A/N: Am I back? Probably not. This is something I've been working on for a long time, but between starting my freshman year of college and dealing with everything that comes along with it, it's been awful hard to keep up with writing. But hey! At least I'm posting /something?

To those who also read Talk Me Down: I have no clue when I'm going to be able to post a new chapter, but I'm most definitely not abandoning it. I just want to make it the best it can be and not rush through it.

I hope you enjoy this! Let me know if you do. Happy 2018! x

Disclaimer: I own 0 of the things.

One.

Let it go on record that Lily doesn't usually go knocking on people's doors, especially not after getting completely toasted on wine. At least, she doesn't make a habit out of it. If it helps her case, it has only happened once before, and Benjy was an awful good sport about it. Especially considering she's moved in all of three months ago and that was the first time she actually spoke to any of her neighbours.

This time, however, it's different. Because to be fair, she's had a really shit day, what with Hestia messing up the deadlines and scheduling meetings for when she knows Lily can't be there and. Ugh.

You see, the thing is that most of the time, Lily actually enjoys working at the Daily Prophet. The paper gives her a platform to speak out about important issues, stuff that actually matters, and she's proud to be a part of it.

But then there's the days when she feels like she's running a marathon against the world, when she's tired and exhausted of fighting the same fucking battles, and it gets really hard. Don't get her wrong, Lily knows that being white makes her privileged, but her mother was still an immigrant and so with everything that's going around, she can't help but feel a bit unwanted. Then, she turns on the telly and sees a new Trayvon Martin, and she swallows the damn frog in her mouth and gets back to work.

The point is, some days, when Lily gets home after hauling ass at the office, all she wants to do is take a bath and maybe (definitely) drink some Merlot (maybe a little more).

This is one of those days.

She picks up a package at the front desk, not even bothering to read the label. Her feet are blistering and she feels suffocated in that damn pencil skirt, and so the first thing she does when she gets home—after taking her bra off, of course—is get into one of her dad's old t-shirts. Then, she grabs a frozen curry she got from Tesco and throws it in the oven. Hopefully, she doesn't burn it, but to be fair, her expectations are low. This is why she's got Papa John's number on speed-dial.

The knots on her back only unravel when Lily sinks completely inside the bathtub. The water is scalding hot, and there's a few too many Lush products inside, which in turn makes it a pretty disgusting shade of brown. It does smell pretty fucking bomb though, and so Lily lets it slide. There's a glass of wine in one of her hands and a magazine in the other, and for a few minutes, Lily is content.

And then the fire alarm goes off. Stupid curry.

It seems that there's someone up above deliberately messing with her life, because just as she's stumbling out of the tub, she accidentally kicks the glass and it spills wine all over her white robe. Whatever, she'll deal with the stain later.

After struggling for a while, the smoke detector is finally silent, and Lily rings up the pizza place and asks for the usual—a medium spicy Italian. It's delicious every time. Then, Lily glances at the kitchen counter and the package is still there, untouched, and for some reason she feels mocked.

She marches—or stomps, really—to the fancy looking, glorified slab of marble she bought off the IKEA sale (or was it Home Sense? She's not sure.) It only takes one look at the label to send Lily over the edge.

Because there, in bold black letters, is the straw that breaks Lily's figurative camel's back.

"PRIORITY MAIL 2-DAY™

TO: James Potter"

You see, if it were anyone else—and Lily really does mean anyone—she'd be perfectly fine with simply going up a couple of floors and giving back the package to its rightful owner, but the mailman is constantly mixing up Potter's and hers addresses, and more often than not she comes home to a package of Amazon Prime that in reality, isn't actually for her.

She also doesn't make it a habit to open up other people's mail, but it's late, she's tired, Potter's too attractive for his own good, and besides, she's curious as to how the bloke can afford to order so much shit. Amazon isn't as cheap as they say, and especially not if you're ordering stuff every other day. Shit adds up.

She pierces through the brown tape with a kitchen knife, and part of her actually isn't surprised at what she finds.

She takes the lift and makes her way to 5C, and after ringing the doorbell, she sees him. At this point, Lily is so annoyed she doesn't even have it in her to acknowledge his attractiveness.

Instead, she says, "Dude, what the fuck did you order thirty tubes of super glue for?"

If Lily were in his shoes, and someone came to her house with a foul attitude and an even fouler mouth, she'd probably slam the door in their faces. For some reason, though, Potter doesn't, choosing instead to lean on his door jamb, looking… amused?

It annoys her even more. And it makes her feel vulnerable, for some reason.

"Do you always open up other people's mail or was this a special occasion?"

"The mailman keeps mixing shit up and delivering your packages to my floor. You can't help that a girl gets curious."

"More like nosey," he snaps back, but his smile is softer now, less of a smirk and more of a grin. All the tension is suddenly replaced with something else. Lily can't pinpoint with what, exactly, but it's good.

Lily laughs. "Yes, that too. Besides, most of the time it says on the package, and let me tell you, you buy some weird stuff."

"Do I? I hadn't noticed."

"This girl still hasn't forgotten the five litres of neon nail polish from last month. It always leaves me wondering what kind of stuff you get up to."

Potter-from-5C sighs.

"My best mate is unconventional in his madness."

Lily raises a single eyebrow, lips twitching to form a smile.

"Admittedly, the super glue was all me," he concedes. "Would you like to come in?"

She shrugs. What does she really have to lose?

As they make their way through the house, Potter adds, "Mum's in town and she can be a bit pushy, but I can make you a cup of tea if you'd like."

"That sounds nice, actually. What do you have?"

"Just about everything. Take your pick, really."

"Will you judge me if I ask for breakfast tea?"

"Only a little."

Then there's shuffling and a small woman—Potter's mum, Lily assumes—appears on the doorway. She's tiny, really, and her saree is impeccable. Almost as beautiful as the one Dorcas from HR wore to Mary's wedding the past fall.

"Good evening, dear, how are you?" Mrs. Potter asks, sporting a kind smile and a twinkle in her eyes. Then, she turns to her son and adds, "honestly, James, you aren't even going to introduce us?"

Potter—James—is quick to oblige. Well, almost.

"Mum, this is—uh, I've just realised I don't actually know your name."

"I'm Lily Evans, ma'am," Lily adds, offering a hand to Mrs. Potter, who in turn pulls her in for a hug. "I live in 4B."

"You can call me Euphemia, dear. Have you had dinner yet?"

An alarm goes off in Lily's brain. Papa John's. "Actually, I should have a pizza arriving soon, so maybe I should get going. Some other time?"

James' eyes twinkle behind his glasses. "Another time, then. Let me show you out."

The corridor feels much smaller this time. Maybe because Lily doesn't really want to leave.

It's especially strange considering not over half an hour ago, she was ready to off the bloke and sell his bits on Ebay.

Then, she feels something graze her ankle, and it's only after noticing the way Potter's doubled over in laughter that she realises the shrill sound she heard was herself shrieking.

"That would be Algernon," James clarifies.

"Algernon?"

"My cat. He's lazy and orange and can't fetch for shit, but we love him anyway."

"Potter," she stops, turning to get a better look at him. "You do realise most cats don't fetch, don't you?"

"Algernon is not most cats." He says it so bluntly, that Lily can't really find it in her to argue about it anymore. "Mum wasn't joking about dinner, by the way. She'll have my head on a silver platter if I don't come through."

"I'd like to see that happen, funnily enough."

"Ah-bloody-ha. You're hilarious."

"I know, I try, thank you." It's only then Lily remembers she's currently wearing a wine stained robe and not much else, and soon her cheeks are as red as her hair. Staring at the ground, she pockets her hands and adds, "so, about that super glue?"

"Another time, Lily," James reminds her, and it only aids in the darkening of her cheeks.

"All right." Then, before she can talk herself out of it, she gets a little closer and gingerly places a kiss on James' cheek. It's warm, and softer than she expected, and it throws her off a little. "Well, goodbye then."

Two.

The next time Lily sees him, she's fully clothed. It's late in the afternoon, and she's still frazzled from her journey through Central Line. Apparently, rush hour in high heels isn't very comfortable. Who would've thought?

As soon as she finally gets to her overpriced apartment complex, she takes off her shoes and walks her own personal walk of shame to the lift.

Mrs. Figg from 1A is holding the lift door open for her, and Lily wheezes out a thank you. The sturdy stainless steel doors are just about to close when a brown hand forces them open.

"Evans," James greets her, his trademark smirk plastered on his face.

"Potter." She nods. Then, she feels her own lips stretch into a grin, and she adds, "so, how's Mama Potter doing?"

"Oh, she's doing grand. Waitrose had thirty-percent off on all chocolate bars and so she went a bit nutty."

There's a pause.

"Get it?"

Lily's jaw drops open, but then she hears Mrs. Figg—lovely, cat-loving, cabbage-smelling Mrs. Figg—clear her throat and it snaps back closed.

"Are any of you going to push the button or?"

"Right, sorry."

The ride up is a somewhat awkward one. Luckily, Mrs. Figg gets off early in the journey, and soon the atmosphere becomes much more relaxed. It's a shame their apartment complex actually invested in fast lifts.

"Do you wanna come in for a second?" she asks, the steel door closed enough so that it's not in the way, but open enough so that they can talk without having to worry about the lift going up. "They're supposed to be playing Scorpion reruns tonight."

"Yeah, sure. Let me just go up for a bit to feed Algernon and I'll head down after."

"You can bring him, if you want. My sister hates cats, but luckily I don't live with her anymore."

"All right. I'll be right back." James winks, and after letting go of the door, Lily takes a deep breath.

Oh boy.

Then, she's rushing to unlock her door, chuck her pumps somewhere in her room, and make sure there's nothing super embarrassing lying around, like old pictures from before Lily had braces or a stray bra.

Sooner than she could have expected, she hears the familiar sound of her doorbell, and when Lily opens the door, she's met with James, who's carrying the fattest cat she's ever seen, and a bottle of expensive champagne.

Lily knew there was a reason she liked him.

"Thought we'd make things a little more interesting. I don't know about you, but I could use a proper passing out."

"What do you do?"

"I'm a lawyer. Awful corporate of me, I know, but it's not half bad. Most of the time, that is."

Lily shrugs. "It could be worse."

"Yeah," James nods. "It could be."

The night ends with an empty glass bottle, and a sleepy James Potter on Lily's couch. It's a good thing the next day is the weekend. Biting her lip, Lily sneakily snaps a picture of him and sends it to her friends' chat group. Mary goes insane, and Lily goes to bed with a smile on her face.

She wakes up to the smell of coffee and toast.

"Morning," James says, now wearing the comfiest-looking pair of grey sweatpants (had he run back to his flat to get them?). "I was aiming for pancakes, but couldn't find your pans. Sorry."

"Hey, toast and caffeine feel like a five-star hotel meal compared to what I usually bother with. You didn't have to do this, so thanks."

"I kind of did, though. You have the softest sofa." Lily laughs, careful not to spit coffee anywhere. "I can assure you that if you were the one sleeping over, you'd have the worst back ache in the world."

Suddenly, Lily's cheeks are the colour of her hair and she almost feels burnt. She swallows what feels like a too large piece of bread, and chugs down a glass of water. Then, she pulls out her phone, and starts snapchatting. She has to say, credit where credit's due, and James Potter looks fine with the puppy filter.

Three.

It's not a date.

Sure, they're having dinner at James' place, and she actually has his phone number now, but his mum and best mate—Sirius, he tells her—will both be there, so it's not as though it actually counts.

And if she spends a little extra time fussing over how she looks, well that's her business. Besides, the first time she met both him and Mrs. Potter, she was wearing a dirty bathrobe and her hair was pulled up in a messy top knot. Lily figures she should at least put some effort in this time.

She hears the faint ping of her phone, and of course, of course it's him.

5C to Red: what's red and bad for your teeth?

He's nervous, she can tell. It's gotten to a point where she actually knows James well enough to be able to tell. Maybe he's hoping this non-date date will lead to something more, too.

She's not stubborn enough that she won't admit she's started to fall for him.

Red to 5C: I have a feeling I'm going to regret asking—what?

5C to Red: a brick

Red to 5C: That joke was awful. Like, even for you.

Red to 5C: Just terrible, really.

5C to Red: you get what you pay for

5C to Red: and im free

Potter, she texts back, because even though she's grown accustomed to his terrible humour, it's not like she can give him the satisfaction of knowing.

Red to 5C: You're actually not, may I remind you

5C to Red: shhhhh. stop it.

5C to Red: i kno u like it

Red to 5C: I really don't. I'm only in this for Algernon.

5C to Red: dinner's gonna get cold if u don't hurry up

Red to 5C: You're so impatient, oh my gOD

Red to 5C: Leaving

She adds a kissy emoji, partly because she's feeling a little out of her wits, partly because she likes seeing him frazzled. It's always the highlight of her week.

This time, Lily takes the stairs. It's only one flight, and besides, it helps her take some of the edge off. The soft tacking of her heels against the smooth marble is comforting in the same way a ticking clock would be. Consistent, dependable, grounding.

She's at his door before she knows it.

The doorbell seems too shrill, the corridor lights too yellow, the air too tight. Still, she looks killer in her dress, and even if the bobby pins are harsh against her scalp, Lily knows she's got it.

"Are you caught up on Grey's?" Lily asks, twirling a bit of pasta in her fork.

"Please," Sirius scoffs, taking a sip of his wine. "I know that show like I know my own family tree."

"Not at all, then?" James replies, smirking, and the ease, the familiarity between the two of them is palpable.

"You know me too well."

"Well, duh. I've put up with you long enough."

It's… different than what she's used to, for sure. Lily wonders what it must be like to have that kind of relationship with someone, where a simple glance communicates entire speeches and every sentence seems laced with inside jokes. She has her friends—Mary, and Donna and Alice from work—but it's not the same. She wouldn't trade the sleepovers, the nights out, the wine-sipping, getting ready sessions for anything in the whole world, but a part of her still wishes she had that with someone.

When James places a hand on her shoulder, she wonders if she already has.

Four?

They've made plans to visit this fancy bar in Chelsea together. It's in a weird part of town but apparently their Martinis are to die for, and James has had a rough week at the office and could use the distraction. Lily, of course, is up for it, but she's already so far gone that she would have done pretty much anything James asked her to.

The goal is to meet him at the lobby, head for the tube and get shit-faced drunk together. Lily can definitely work with that.

She isn't, however, prepared to deal with the butterflies in her stomach, which seemed to erupt in a frenzy at the mere sight of James. He's wearing dark slacks and a burgundy shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and looks, to be perfectly honest, like a fucking snack. No, scratch that. James Potter is a full five-course meal.

"Potter," she says, appearing much more confident than she feels, "you clean up well."

If she were to look in the mirror, Lily's positive her pupils would be blown wide beyond proportion. The spots on Lily's arm James touched are tingling, and if there was some sort of thermal scanning machine nearby, she's sure it'd be able to pick up on it.

Just as they're leaving Charing Cross, the train lurches, causing Lily to uncomfortably knock into James. She's already nervous—even though she shouldn't, really, because this is James but at the same time this is James—but the fact that she's also in four-inch heels nearly sends her flying to the floor.

Luckily, he's there to catch her fall.

He's cradling her arm and her hand is on his chest, and is it just her, or did it suddenly get really hot? Lily could have sworn that cologne scent wasn't there before.

It's a good thing they're almost at their stop. She's not sure how much more she can handle.

Between the exposed forearms, the crooked glasses and the hair, it's safe to say things have become quite hard for Lily. And when Lily notices the way James proper gulps, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down in his throat, she's about ninety-percent positive James is feeling the same.

When they reach The Leaky Cauldron, it doesn't take long for Lily to get a little more than tipsy, having started by downing her drinks like no other, wanting to rid herself of some tension. Looking back on it, she's sure it wasn't one of her best decisions. After all, she may be able to handle more than James, but at heart she's still a lightweight.

It almost seems inevitable at this point.

It's nearly Christmas, and the lights are shining over James' face, and his eyes are glowing a million different shades of gold—it's all a bit too much, if she's being honest with herself.

She's wearing her short-as-fuck black slip dress, and her hand is on James' shoulder and his hand is on her thigh and of course they end up making out in the girl's bathroom.

She feels seventeen again.

Her body flush against his, lips touching, hips grazing, eyes closed, mouth open, gasping for air.

"I wanted to do this right," he sighs into Lily's ear, making her shiver.

She shushes him. "Don't worry," she says, and then she's clutching his jaw and kissing him again. "You are."

James replies with a grunt.

It's unconventional for her, of course, but she loves it.

Lily knows that James cares about her—she isn't completely clueless. She's just glad they've finally stopped dancing around each other and actually done something about it. However things turn out in the morning, they'll deal.

She's positive.