds and continue on, but the sounds were so abrupt and such a contrast compared to the sounds that they had been making that it was hard to refrain from bursting into laughter.

"I'm sorry, love," he told her when they'd calmed down, and he couldn't help the laugh that bubbled out from his lips after, "There goes the romantic bit. Maybe we should have cleaned up first."

Her mouth curved upwards at him, but not before she pulled him down to press one last little kiss on his lips. "That'd be entirely too unrealistic of me to expect that we're always going to be snogging. I like every other aspect of you as well."

"That makes two of us, I'd say."

She made a sound of open exasperation. "Even the cocky part of you."

"You give me that extra ego boost. Didn't you tell me I was 'hot' a while ago?"

"Was that not what you wanted me to call you?"

"Now it sounds like I'm just begging you for compliments."

"There's no need to beg. I'll give them to you on your own accord."

"Ah, don't do that, or I'll feel obligated to return your compliments, and then they wouldn't sound insincere. I'd essentially be downplaying my egoism. You look stunning by the way."

She sat up from the bed, snorting lightly. "Stunning? My hair probably looks a mess."

His eyes flickered over to her red strands, and some of it was sticking up in some places that they probably shouldn't have been because he'd gotten a bit too handsy, but it didn't at all detract from her beauty. "What's your point? You still look stunning. I love your personality."

"If you hadn't added that last bit, I'd be scoffing right now."

"Which is precisely why I added it, not to mention the fact that I, again, love your personality."

She merely stared at him before her firm resolve broke, and she finally said, "I suppose cleaning can wait, can it?"

"It can always wait," he affirmed with a smile, and the next thing that he knew was that they were kissing once again.


The sunlight drifted in through the windows as they sky gave rise to another day that James hoped had much in store for him.

He was aware of how warm he felt, because on every other day of the harsh winter, he'd have woken up cold; the heater had a tendency to bring far too much heat than his body could handle, and so he'd rather wake up too cold than too hot.

The sight of his room was a complete blur, his lack of glasses rendering him nearly blind, but it wasn't too hard for him to realise the situation at once, and when turning his head, he noted the redhead pressed up against him as she continued sleeping blissfully. She'd stayed the night, as they'd gotten too escalated with certain things that they hadn't noticed how quick time was slipping from their hands, and he didn't want her venturing out into the complete darkness when there were so many terrifying people who could have just been right around the corner.

The least he wanted was her to be accosted by the likes of the Salvation Army, especially during the month of December.

It was, in all honesty, a poor excuse to get her to stay the night, because he knew just how competent she was of defending herself. Then again though, if she made no protest to staying, then how poorly could that excuse have actually been?

They hadn't done anything more than kissing, and then they had a smashing time preparing dinner together, so he deemed the night wonderfully perfect, especially when he got to end it with her laying in his arms. He'd given her some of his clothes to change into, knowing that it would have made anybody uncomfortable at the thought of wearing two layers of both jeans and leggings to sleep.

He couldn't stop his mind from thinking that this would perhaps be what he would see every morning in a few years from now, and his heart let out a slew of emotions when he came to acknowledge that thought. He knew that if Sirius had access to his most vulnerable thoughts and feelings— and, in a sense, his mate did, seeing as James eventually came to tell him at least an idea of all of his heart's contents— he'd be subjected to much teasing, but that had been the norm for years since he'd discovered the idea of love and came to nourish it.

He leaned over her to press a light, airy kiss to her forehead, and, catching the sight of the small freckle usually concealed by her hair and one that she had on the back of her neck, he felt compelled to kiss that as well. It wasn't the mark, couldn't be, because he only had four freckles— one on his left wrist, two on his right arm, one falling below his left eye, and one last one on his abdomen— but he still felt some sort of pull towards it, as if it was a magnet of some sort.

The mark on his abdomen surely had to be the mark, because the other three marks of his just weren't present on her. He'd spent far too much time memorising the features of her face, and the only freckles featured were the ones dotting the top of her nose, though it was unanimously agreed by all people that such freckles were not soulmarks. Her arms had freckles on the complete opposite end of where James's freckles were, and so it left the one freckle he had left that he depended on to further validate their relationship— as if their relationship even needed any more validation.

She unceremoniously rolled over so that she was facing him, and it was then that he was blown away by how utterly beautiful she was, and even in her sleep, there was a softness to her face that was nearly a reflection of how kind she was.

If he had all the time in the world, he'd be able to count every single one of the pretty little freckles decorating her nose, and in fact, he'd nearly begun counting them— having made his way up to the twelfth freckle— when he felt her stirring beside him. When her eyes flew open, he was greeted with the sight of every single tint and shade of green, and he was sure that if he looked deeply enough, he'd be able to find a colour that was yet to have been invented.

She wiped the sleep from her eyes and yawned, her hand flying up to cover her mouth. "Good morning. Have you been staring?"

"'Morning," he smiled, "I can't help but focus on the artwork, you know."

"In different circumstances, that'd be a bit creepy."

"And in this circumstance?"

"Embarrassing," she answered, stretching lightly, "My hair is not at its best right now."

"I, for one, love your hair, messy or not. You put up with my hair, don't you?"

"The difference between us is that your hair makes you a million times more attractive."

"I am prone to disagree. Your hair looks cute."

"Messy hair is not a look for me. For you, on the other hand… I just, please keep it at this length?"

"Wasn't planning on changing it," he smiled, "And I, again, reiterate my point that I love your hair."

Though her hair certainly wasn't fanned out on the pillow like it was always described and portrayed in the movies, he still found that somehow, the manner in which her hair was sticking up in some places that they probably weren't supposed to only helped to make his heart fall soft. He wanted these moments to be included in a life with her and was completely prepared for all of the hardships and hurdles headed their way, even if they were reduced to something as trivial as the subject of hair.

The problem was that he didn't know what hurdles were coming in their direction, nor did he know how soon they could catch up to him.

It didn't matter for now, though, and so because of his tendency to focus on the present, he didn't at all feel his ease waver at all.

Perhaps he should have, but breakfast, at that very time and place, seemed much more important than any silly fear about their future.


It wasn't until nearly two weeks afterwards that the day, most definitely, was to be marked as a significant milestone in James and LIly's relationship.

His feelings had caught up to him, threatening to burst with every breath that they shared in the closeness and comfort of each other. He'd contained them, waiting until he was completely, one hundred percent sure that she felt the same way that he felt towards her, but there was honestly no need to for him to have ever held them in, because she'd assured him of her own feelings through her actions.

Whether it was from the way she ensured that he was completely fine in any aspect or just listened to the manner in which he tended to ramble about the things that he found himself passionate about— he'd once joked to her that he was passionate about her and that they were all disguised efforts to subtly talk about her to her— it didn't matter. Assurance was assurance, and she'd given him more than enough of it to keep him at ease.

He wasn't even trying to sound dramatic, but he swore that he couldn't even remember how life had been like before he had met her, and all that he knew was that he definitely was not as happy as she made him. It was strange, he mused, that just the thought of her and all of the positivity that she brought with every single one of her steps made mirth bubble up within himself.

If he could pour all of his love for her as the form of rain so as to bless every single person on the earth, he was sure that it would bring showers that would last for centuries onward, and even then, that still wasn't enough. It wasn't even close to enough.

Ironically enough, the day that the three little words had fallen from his lips was a day in which the rain had decided to come down upon the earth, as if it was willing to demonstrate how much love James held for Lily.

He'd walked her to his home, of course, though 'walking' wasn't the most fitting word to use, because it was far too cold to be casually walking through the streets of London, especially when the dark grey clouds looming over them were threatening to spill if they didn't make it to their destination quick enough. They'd made it in just enough time, and the clouds seemed to have waited for them to find cover before releasing every single bit of its contents in a downpour over the surfaces of the world.

"You wet?" he asked her as soon as they made it inside, and she shook her head, smiling softly at him.

"And you?"

"Dryer than I could ever be when I'm wet."

"That was a horrible comparison."

"It got my point across, so I'd say it was perfect."

"You're perfect," she replied, and there was no trace of sarcasm in her tone, which only helped to further assure him of her feelings for him.

He threw his coat down onto the nearby couch and looked at her— really looked at her— as he smiled at her. "I know. Just the knowledge of that makes it one of my leading flaws, sadly."

He'd expected her to come up with some ingenious bout of wit to respond to his words, something that would make him would to match up to her, but instead, the words that she'd let fall from her lips, which were the very same words that were crafted by an ancient linguist who knew the power of the combination of words and matters of the heart. "I love you," she said sincerely, earnestly, and with a trace of shyness that was overcome by her confidence in the utterance of such words.

He felt his breath hitch in his throat at her confession, because out of anything she could have said, she said the only phrase that could make him feel weak to his knees while simultaneously believing that he could do just about anything. "Do you— really?"

She nodded, and her smile grew to reveal her teeth. "I don't see why there's any reason to doubt that. I've been painfully obvious about it."

Her confirmation sent his heart whirling, flying, soaring with the birds as it made its ascent into a state of inconceivable mirth, and the next thing that he knew was just how lovely she felt against him, his arms secured around her waist and his lips on hers. "I love you so much," he told her, but there was truly no need, not when his actions were more than telling of his emotions.

They'd kissed far more times than any of his fingers could count, but somehow, when such precious words were uttered into the open air for the entire world to take in, the sensations that came with such intimacy were only elevated. He'd known for the longest time that he was in love with her, so much to the point that he could feel it glowing within his bones, sparkling in his eyes, pounding with every thud of his heart.

There was only so much love that a person could feel, but with Lily Evans, it seemed that his love for her had no limit, could only grow stronger with each breath that he took and each step that he'd take.

Their kiss was slow, so tantalising, and yet he still couldn't find it in his willpower to still the franticness of his heart, which had been moving so quickly that he wouldn't at all be surprised if it had somehow managed to work its way out of his body to be with her.

His fingers drifted up to her hair, tucking it behind her ears so as to keep it out of her face, and he pulled away momentarily to keep the image of her, what with the way her lips were slightly parted and her eyes closed so as to savour the feeling. It didn't help that she looked so utterly blissful in his arms, and his hand cupped her chin gently, running soft circles on them before he kissed her once again.

She let out a sigh of content, which was, in all honesty, the sweetest of all sounds that he could ever be graced to ever hear. He'd take it over any of the most loveliest of tunes that an orchestra could ever offer him, though Lily Evans was an orchestra herself, every single little part of her contributing greatly to the beauty that graced every single one of his senses every single day of his life.

He didn't know when it had happened or even who had initiated it, but the next thing he knew was that he was pressing lines of soft little kisses all around her, as if he was laying out seeds in a garden that would surely bloom into a field of flowers. His lips fell against the freckle on her neck, finding something so irresistibly alluring about that freckle, before moving right back over her lips, which seemed to have been etched into a permanent smile.

He knew, that in this moment, he'd learn the truth about just how perfect they were for one another, the one final piece to the puzzle that they'd been putting together for the longest of times, but there was no rush. Why should there be a rush, when he knew that he'd have all the time in the world to learn everything there was to know about one another?

Her fingers hooked themselves beneath his shirt, nudging it off of him, and the open air quickly came to unleash its wrath upon his chest, and the coldness that came from the touch of her fingers didn't seem to help. The manner in which her fingers traced his skin, as if he was a map of an exotic, unexplored world, made it seem like she would leave behind a mark that would last for days, weeks, months. He reached over to take her hands in his, squeezing them gently so as to warm them, and she smiled softly at the small act.

Her hands ultimately found their way back to his cheeks, and she pulled herself closer to him so as to make her breath ghost over his lips before enclosing over them once again.

He couldn't put into exact words just how much he felt for her now at the moment, but he knew that there had to be a reason why every single bit of his love for her seemed to encompass him like a blanket, holding him so tightly that he'd nearly forget to breath. When he'd remembered— inhale and exhale— each breath only seemed to serve as a reminder that she was there beside him, in any given moment of the day.

There was a reason why she was living in his heart.

Every second that he'd spent with her seemed to lead up to this very instance— this moment of truth— and he knew that when he pulled her shirt off, he'd know the very reason for as to why she seemed to overtake every single one of his senses.

The rain was pattering down onto the window just as loudly as it had been since they'd entered his flat, and yet there was something so soothingly beautiful about the added effect that it had on him. It should have been a sound that was far too intruding than he'd wanted to, but the fact of the matter was that he was only vaguely aware of the sound because he was far too focused on her to even remotely care. It added to the naturalness of it all.

His fingers delicately held the fabric of her shirt in his hand, tugging it upwards with just the slightest of motion as he focused more on the softness of her lips rather than the erratic movements of his heart. When her shirt came off, he opened his eyes slowly, and he was unable to help his eyes from flickering down from her chest to her stomach, because it was there; it had to be there, and—

He felt every last bit of his soul fall apart and the breath that he'd begun to take fall short, and no no no. This couldn't be it. This couldn't—

Where was the mark?

Where was the dark little freckle that he'd placed so much of his hope into?

He felt chills running down his spine, because there was supposed to be a mark that matched his own on her stomach, yet there was absolutely nothing on the wide expanse of exposed skin that could have surely been the mark. She'd noticed the sudden shift in atmosphere immediately; how could she not, when just a moment ago, he was kissing her with all of the love that he could have given her?

"James—"

"You— you don't have it?" He ignored the manner in which his voice cracked near the end of his words, but she did not, her eyes beginning to lose the mirth that he'd been so eager to give her.

"Sorry?"

"The soulmark. I— I thought you'd have one on your stomach like I do, because that's the only mark I've got left that doesn't—"

He stopped himself, unable to finish the thought, because he still couldn't fully process the turn in events, and the rain suddenly seemed to be ten times louder than it had harder been, as if it was now striking his heart rather than just the outside world. He couldn't bear to even look her in the eye, but he knew her enough that she would be quick to catch on to the implications of his words. If he were to look into the swirling depths of her eyes, he'd undoubtedly see emotions that reflected his own, and he couldn't bring himself to see such a sight.

"You're not saying what I think you're saying."

"It's not there."

Her eyes, usually so bright and glowing, suddenly grew dim, and the firm grip that she had on him loosened. "This is a trick, isn't it? You've got to have it. We've got to be—"

He shook his head at her. "I've only got four." He didn't need to elaborate on where they were, because he had often found her fingers skimming over them, but this last one, this stupid mark that was supposed to be theirs to share, was left neglected. He didn't want it to be there if she didn't have one to match.

He willed himself to look at her, because she deserved that much, but it only left him regret on his part. Of course there was still a flicker of hope in her eyes, but he knew that soon, even that would die out like the very last spark of a candle, and it hurt him even more at the knowledge that it would ultimately be him that blew that spark out.

Her eyes were casted downwards, and heard her shudder deeply, trying her utmost hardest to keep calm. "There's got to— We can make it work."

He swallowed deeply, and even found that difficult to do. He shook his head at her. "How?"

"Isn't our love enough? We can still try."

The truth was that he wanted to give their relationship a try, but just the knowledge that they weren't actually meant to be, no matter how much they wanted to believe the opposite, would weigh them down. No matter how much he loved— loves— her, it wouldn't be enough to conquer the fact that they were not truly made for one another. Just the thought that they weren't each others' other halves would cause complications that would slowly lead to arguments that could only end in more miserable to surround both of them. "Relationships between non-soulmates are never successful, Lily."

"Please don't say that." She sniffled loudly, and he'd have rather died a thousand deaths than to hear the sound of her in pain. "James, please. I don't care. I won't leave you."

"Lily, we can't—"

"We can," she assured him, and she took his hands in hers, "Can't you see that I don't care about a mark? I love you. James, I love you. Please—"

"Lily," he cut her off painfully, and something flashed in her eyes before disappearing. "Please don't make this harder than it already is."

"You're not even going to try?"

He didn't answer her.

He knew how stubborn of a person she was, and to watch the fight in her eyes die out as quickly as they were seemed to twist his heart and tug at it from every single direction. Her actions were futile, and she was well aware of it. She breathed in deeply, unable to help the shudders that rang out through her body, and she tore her hands out of his, bringing them up to his chest instead as they lightly pounded against him. "I hate you, James Potter. I hate you. Hate you, hate you, hate the fact that you've made me so bloody in love with you, and—"

He leaned down, cutting her off effectively as his lips closed against hers for what he knew would be the last time, and the happiness that they were supposed to feel for their first time was instead something completely different. He was far too focused on the overwhelming taste of the saltiness of her tears, too focused on the sobs escaping her lips to feel anything but the pleasure he should have been feeling.

She didn't draw away, though he hadn't expected her to. He knew that she was far from hating him, and when her sharp words were reduced to nothing but a fit of cries, there was nothing that he could do but relieve the pain with soft kisses.

He shouldn't be allowed to be able to continue on with her, and yet she made no resistance when his fingers hooked around the last bits of garment separating their skin from meeting. He trained his eyes on her chest, and, though he felt far too undeserving of such a sight, he forced himself to bring his lips to her curves, pressing light kisses against her skin.

He was supposed to be appreciating every inch of her beauty, not savouring it because it would be the last and only time that he would ever see it. He wasn't prepared to leave her, wasn't prepared to live a life without her in it. This act was perhaps the only way that he could properly love her goodbye, the only way he could properly show her how much he loved her.

The fact of the matter was that he wasn't her soulmate, and she wasn't his. It was a truth that he'd have to face, and no glue could hold their relationship together no matter how hard they tried.

He touched every inch of her, so as to hopefully leave a mark on every single part of her, even if just to compensate for the fact that she would never have the mark that he so desperately wished that she had. If they couldn't last forever, perhaps the marks left in his name could.

In the moments that there was nothing physical separating their bodies from one another, he couldn't help but dwell on how his first time was supposed to be joyful, not near their breaking point.

But when it had finally come down to that point, where their physical and emotional connections were supposed to have been at their utmost highest, the pain seemed to outweigh any pleasure that he was supposed to feel.


find me on tumblr lovesickjily so we can scream over how much of an idiot james is lol