A/N: Just a short Jily drabble, written in about an hour without a beta, so if you notice any mistakes please let me know because this hasn't been proofread. Enjoy!
He still remembered the day it had first started - vaguely, of course, through the haze of the alcohol that he had thrown into himself, burning his throat but fulfilling its duty in numbing him. He had wanted to feel nothing. How ironic. Nowadays, he'd give anything to feel even a taste of some actual human emotion. He wandered aimlessly through empty corridors, empty libraries, empty dormitories. Everywhere was empty. Everything was empty. He was empty.
Only one thing brought him some semblance of emotion - her. He found himself seeking her out, constantly, not caring how their encounter would end. He didn't care if they argued, if they laughed, or if they even spoke at all. He craved her, every minute of every day - despite the fact that she made him feel inferior, despite the fact that she was the only person that could actually make him feel as though his blood was boiling, despite everything.
She was both the source of and the solution to all of his problems.
At night, when memories of her came flooding back to him, ceasing all hopes of sleep, he felt both moments of desperate elation and extreme despair. Thinking of her made him feel more than anything else possibly could at this stage. She was all that mattered to him anymore. It was only her.
The night it had all started, he had been angry. Angry because his Quiddich team had lost, angry because the girl he loved had a new boyfriend, angry because he wasn't good enough. Anger coursed through him, making his blood feel like fire in his veins. The Firewhisky quenched this - along with the other drinks being passed around, most of which he didn't remember the names of. Someone had brought Muggle vodka - it was stronger than anything James had ever consumed, and he knocked it back as quickly as he could, smiling at the warmth it filled him with.
The night passed by in blurs and stumbles, with moments of clarity and moments of absolute blackout. James remembered losing his glasses, then finding them much later, crushed in the back of the sofa. He remembered knocking the coffee table over, it almost falling into the fire. For what reason, he did not know why. One moment stood out though. Of course it did, anything involving her had always stood out to him.
He had passed through the common room, smiling at the boys in his house who waved at him, and patting them on the back with a laugh. The alcohol had done its job - he was no longer angry, instead the anger had been replaced with a giddiness and excitement. Announcing that he was going on an adventure, despite the fact that no one was listening, he stumbled out of the room.
His feet echoed through the corridor, and he hummed lightly, determined to fill the silence. There was a bounce to his step, and he found himself grateful for this, glad that the anger had faded into happiness. His hum turned into a whistle as he wandered aimlessly. Where he was going, he did not know. He didn't know if he was going anywhere at all, really. He didn't mind. He enjoyed the clarity that his walk had brought him - his mind felt fresh. Was that a thing?
A tug at his neck brought him stumbling forward. Or to the side. He wasn't sure, but he was stumbling alright. He saw a blur of a pale white hand grasping at his tie. White and gold and red mixed together in his mind, giving him a headache. He heard a door slam behind him, and realized he had been dragged into a classroom. Looking up, his world was filled with green eyes and wild, flaming hair.
"Evans, what are you doing?"
It had begun.
He knew what they were doing was wrong, of course. He had always been a big believer in the whole "treat others how you would like to be treated" thing, and he knew that if someone had done this to him, he would be furious. It was wrong, so wrong. But he couldn't help himself. Here she was, the girl he loved, the only girl who had ever mattered - and she wanted him. He may not have been the only one in her eyes, but it was something. And something was always better than nothing, right?
Lilys boyfriend was nice. He was good. He was James' friend. Maybe not best friends, but friends nonetheless.
He treated Lily well. He showered her with affection and various gifts, he professed his love to her on numerous occasions, his face absolutely lit up when he saw her. He wasn't just good to her, either. He was good to everyone. He spent hours tutoring children who needed help, he helped first years find their way to class, he uplifted the spirits of all those around him. He was simply a genuinely nice person.
Maybe that's why James had felt so guilty.
Maybe that's why there was a deepening sense of regret every time he so much as looked at her, despite the joy she brought him.
Maybe that's why he found himself sinking, to the point where he gave up all emotion completely, leaving himself empty. It was better than the alternative, he thought, it was better than feeling as though he was choking on her lies and on his own morals.
He was laying on her bed, completely at ease. He saw a glimpse of himself in her mirror, and he knew he looked as though he belonged there. Because he did. He belonged there, he belonged with her, he belonged in this moment.
He was thinking out loud. He wasn't sure she was actually listening to him, but it didn't matter; she was his catharsis. He just needed to get these emotions out of him, they were beginning to feel too much.
He tried not to let himself notice that she was getting ready for a date with her boyfriend. He couldn't think of that. He wouldn't.
Today the subject of his rant was how people saw him. He told her that he was worried that he appeared arrogant, or cruel, or selfish - all things she had called him in the past. The truth was, he didn't care what other people thought. He only cared what she thought. He talked for what seemed like hours. Repeating the same words, sentences phrases. Did people really think this of him? Was what others said true? How could he mend their opinion of him? What did she think?
And she told him that appearances didn't matter, as she applied her mascara.
He'd always been fascinated by her love for tea. It seemed strange, but he had noticed, ever since first year, the comfort that simple drink brought her. He saw how her eyes lit up when she saw the teapot; she seemed more excited to see that black teapot than she was to see most people. He saw as she closed her eyes in pure happiness as she held the warm cup in her hands, not daring to drink it yet for fear that it would burn her tongue. He saw how much relief that first sip brought her, as though all of her troubles could be solved by a milky cup of tea.
And so, on a cold winter night, when she dragged him down to the kitchens for a cup of tea, he couldn't be happier. He watched on the edge of his seat as she brewed the teapot, explaining that, while the house elves made wonderful tea, nobody could make the perfect cup of tea but oneself. He supposed that made sense in a way; no one knew how anyone else liked their tea, precisely, and there were so many variations that it would be easy to make a mistake. She told him that she preferred hers weak and milky, as though she were telling him a secret, but, of course, he already knew that.
They laughed and poured and talked. He felt complete serenity and contentment. It was easy with her. It was meant to be.
It wasn't until he poured the second cup that he realized he was now alone.
As she stalked down the corridor, he found himself speechless. Dumbfounded. She'd just...left. They'd had an argument, of course - one of many. They yelled and screamed and fought and argued constantly nowadays, but she'd never done this before.
He'd been halfway through a sentence, and she just turned and left. Out of the blue. No warning.
What could he do, but run after her?
One by one, people began dropping out of his life, and he couldn't say he was upset about it.
They'd come to him with questions like "Where have you been?" or "Why don't we talk anymore?" and he'd string them along with some fairytale about how he was sorry, and how he's just been busy, that's all, and they'd get angry or annoyed, and he'd pretend to be upset about it, to preserve their ego.
Sometimes he just wouldn't answer at all, because how could he explain it to them? Who would ever believe that he would rather sit alone at his desk with a pen and a notepad and a fresh cup of tea, than go out and party, or make friends, or keep them? That wasn't the James Potter they knew. That James was gone, and he didn't know if he would ever return.
When the news of his fathers death reached him, James couldn't say he was surprised to find that he had no one to turn to. The people who had once been his best friends and known his every move, were far away from him, both physically and emotionally, and James knew that he didn't have the right to be shocked. After all, he was the one who had pushed them away. He was alone, and it was all his fault.
Tears threatened to fall, but he closed his eyes tightly, forcing them back inside. He wouldn't cry. He would be strong. He would be silent. Crying would do no use - it was pointless, it was embarrassing, and it wouldn't help a single damn thing.
Exiting the Great Hall, he saw her, laughing with her friends at the entrance. The one person he could possibly seek comfort in. Their eyes locked for a split second, and he knew she saw the shine in them. He was on the verge of calling to her, not caring about the consequences. Her name was falling out of his mouth before he could help it. "Lil-"
But she was gone. Of course she was. She was sauntering down the aisle between two long tables, almost like a dream that he couldn't quite reach.
She traced patterns on his bare back. Stars, spirals, stars again. It gave him a sense of safety, but he knew it wasn't real. Nothing about this was real.
It was time, he had decided. Time to end this...this thing. Whatever it was. It wasn't enough for him. He wanted more, he always had, but he knew that she couldn't give that to him. Well, she could, but she wouldn't. A clean break would be good, he told himself. There would be no mess. No complications. It was perfect.
"Lily...", he breathed. He didn't know how to start. Nobody told you how to break up with someone you love - how to break up with someone you're not even dating. "Lily, I have to talk to you."
She looked up at him with those big green eyes - the eyes that had captivated him so long ago - and urged him silently to continue. He sighed, getting to his feet and moving across the room.
"Yesterday...yesterday was painful. Yesterday, I looked at you, with tears in my eyes, and shaking hands, and you walked away. And this has been happening so much more lately. You've been leaving me. And I'm sorry, but you're the most important person that I've ever met. And I can't imagine life without you. But I guess I'll have to"
She sat up abruptly, eyes sharp and analyzing. "James, what are you saying?"
"I'm saying you hurt me Lily. I'm done - all we do anymore is hurt each other. There's no meaning behind us anymore. We should quit while we're ahead."
"James, no!" she cried, jumping to her feet and running to him, grabbing his arm in attempt to make him stay. "I mean, you hurt the ones you love - everyone knows that! It doesn't mean I love you any less - and I do, you know I love you. But I love him too. And he can't find out. And there's just - there's just things...we can't do. I'm sorry I hurt you yesterday, I really am, but I'll make it up to you, I swear! Just don't leave"
He chuckled harshly, his laugh cold. "'You hurt the ones you love'" he mocked, unable to believe she had said something so absolutely stupid to him. "As though that makes it okay to act in ways you know they hate, leave for two hours in the middle of an arguments, yell and scream and fight and argue, or lead them on to the point where they see nothing but you. You do not hurt the ones you love, it's as simple as that. You just don't. You do not leave them when they need you the most. You do not ignore them, knowing it will break them. You don't break the ones you love." His last words were cold and cruel, and before she was able to form a sentence in response, he had stormed out of the room and slammed the door.
Things started to return to normal. Or, almost normal. After profound apologies and promises to never repeat his actions, his friends accepted him back into their lives cautiously. He'd missed so many months, though, so many memories, that he felt like an outsider - something he had never felt before. He felt as though he was on the outside looking in, even though his friends weren't intentionally trying to leave him out. He tried to be the old James, the one they knew and loved, but found it increasingly difficult to find his former self.
He laughed along with them, of course, and tried to come up with the witty remarks he was so famous for. He acted as though he was having the time of his life.
Whenever he saw her in the halls, he walked away.
That didn't stop him from watching her in classes, however, when she wasn't looking. He wouldn't let her see that he missed her. He couldn't show weakness, because he knew that if she ever asked, he would come running back. Leaving her was one of the hardest things he had ever done. He was inexplicably drawn to her, and he needed to get away. But there was nowhere to run. She was everywhere.
He heard she had broken up with her boyfriend.
He tried not to be happy about it.
He failed.
He still watched her. She practically glowed with vitality.
She made everything seem so easy. She didn't seem affected by either of her break ups at all. She continued as normal.
How did she do it?
Did she feel anything?
Unfortunately, these were questions James had no answer to.
"James," a soft voice at his shoulder. He hadn't heard that voice in months, but he recognized it. Of course he did. He'd know her anywhere. "James, I'm sorry."
"W-what?," he croaked, turning to face her. He couldn't do this. He needed to get out of here, run away to anywhere but here. He cleared his throat. "Er...I mean, what? I mean...um...it's alright?" James wanted to slap himself. Since when could he not form proper sentences.
"No...," she seemed to be thinking deeply. "No, it's not alright. I...it's taken a long time for me to figure out what to say to you, and I'm sorry but...I just, I can't leave it like this. I'm sorry for ignoring you when you needed me, I'm sorry for letting you leave that night, I'm sorry for trying to rationalize the fact that I hurt you. But most of all, I'm sorry that I just can't leave you alone. Even though I know it's what you want, what you need. I'm just...I'm so fucking in love with you James, and I can't help but be drawn to you...I'm always drawn back to you. And I know I haven't shown my feelings in an...appropriate? obvious? normal?...way, but I didn't know for a long time that that was how I felt. I didn't know until that night. I'm sorry."
She took a deep breath.
"And James, I just need to know, if you could ever forgive me. If you can't, I'll walk away now, no hard feelings, and I'll never bother you again. But if you can...I just really, really need to know - do you still love me?"
There was a moment of silence. Then two. Then three.
Lily shifted uncomfortably, and James struggled to force words to come out of his mouth.
"Lily...after all these months, and despite the heartbreak you brought me...despite all of it...of course I still love you. I always will. But I'm scared that you'll hurt me like that again, and I don't know how I'll ever trust you again after what you did - but when you say you're always drawn back to me, it feels like my hearts going to explode, because I am constantly drawn to you too."
Lilys face lit up completely - brighter than when she sees her favourite teapot sitting on the dining table, brighter than when she laughed with her friends, brighter than all those times he saw her with her boyfriend. And as she jumped into his arms and embraced him so tightly that he almost stopped breathing, he had a familiar feeling - this was where he belonged.
A/N: That's it! Hope you enjoyed; constructive criticism is welcome.
Don't forget to review! If you write fanfiction, you know a little review goes a long way!
Until next time x