Snapshot
The room was quiet when he came in, but of course it was. It was nighttime. She was trying to sleep. And he had to come in and interrupt it all.
She turned over on her back and opened her eyes. "What?" she said hoarsely
"I'm here." He stood awkwardly in the doorway, not moving any closer as she sat up, ran her fingers through her dark red hair, and sighed.
"So?"
"So, I'm here," he repeated, annoyed. "You wanted to see me. Sirius said you wanted to see me."
"Yeah, not in the middle of the night," she said, equally annoyed. "I wanted to see you earlier. Or later. Not now."
He shrugged wordlessly.
She didn't say anything either.
"Aren't you going to talk to me?" he wanted to know, watching her as she fiddled with the hem of her T-shirt. Maybe she didn't remember, but the shirt was his. An old one. He'd let her keep it, since she was always so comfortable in his clothing.
If she'd remembered, she'd have probably stopped wearing it.
"Well?" he pressed.
She didn't look at him. "No."
--
He found it was harder to see her, which wasn't right. It should've been getting easier.
"Wake up," he said to her sleeping figure. She stirred.
"Where am I?" she asked blearily, rubbing her eyes.
"Hospital. Third time you've asked."
"Fuck."
"Yeah."
There was a long silence, and then he said, "I'm going to get going now."
Her hand reached out and grasped his wrist. "No, don't," she said. "Hear me out."
"What's there to hear?"
"Everything," she said. "We're nineteen. Fighting for a common goal. We should be able to talk this out."
He turned to her and scowled, suddenly very angry. "I tried to talk this out with you. You didn't hear a single word I said."
"I need to know what you want," she pleaded.
"I want the same thing that I wanted before," he told her.
"You can't have it."
"Hence why I'm leaving," he snapped, and he left, feeling an unfamiliar jealousy in the pit of his stomach.
--
She crawled under the covers, careful not to touch him, so careful that he really could not stand it. So he grabbed her wrist and said loudly, "What?"
She squeaked, startled, and for a moment he felt very satisfied.
But then she said, "Please."
Just like that.
"Please what?"
"Please let's talk."
"There's nothing to talk about. You said it yourself, I can't have what I want."
She flinched. "What about me?"
What about you, indeed. "What do you want?"
"To be civil -"
"No."
She looked taken aback. "No?"
He shook his head. "What you want is me."
"Don't be so full of yourself," she said, shaking his grip off her wrist, but making no move to leave the warmth of his cot. "Have you forgotten why we are where we are now?"
"How could I forget?" he said reproachfully. "But it's true, Lily, don't you see? We belong together."
She looked him in the eyes and said, "I detest it when you say shit like that."
He leaned forward and kissed her. She pulled away a moment later, trembling, and stepped out of bed, looking anywhere but at him.
"Bye," she whispered.
--
He sat gingerly on the edge of a chair, trying and failing not to look at her. How could he not, really? Look at her – she was…
…she was really beautiful.
"Remus told me to come," he said to the space above her left shoulder. "First Sirius, now Remus. It's good to see you're taking advantage of them, too."
"What is that supposed to mean?" she asked, leaning her elbows on the wooden table between them. It creaked.
He didn't move. "It means that sometimes you can be a real bitch," he said calmly. He tried to pretend not to see the hurt in her eyes after he said this. This was good. He wanted her to hurt. Didn't he?
But she sucked it up – of course she did – and pushed forward. "Look at me, James," she said wistfully.
"No."
"James."
He hated her voice.
"Look at me. Please."
He hated it. Hated it. Hated it. It was too gentle, too beseeching, and she was supposed to be angry. But instead he was angry, and she was begging him to let her take the high road, forgive and forget. Well, damnit, he wasn't going to let that happen.
Once it was forgotten, everything was forgotten…
"Remus kissed me," she said suddenly. This, at least, made his gaze snap to hers.
"You…what?" he asked slowly, thinking he'd heard wrong.
"Remus kissed me," she repeated, her eyes flashing, "or, rather, I kissed him. But he asked me to. He rather likes me, James. I don't mind him either."
His blood was boiling; his fists clenched under the table. "What are you trying to say?" he asked tersely.
"I'm not asking you anything. I'm telling you, James, if you can't stop being so hateful then one day you're going to wake up alone, don't you get that?"
"No," he said, pushing back his chair with a screech and standing up. "No, no, no, you're supposed to be with me, Lily. You know it, I know it -"
"I don't want to be with you, James!" She dug her fingernails into the table, looking incredibly frustrated. "I'm so tired of this. Of everything. Your – ambiguity."
"Ambiguity?" he repeated, a chill running up his spine. "Who's ambiguous? I told you. I want you. You're the one who's always reaching out even though it's clear you don't give a damn."
Silence.
And then, in a shaky voice, "I'm the one who should be tired, Lily." He shook his head. "But I never am."
He turned away. It was then that he realized the kitchen door was slightly ajar – so the whole house, perhaps, would've heard that argument.
Including Remus.
Okay.
He didn't care.
"Are you…crying?" she asked incredulously.
"No, I'm not crying," he snapped, pinching the bridge of his nose. He headed for the door.
"James -"
He didn't pause. He slammed the door shut behind him. Whatever Lily had intended to say was lost on him.
--
When he lay down that night, he was surprised to learn someone else was already there.
"Lily," he said, sitting up in bed and switching on a dim lamp on the nightstand. He shook her shoulder. "Lily."
Slowly, she stirred. And opened her eyes.
"Oh," he said, and he let go of her shoulders.
"Oh," she said, and she sat up, looking at him.
"What are you doing?" he wanted to know, irritated.
She frowned. "I'm not going to leave until you talk to me."
"Yes, you are, idiot," he snapped, pushing her shoulder. She scoffed and pushed back.
"Don't touch me."
"Of course," he snarled, "of course I can't touch you. But for you, no, it's perfectly alright to come butting into my life, to harass my friends, to sleep in my bed-"
She bristled. "It's our bed, James. I'm trying to give you a chance to talk!"
"Oh, yeah? And what am I supposed to say?" he demanded.
She shouted, "You're supposed to tell me you love me!"
"Well, what if I don't?!"
"You do!" she snapped, and he could see tears at the corners of her eyes as even he swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stared angrily at the floor. "You do, you do, you stupid prick, it's the fact that you don't say it."
"If you know so much," he said in a low, angry tone, "then why don't you say it yourself?"
She laughed, not a friendly laugh. "You broke my heart. How am I supposed to tell you shit like that?"
"Through your mouth, idiot," he said. He faced her, cheeks burning in fury. "Fuck you, Lily. I was so crazy about you, and you shut me down. Fuck you."
"Just forget about it," she said, sliding off the bed and leaving the room. The door hung open behind her. So did the silence.
--
At least she wasn't with Remus. That much was okay.
He didn't really find much comfort after that.
"You're nineteen years old," Sirius said scathingly. "You can't patch it up with your girlfriend?"
"She's not my girlfriend."
"Your ex-girlfriend, then."
He shook his head. "She's not my ex-girlfriend."
Sirius didn't understand. That, too, was okay.
--
"James." There was a pause. "Wake up."
His eyes snapped open. Her face filled his vision, beautiful and hateful and warm and cold, stone cold.
"What's going on?" he mumbled, blood pounding painfully in his ears.
"You're in the hospital," she said stiffly. "Third time you've asked."
He didn't miss the irony.
"What happened?" he asked. "Who won?"
"No one won, James, it's not a Quidditch match," she snapped, and he remembered why they were arguing. She took war seriously. He didn't.
Not to say that cross-applied to other aspects of his life, as she seemed to believe.
"I'm fine, right?" he asked spitefully, shifting his limbs beneath the sheets. "No gaping holes? Didn't splinch myself?"
"Shut up, you prick," she said, turning her face away. He saw tears in her eyes.
So it had been serious.
He sat up, looking around the otherwise empty room. He felt fine. He was even still in his street clothes.
But she was still there, still crying quietly and pretending she wasn't, and he hated that. Hated it. Hated it. It infuriated him, and it guilted him, but mostly it infuriated him.
"You have no right to be here," he announced angrily, looking for her reaction.
It was enough. "What do you mean?" she demanded, turning back furiously. "I'm your – I'm your -"
She couldn't find anything to say, which was okay with him.
"Would you just get out?" he said acidly. "I only want my friends around when I'm trying to recover. People who care about me."
She threw herself at him then, grabbing the lapels of his coat and shaking him as he struggled to push her off. "I – do – care – you idiot," she spat out, letting him go suddenly. "How can you be so bloody blind?!"
"Of course," he shot back sarcastically, "of course you care, that's clearly why you've been listening so patiently to what I have to say, isn't it?"
She gritted her teeth. "Why are you doing this, James? You're so fucking important to me!"
"Well, you have a funny way of showing it!"
"Say it back, you dolt!" she shouted, voice echoing throughout the room. His heart missed a beat. "Tell me, tell me you love me – you know I still love you and -"
She paused after this slip-up, caught her breath, and flushed. "And -"
He waited to see if she had more to say.
She didn't.
"Like I said, you have a funny way of showing it," he said, his voice cold. Something – a creature that felt remotely like jealousy, or desperation – growled in his chest.
"Please," she begged for what seemed like the hundredth time. "Please, James, it's only three words -"
"I'm obviously not well," he told her, gesturing to the hospital bed he lay on. "I think you should leave."
--
"She found the ring," Sirius told him one day.
"What?" he said.
"The ring. She was going through your things, and she found it."
He said, "She was going through my things?"
Sirius, looking frustrated, snapped, "Yeah. You know, considering you lived together. Considering you left your stuff there. You're missing the point – she knows you had the ring!"
He didn't mind. Let her have it. He didn't want it anymore.
--
"Hey."
He chose to ignore this.
"James," she tried again.
He removed his specs, folded the newspaper he was reading, and rubbed his eyes. Headquarters was quiet.
"Have – have you been crying?" she asked tentatively.
"I don't cry," he said angrily, pushing his specs back on his nose.
She looked doubtful.
"Here," she said, pushing a small velvet-covered box across the table at him. "I guess it must've cost a lot."
"If you think I'm going to get caught returning that thing, you know nothing about my pride," he told her seriously. She managed a small smile, but left the box there in the space between them. He'd never felt so far away.
"About what I said earlier," she started.
"Forget about it," he interrupted. "We've had this argument a hundred times. I think we can agree it's going nowhere."
"No, I disagree," she said defensively, crossing her arms over her chest. "I meant it. I love you. You must love me too, if you went out and bought that." She nodded to the box.
He closed his eyes briefly and said a little prayer.
God, don't let me fuck this up. Amen.
It was probably his favorite prayer of all time. It also hardly worked.
"Sometimes," she murmured after a pause, "I get up in the middle of the night, after everyone has gone to sleep, and I sit around down here."
He didn't have the heart to tell her that she was the only one who ever could sleep around here. Maybe fighting was a bit of a joke, to him, but that's not to say it didn't take its toll.
"And I always think, you know…one day we're all going to die."
He looked up. She was dead serious, no pun intended.
"You almost died before," she added, wringing her hands. "That really scared me."
"Get to the point," he said, a little more bluntly than he intended.
She looked at him appraisingly. "But what scares me more is the thought that you've given up. On me."
"I haven't 'given up'," he said immediately, aghast, and he stood. "How could I fucking give up on you?"
"It seems like it to me," she said, shrugging.
"I haven't," he declared. "But you know, whatever I say, I know it's futile, so what's the point?"
"It's not futile," she contended, also standing. Her eyes blazed at him from across the table. "You know exactly what to do if you want to be with me – be honest."
He scoffed and headed for the door, a scene that was becoming all too familiar, but before he realized it she was at his side, grabbing his elbow and spinning him to face her, and then she leapt forward and they connected violently, lips on lips and hands on hands.
--
When he blinked into consciousness the first thing to register in his head was her, sprawled out on his bed, snoring just a little, head tucked into his shoulder.
He sighed, half with content and half with resignation.
"Lily," he whispered, taking note of the door, which stood open a few inches. They'd probably disturbed the others, not that he particularly cared.
He found himself caring about less and less lately.
He tilted her chin up with one hand, looking at her sleeping face. Her eyes were swollen from crying, something he'd failed to notice before.
"Lily," he said again, gently. She stirred.
"What?" she mumbled, curling up more tightly.
His voice shook. "I think you ought to leave, now."
Her eyes opened and a flush began to creep into her face. "Yeah," she muttered, sliding out of bed. "Yeah."
He tried not to look at her naked body as, shame-faced, she gathered her clothes from the floor. How long had it been since they'd been like this? A month, two months, since they started to fight? A month, two months, since they transmuted into the stage they were at now, not together but not separated, not in love but not out of it, not… not.
Just not.
She left, and he leaned his head back into his pillow, feeling the faded warmth of where she'd just lain.
--
There are just some things I cannot say
You know exactly what that is
Those words have lost their value to me
Overused, abused in this modern day
But I have nothing else to give
I have to ask you to silently believe
It doesn't make me any less true
You know of all things I can't live without you
Even if I have to let you down, at least you knew
This is only a snapshot of our lives
Things could always change with time
"Snapshot" – K.L. Sport
Author's Note: I had a burst of creativity where I could see, exactly, how something like this would play out, i.e., a situation in which James and Lily have a history, an undefined relationship...naturally once I started writing it took on a life of its own, but the idea was that James would only say he loved her when she stopped asking, to show that it was genuine. I didn't quite reached the scenes I was aiming for - this was originally supposed to be from Lily's POV, with more involvement from other characters (whoa...deja vu...) Anyway, it's a bit different and I'd like to know what you think of it!