k.

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He would always love her in a way, in a way that in later years when he's asked to explain he says he can't. In his mind he doesn't even understand, but when someone leaves such memories like she did – when they imprint upon your soul in such a way, it'll never leave. Time doesn't heal all wounds and this he is grateful for, because her, he never wants to forget.

Ironically - naturally even, it would be her he falls in love with. Her who he must never have, just out of reach but he knows if he stretched he could grab her with both hands but he doesn't want to.

She'll always belong to James, and no matter how much his heart beats to the want, no – it's become the need now, of Lily Evans, Sirius will ignore it and push it to the side because he never takes things that aren't his. She will never be his, and he must learn that.

It was not a discipline to learn that she was not his, it was a casual fact. When acquaintances would talk about her, others would reply, "Lily? You mean James' Lily?" like she didn't even have a last name anymore. But Sirius remembered, he's determined to call her Evans even after she has become a Potter. Which whether he wants to realize it or not, will happen.

And it will hurt.

'Love' he calls her, without a second thought. It's natural for him to state it and natural for others not to question it. When someone does eventually ask him why he calls her that he merely shrugs, says it's always been her name to him, says it always will be. No matter how much he may deny it to himself, and no matter how much he would laugh at others suggestion of it, he loves her with all his heart.

A heart that's not used to feeling these kinds of strong emotions, and so it battles. It rages inside his chest when her leg accidentally brushes his in the Great Hall at dinner, and it squeezes itself into the smallest ball when he sees James touch her with such affection. When her green eyes brighten at the sight of him, and come to life when he holds her and gently places his hand on her face.

Oh, how Sirius wishes that hand could be his. He lies awake at night thinking about how soft those lips would be to touch, to kiss, to be his forever. How better his life would be if she just loved him back.

If it was as simple as walking up to her and saying he loves her and running away.

If she was any other girl he would've either claimed her or moved on. But look at her; with her fiery red hair and vulnerable eyes, she's addictive. One look and it intoxicates you, hooks you, and he had been hit the hardest of them all. She was impossible to move on from, she was impossible to push to the side.

So naturally he would cover it up, when he sees her in the train in first year and he's left looking at her a bit too much longer than necessary he does it to Severus too, acts like it's just the way he is. When she leaves the cabin and James first talks of her, sticking his face as close to the compartment window as possible and watching her walk away Sirius knows that the resounding comment of 'nice' will affect him differently than to what he could expect.

When she pouts, his grey eyes can't help but track their ways along her lips, entranced by the perfect symmetry and the way her bottom lip is just, ever so slightly bigger than her top. When she cries his reactions call out for his body to wrap itself around hers, to protect her from the world and all it's inhabitants, he needs to clench his hand into a fist to stop it from stroking away her tears.

And when he dreams of her, of her body lying next to his, he treasures every stolen moment he can get. Never once closing his eyes for too long, because he needs to remember this, he needs to remember her as he wished she was – in love with him.

Every flicker of her eyes from his silver pools to his lips is imprinted, stained into his memory. Every touch of her hand entwined in his is remembered, along with how soft her skin feels, and the fact that when he kisses the hollow of her neck her breathing gets shallower.

She loves it when he traces along her arms with his fingertips, and she's extremely ticklish in the most absurd places.

And when he finally wakes he does not have tears in his eyes from the fact that this is not his reality, he is mildly content with the time they spent together and longs for when he can go back to sleep.

On the bad days he makes sure he has a replacement, not that they could ever even compare to Lily in his mind. He knows it isn't the "right" thing to do, knows that he's just playing each girl like the last, but the time he spends with them gently numbs the ebbing pain of the hole Lily has carved into him without even realizing.

Without her he is incomplete and the knowledge that she will never be his has broken his soul in a way that it can never heal. His heart will always beat the jagged rhythm of the need of Evans in his life, and everything will always remind her of him; the colour green, faint blush along a woman's cheek, the sound of a little girl laughing, train tracks and love.

He will always be broken in a way that's incomprehensible to the world, his heart will never fully be whole and his laughter will never really be quite true.

If anyone asked him whether he was in love with her, he would deny it to the world's end, but no one ever would. Because as much as this pain is virginal to him, it's become such a part of his entirety that no one can distinguish it from himself. Sirius Black cannot exist without the cleverly crafted abyss that longs for Lily Evans.

a/n: Just a drabbly monologue/prose/OneShot with Sirius and his thoughts for Evans.
Thoughts? Reviews?
All shall be returned.

Title from Starving Your Friends; Envy on the Coast