He lets himself into the small flat, knowing she isn't home yet. He goes over to the small makeshift kitchen, and stares for a moment at the teakettle. He has a love-hate relationship with it that no one but her can figure out; she just laughs. Sighing, he lifts up the kettle, and fills it halfway with water.
He sits at the small table as he waits, looking around at the flat he's come to know so well; the painting of a garden in bloom in the hallway, the blue convertible sofa that he's slept on many a time.
The kettle begins whistling that horrid, high pitched noise, and he walks over and lifts it off the stove, remembering to turn it off after—he forgot to do that once, and the lecture he got afterwards was enough to make sure he'd never do it again.
He opens up the second cabinet from the right, and pulls out two white teacups; it's always the same two white teacups. He pours in the water, and reaches down to the lower cupboard to take out the box of tea bags.
He puts the two bags in slowly, and lets the flavors leak slowly into the hot water. He goes to the cupboard against the right wall, and takes out the honey—she always insists that if tea is really going to be perfect, honey is necessary.
When he's satisfied there's just the right amount of honey in each cup, he lifts himself up onto the counter, and sits, waiting for her. He doesn't have to wait very long; soon there's the click of the lock, and the door begins to open.
"Hello, love," he says, grinning at her from his spot on her counter. She tries to keep the frown in place—he knows she hates it when he sits there—but gives in to the smile taking over her face.
"Why hello there," she says, as he hops down from the counter, and hands her one of the white teacups. She takes it gladly, holding it in both hands. They take their seats at the small wooden table.
"You're getting married tomorrow," he says, and a small smile graces her face as she sips her tea.
"I am, aren't I," she says, though it isn't really a question. "It's strange to think about, isn't it? That I'm marrying James Potter, the boy I used to swear was the devil incarnate."
"It's not that strange," he says, looking down at his white teacup; the same white teacup he drinks from whenever he comes over for tea. He takes a slow sip. "You two were made for each other."
"I like to think so," she says quietly, but then looks up quickly. "I'm sorry, let's talk about something else," she says, and the ghost of a smile crosses his face as he looks at her worried expression.
"I'm okay, love," he says, hoping that it's the truth. "Really. What could be better than my two friends getting married?"
"We're not replacing each other with you," she says blunting, pinpointing exactly what his worry is. "I won't take your place in James' heart, and he'll never have the part of my heart that belongs to you," she says quietly, meaning every word. "After all, you're the one who got us together."
"Man, I'm regretting that now," he says jokingly, though if he truly thinks about it, there might be a bit of truth in that statement. "You're taking these teacups with you, to your new house, right?"
"Well," she says, looking down at the teacup in her hand, "I don't know. Technically they belong to the owner of the flat, seeing as I'm just renting, and it wouldn't be right to just take them."
"So you…you're going to leave them?" He says, aware that he may be overreacting. But these teacups, they represent something he doesn't want to lose.
"Maybe. I'm going to have to make some sacrifices, after all; I'll be married, and I guess that means giving a few things up," she says, but they're both thinking the same thing. Like these afternoon teas.
"Right," he says, feeling the bitterness inside him. "But I s'pose James is worth it, so it'll be just fine." He takes a long sip of his tea, not looking at her.
"Please don't do that," she says, putting down her teacup and reaching across the table for his hand. "Please don't act like I'm breaking your heart."
"What if you are?" he asks, though he knows he's not being fair.
"I'm not," she states evenly, leaving no room for debate. "Because if I were, then you would have said something about it before; you would have done something about it before. There were countless moments, countless opportunities—even years before I was with James. But you never did anything, so I know I'm not breaking your heart." She finishes in a whisper, pulling her hand back and keeping her gaze locked on the delicate little teacup.
You never did anything. "Maybe I just knew you deserved better," he says, and her head shoots up.
"Than you? Don't do that. I was in love with you for years, and you didn't do a thing; you just kept me, right beside you, forever wondering how you felt. Is that what I deserved? How is that better than being with you?" She asks, and her eyes flash with tears she's been refusing to shed for a long time.
"Because, I am not a good person." His statement sends a pang through her heart, dissolving her anger.
"You are the best person I know, and I don't ever want to hear you say that again," she whispers fiercely, reaching out for his hand once again. "Do you understand me? You are an amazing person."
"Well," he laughs bitterly, "If that's the case, we must see me as two very different people."
"Do you know who you are to me? What you are to me? You're thunderstorms in the spring, when everything seems lovely and wonderful and perfect; you're motorcycle rides in the summer, with the wind through my hair and clouds all around me; you're midnight conversations when I can't get to sleep, and you're afternoon teas just when I think I can't make it any longer," she says, emotions running through her faster than she can recognize. "And if that doesn't make you amazing, darling, then I don't know what does."
I love you, Lily," he says, without looking up.
"I love you too, Sirius," she says, and he catches her eye.
"But not like James?"
"No, not like James," she agrees. "Not anymore. But that doesn't mean I love you less, or that you mean less to me. Just differently. Remember that, alright? I loved you long before I loved James," she says, needing for him to realize how much he means to her.
"Yeah," he says, before grinning wickedly. "I loved James long before I loved you, though."
"I know," she says, smiling. "I know."
"So," he says, "What about these teacups?" She thinks for a moment, then smiles at him.
"Maybe I'll take them after all."
A/N: You've taken the time to read this, and even though I know you probably don't want to, I'd really appreciate it if you took one more minute to leave me a review—I'd really like to know your thoughts/reactions to this.