Perhaps there are lines they shouldn't be crossing, Lily thinks. But they've probably blown past them ages back.
She pretends not to notice how when they hug James's hands rest lower on her back than can be considered entirely platonic or how when she kisses his cheek, her lips always land a little too close to his mouth.
She shrugs it off when her friends comment on how close they stand together or when his friends guffaw at the way he blushes when she ruffles his hair.
Her mother is kind enough not to point out how often he crops up in her letters home. He always has, but instead of being paired with the words 'arrogant' or 'insufferable' his name is often surrounded by the words 'brilliant', 'funny' and even on occasion 'cute.' (She knows James would wrinkle his nose in distaste if he ever found out about that last word. "I prefer rugged," he would say.)
She considers it a gesture of solidarity when he takes her hand as they walk together on patrols. Even though she knows that gestures of solidarity do not normal involve interlocking fingers and thumbs stroking across the back of your prefect partner's hand.
She justifies the pounding of her heart when his shirt rides up in the seat in front of her in Transfiguration as hormones. It is perfectly normal for a teenage girl to enjoy the appearance of a reasonable-looking boy. Even if he is one of her mates.
She reads the Morning Prophet and checks to see that her hometown is safe every day. After doing so, though, her eyes still scan the page. It takes her several days to figure out what else she is searching for. Not until she hears a sigh of relief from beside her on a murky Thursday morning does Lily become aware that she has been searching for the Potters' names. She wants to know that his family is safe too, almost as much as she does her own. She barely knows them, but they mean the world to James. Unconsciously, looking out for his well-being has become second nature. The realization terrifies her.
They are in the kitchens one night after curfew when she is suddenly struck silent. She is in the middle of telling a story about her daft aunt who fancies herself a psychic but halfway through a sentence her mouth snaps shut.
James looks at her quizzically. Rightfully so, because he has not done anything to warrant such a reaction. He has simply been sitting across from her, listening to her story, interjecting with a smarmy comment or low chuckle every so often. But suddenly her heart is pounding so loud in her ears that she could not hear herself speak and her hands are shaking like a rickety house in the wind.
I love you, she thinks desperately, and thanks God that she does not say it out loud. Her throat is too tight to speak anyway. Maybe she is stupid to just realize it now, in the kitchens, where he is wearing pajama pants and his hair is sticking up like an idiot and he is looking at her as if she's gone barmy. Part of her thinks this is anticlimactic, that after years of conflict and tension and all-consuming emotions she should have realized in front of a room full of people and kissed him soundly on the mouth to roaring applause.
She lets out a laugh at this image and breaks the silence. He responds with his own awkward chortle. They are both giggling, mostly at themselves. The house elves stare at the odd pair with their large eyes. Lily and James continue to let their laughter fill up the dimly lit room.
This is enough for her, Lily realizes. This quiet, embarrassing moment between her and him. It is more suited to them than any large scene. That thought gives her enough confidence to reach over and take his hand, not as a gesture of solidarity or as a reaffirmation of attention, but as a question. His fingers squeeze hers tightly in response. When she looks up into his eyes, she thinks that he has been here all along, always waiting for her question. He just needed an opportunity to give an answer.
She was never very good at staying inside the lines, anyway.