If you asked James Potter at what point he figured out that he was absolutely in love with Lily Evans, he wouldn't be able to give you a straight answer. James didn't even know the answer to that question, or even what love actually was.
You see, for James, love wasn't about grand gestures or majestic declarations of love (that was something he'd learnt from Lily). Love was the way he felt everytime he looked at her.
The giddiness that sat at the pit of his stomach and the way he tripped over his words because, Merlin, she was just so beautiful. Maybe he was in love with her compassion and her green eyes, and all that was her essence. Perhaps, James mused, it went much deeper than that. It was the little quirks that he found absolutely abhorrable in everyone else but endearing in her. It was the way she danced without music or how she often forgot that meals were a thing.
Or maybe it was how she loved to write everything that was on her mind, on that tiny black leather notebook with his doodles in the margins. Or how the scent of green apples filled the room every single time she took her hair out of her ponytail, or even the simple fact that her lips tasted like strawberries and he was addicted.
Maybe it was the rush, the way her eyes glinted when she'd had too much Firewhisky. He loved her so much, too much. James was in love with her to the point that he wondered if there really was anything else to him.
James wanted to tell her. He could feel it on the tip of his tongue, waiting to come out. He wanted to write it in a letter and hide it inside her pillow, or blurt it out during breakfast. James wanted to sigh it into her mouth, wedged between teeth and and tongues; he wanted to tell her in Hogsmeade over Butterbeer. He wanted to whisper it in her ear after she'd had a bad day.
James was pretty sure she knew it, too.
Lily most likely knew it from the way he'd always offer her his cloak when she was cold, or from the way he'd always seem to be wherever she needed him to be. She probably knew it from the twelve roses he had left on her bed on Valentine's Day. Maybe she knew it from every single one of the Transfiguration essays he'd finished for her because she was too tired, or from the way that he always saved a seat for her at the table.
Of course, these were all assumptions. For all he knew, for all he truly knew, Lily could have been blissfully oblivious to just how much James cared about her. And it was probably best if it stayed that way.
Because if he said it – if he just uttered those three blasted words – he wouldn't be able to take them back. Not that he wanted to, of course, but what if she didn't say them back? Maybe Lily just fancied him, and even though they weren't dating, they were... something. His mother had always warned him not to get caught up with wishful thinking. Because being Lily Evans' something was so, so wonderful and he would never forgive himself if they stopped whatever it was that they were doing.
All James knew was that he loved Lily so deeply, that it felt like there was nothing left in him. All he wanted was to make her smile, and to keep making her smile until there was nothing but happiness left in her.
Loving someone that much was dangerous, James knew that. The pieces all started to click together when he finally noticed the way she made him lose focus, and yet see everything more clearly at the same time.
Sometimes it felt like the world was closing around him and everything was too much, and he loved the way she was always there to guide him through it. He loved her to the point that, if he tried to suppress it, it would gnaw at his insides until James admitted it to himself. Because if he didn't love her, he might as well be dead.
If you asked Lily Evans when exactly she decided that maybe Potter wasn't so bad, she would give you a simple answer: that maybe deep down, she had known it all along.
What Lily didn't know, what she couldn't possibly know, was just when James Potter had become so significant in her life, so necessary. It was like somehow, overnight, he was everywhere. He was waiting for her outside the Ancient Runes classroom and he was holding her bag when they walked down to the Dungeons. James Potter was everywhere and it felt so natural, so right.
Lily didn't know why she liked him so much. Maybe it was because his wire-rimmed glasses never sat straight on the crook of his nose, or maybe it was because James was so, so warm. His arms felt safe and he smelled like fresh laundry and coffee... and to Lily, every hug was a glimpse of paradise.
Sometimes Lily felt like time was flying by way too fast and she was only able to catch up with it when James was by her side. Because even though he was impulsive and reckless, the way he made her feel helped to slow down every single moment.
In Lily's eyes, James Potter was many things.
He was courage, and bravery, and friendship, and knowledge. He was safety, and protection, and undying loyalty. He was unruly hair, and hazel eyes, and the promise of something great.
But the one thing – the one great thing - that had made her fall head over heels for James Potter, was the way he desperately wanted to be her knight in a shining armour but held himself back, because he knew she didn't need one.
Quite suddenly, she had started to look for a messy mop of black hair during Quidditch matches and stolen snitches by the Great Lake. Lily had started to look for him in everyone and it scared her.
She didn't want to put a definition on what they were – but they were something and that was good, right? At least it felt good, amazing, wonderful.
Lily wanted to tell James how she felt, how she really, truly felt. She was constantly on edge and it was dripping out of her lips, but she tried to hold back because really, they were just kids and this was moving quickly enough already, and what did they even know about love in the first place?
All Lily knew was that James Potter's laugh, as she had read in some book, was a mystery that she wanted to spend her whole life solving.