A/N: The title is from a poem I read recently, After All by Henry Lawson
It was tantamount to suicide.
He knew it, but how could he resist? It made her look at him, notice him, light up in front of him.
She whirled around in her seat, red hair whipping behind her, green eyes glinting as they narrowed. The insults whipped from her pretty little mouth, but he pushed them past his ears. He'd learned long ago not to listen.
He let himself thrive in these moments. When she stood in front of him, eyes blazing and hands gesturing impassionedly at him, James smiled.
Lily Evans took on everything she did with passion. She laughed until she cried, she cried until there were no tears left. She was bursting and alive, and poured herself into every emotion she experienced.
Except with James Potter. With James Potter she was quiet bordering on rudeness. She would turn away from him in disdain whenever he approached. She ignored him - and James Potter did not like to be ignored. He admired her loyalty to her sniveling, death eater friend that he bullied, but the obstacle it presented in their inexorable love annoyed him. In James' presence she wasn't herself, she wasn't alive. So what else to do, but light a spark?
The spark would grow into an inferno, and he sometimes gazed at strands of her hair, thinking that it would not be such a stretch to call them flames.
Their eyes locked, hazel softening while emerald burned.
It was tantamount to suicide.
But there was nothing James loved more than setting Lily Evans on fire.
A/N: Thank you for reading! I have managed to convince myself that this isn't completely horrendous, and I know it's really short, but I've never written anything that wasn't for school before, so y'know a review would be awsome
