part 2/3 ahh
With each mark on the calendar that signified a new day, James swore he was getting better, little and little by the day, by the weeks, months, and now, it seems, by the year.
The confidence in his strides had slowly returned, he could actually feel himself laughing on his own accord now, and he thought that he'd finally— finally— found his soulmate after having sat in a darkness that was far too overwhelming to make him see the better aspects of life.
Eleanor Green seemed to have the ability to dissipate his concerns until they were nearly an air of complete nothingness, whether it was through her patience to let him speak his mind until everything was let out into the open air, or just from giving him reassurance that life did indeed have so much more in store for him than he thought. He had remembered when he'd first expressed any form of negativity towards her, he'd nearly expected her to retort with a sharp whip of wit, only to remember that it wasn't in her character to say such a thing.
It was in those small moments that he chastised himself for comparing two completely different people, because as soon as he thought he'd gotten over her— having been able to go for days without thinking about her— such intrusive thoughts seemed to slip up from behind and overtake him. At times, he'd think he was hearing the sounds of her laughter, finding himself looking everywhere, all around, in the hopes that she'd be there, but it, of course, was all in his head.
It was difficult to get over your first love, he thought, but Eleanor made it easy to forget, even if just for days at max. He truly was laughing in her presence, making sounds that the world rejoiced in hearing from him, and it wasn't even one of those terrible, monotone laughters that he'd been using the first few months after the painful twist in fate. It was a real laugh.
Life went on. Time went on, and he knew that he'd have to catch up before the world left him behind.
Eleanor seemed to have held a hand out to him, though, as if she was waiting for him as well. He'd met her at the exact wrong time and place, having stumbled into a cafe with the utmost desire for coffee, as he'd been completely unable to will himself to sleep, knowing all too well that he'd dream of her, only to wake up and remember that he had absolutely no right to dream about her. Eleanor had handed him that mug of coffee, and somehow, the warmth of her smile seemed to reassure him that life wasn't as hostile as he made it out to be, not when strangers like the likes of her were giving out smiles, her only motive being to bring kindness wherever they went.
Perhaps, one day, he'd begun to view the world a bit better, or maybe, his vision had somehow improved, but for whatever reason, his eyes had caught hold of the wrist holding out the coffee to him— more specifically, he caught hold of the freckle on her wrist, located in just about the same place as his was, though the only difference was that his was a bit noticeably larger than hers. It had to mean something, and he was vaguely aware of how pained his heart felt as he recalled how Lily hadn't shared a freckle anywhere even remotely close to one of his. This was a sign— it had to be a sign.
He had to move on.
Not then and there, because he still had thoughts about her, but, perhaps, one day he'd learn to walk the earth without thinking too much of her— his first love— in order to carry his love on to someone else.
He did move on eventually, and he'd found himself asking Eleanor out on a date, somewhere peaceful and quiet so as for him to get to know her better. He gave up on spontaneity, especially when the last bit of spontaneity in his life seemed to have destroyed him from the inside-out, twisting him so that his feelings were spilling out of him until it seemed that he could feel no more.
They'd neared the end of their date now, his hands shoved into his pockets because he'd thought it was far too early for any hand-holding, but she was understanding enough to give him patience. It was a nice date, he mused, and she'd managed to make him laugh a lot, a reminder that he didn't need to depend on one particular person to make him happy.
Life seemed to have passed by in a blur of blacks and greys, because it hadn't fully hit him at just how pretty Eleanor was, what with her shiny brown hair and bright eyes nearly as blue as the ocean. He ignored the pangs in his heart that screamed that they should have been green instead, because his heart had no right to dictate what his mind deemed to be his desires.
Blue, blue, blue.
Blue was the colour that he should be drowning himself in, so akin to the ocean in so many ways, so like the sky that the clouds had chosen to hang themselves from, so like the grass— no. Not the grass. Nowhere near the colour of the grass.
She smiled shyly at him. "I hope this date was up to par with your expectations."
He couldn't help his response, far too accustomed to responding with wit that would hopefully instigate banter between the two of them. "My expectations are pretty high, so I'd say the fact that you managed to get a date with me already says a lot about the date."
Her cheeks turned a pinkish tint. "I suppose so. Will I be seeing you again?"
And there was absolutely no reason why he wouldn't see her again, not when all that she'd been to him this entire night was kind, and especially not when she shared the same interests as him. He had absolutely no problem with seeing her again, and he'd actually like to see her again, wanting to learn more about her. "Only if you want to."
"I do," she replied excitedly, her eyes lighting up at the prospect, and when a cold breeze swept in, she shivered slightly. It was right then and there that he'd realised that she must have been freezing in that dress of hers, her leggings and sweater most likely not doing her any justice in providing warmth, and he felt like an absolute ponce for not having realised earlier. He slipped off his coat, not a moment's hesitation in securing it around her person, and though she was taken aback by the gesture, she sent him a warm smile nonetheless. "Thanks."
"It's no problem," he smiled back, and he was momentarily taken back to a time a year ago where he'd done the exact same thing, only to end up wearing the coat despite his best efforts to keep the other party warm. It was completely not cool of him to be thinking of such a thing, though he found that the sight of the brunette in his giant coat enough to snap him back to the present time. "Will you make it home safe?"
She nodded. "I drove here."
"Do you want me to walk you to your car? Swear I'm not an evil bloke with ulterior motives."
"I didn't think you were."
"Yeah? What gave it away?"
"You wouldn't have gone the length of taking me out on a date if you were."
He threw his head back in laughter, and she seemed to take immense pride in having been able to make him laugh. "Then, to your car?"
She nodded at him, and he couldn't help but notice that they walked in sync, the heel of her boot making a soft thud against the ground at the same time that his shoe landed. He knew that when the sound of her movements fell short, it was a sign that they'd made it to her car and that there was one last thing that was to have been expected from their date.
"James, I'd really like to see you again," she told him sincerely.
He couldn't lie; he did want to see her again, so he smiled in return. "That makes the two of us."
Her lips drew up in response, and she stepped forward to him, reaching upward to cup his chin, careful to not poke him with a manicured fingernail. He'd nearly begun leaning down as well, his eyes having fallen closed, but there was something so unfamiliar about her scent, something so strange about having to lean down far less than he was accustomed to, that he couldn't seem to bring himself to meet her lips halfway through.
His hand flew up to his mouth instead, and upon realising how rude that probably came off to him, it shot up to his hair instead. "I'm sorry, Eleanor," he told her apologetically, "I do want to see you again, but— I dunno. It's just… I don't really do kisses on the first date."
That was a complete lie, and he of all people knew it. He'd most definitely done first-date kisses in the past, but there were so many factors that were holding him back that he couldn't possibly will himself to do it, even if he really wanted to. It was easy enough to press his lips to someone else, but it wasn't at all meaningful if he couldn't put his utmost feelings into it, and he wanted her to receive the most that he could give her.
She shook her head at him, a soft smile on her face that revealed that she wasn't at all bothered by it. "No, I understand. I won't force anything that you don't want right now."
"I'd love to kiss you and see you again. I'm not lying about that. I just—"
"You don't have to justify your reasoning. I trust your judgment." She enclosed her hands over his, before letting go so as to take off his coat. She held it out to him. "Here."
"You sure you're not cold?"
"The car has a heater. I think I'll be fine." She unlocked her car. "I'll see you soon, James."
"Stay safe," he returned, and her fingers froze on the handle of her car door, to which she turned towards him to give a small kiss to the cheek.
"I hope that I can at least get away with that."
"For now," he agreed, and her lips drew upwards at the corners. "Take care."
"You too, James."
She gave one last wave before making her way into the car, and he himself left when she was effectively on the road.
Whenever the holidays rolled around, James always found it in himself to hang every single light that he could possibly find and put up every single decoration even remotely related to the holidays.
He'd done that every year before, the only difference with last year being that he'd done it with someone other than Sirius, who merely took to throwing such decorations at James while he did all of the dirty work himself. Last year, when the holidays had rolled around, he was genuinely happy, so bloody happy that he thought his cheeks would fall from smiling so bloody much, but by the time Christmas had come around, he'd wanted so desperately to kick every single bloody snowman that he saw on the streets until it was just a mushy mess.
It wasn't that this year's holiday season wasn't bringing him joy, because he surely felt merry enough, but there was just something so amiss about the holiday air that it was enough to unnerve him. He knew what it was, of course, but to entertain that thought would only make him want to withdraw to his room and not emerge for days, no matter how intent Sirius was on blasting his holiday music throughout the entire flat in arsed attempts to cheer him up.
He had a new girlfriend now, and there was no fear that things would spiral out of control for the two of them, because they had the marks to prove it, and besides, he didn't think he was far too deep in their relationship to the point that it'd feel as if he couldn't breathe at the thought of them apart. That was his first mistake he'd ever made when he'd been with— yeah, falling hard for someone was only going to hurt him once again.
It'd taken Sirius much time to finally warm up to her, and now, it seemed that Sirius had somewhat begun to thaw, though even the warmest version of him still continued to hurl ice at others, because it was his way of protecting James. Still, with Sirius lounging around his flat, he couldn't bring her here, not when the malice that Sirius was most definitely going to treat her with was going to as intense as it could ever be, even if he was slightly warmed up to at least the thought of her.
He'd started going through the boxes buried in the depths of his broom closet, and he made a careful note not to accidentally open up the box with a large slash drawn on the side of it, knowing that it contained memories that he didn't want to resurface, because it meant that he'd end up not getting a single thing done for the day. He could have found a day to throw all of its contents away, but the thing was that he wasn't ready to let go. It meant that he'd have to cease all thoughts of her, and to drop the thought of someone so lovely and embodied all things beautiful was, in a sense, a means of letting go of something positive. He didn't want to get rid of positivity.
He'd had much trouble bringing himself to smile those first few months, and it was far more difficult than he could have ever imagined, especially when he was clearing away all physical reminders of their relationship, so consequently, everything was stowed away for him to never see again. It didn't help that he knew that one day, when he'd finally worked the nerve to throw the box away, he'd cave and wind up scrutinising everything in the box with the utmost examination, only to not throw it away.
He could never throw her away.
Stop.
Eleanor.
Eleanor, Eleanor, Eleanor.
It was completely horrible of him to be thinking about his ex-girlfriend, especially now, when he had someone new to divert his affections towards. It was unfair to her, because he gave his all to Lily, and now, he had to do the same to Eleanor, because it was the least that she deserved.
He'd have a box to fill with memories that he'd make with Eleanor, memories that only they'd cherish, memories that would only bring joy.
The Christmas tree had been up since Sirius's birthday, as Sirius had claimed that a month of celebration honestly wasn't long enough, and James made no point to refute it, because he felt that had someone else been there to hear Sirius's argument, they'd undoubtedly team up against James, making it so that any defence that James had would wither up and die like the last flowers of winter. It was strange, he thought, how someone's presence could still linger on after not visiting for so long.
He sometimes wondered how she was doing, if she was coping as well as he was, though with his many thoughts of her, 'well' was only being used subjectively. Physically, he was sure that she was just as beautiful as ever, and he was also sure of the fact that his mates were still keeping contact with her, having made many small little slips-ups, where they'd almost accidentally say her name when telling a story. He couldn't bring himself to be mad at them, because his mates weren't exclusively only his friend, and there was absolutely no reason why they'd have to choose sides, especially when it was his fault at large for their relationship coming to an end.
He wished that his mates made an effort to be that close with Eleanor, because though Remus and Peter greeted her kindly enough, it was with that fake sort of kindness that aunts greeted their nephews with, not the warmth that they welcomed Lily with when he'd introduced her to them.
It was odd of him to continuously be comparing the two, though, but he found it much difficult to stop, for whatever reason beyond him.
It wasn't as if he hadn't seen her since that day, either.
Sometimes, in the months following their break-up, he would catch glimpses of her red hair from the corner of his eye as they walked past one another. He couldn't help but notice how much quicker her steps were as soon as she'd noticed him, and they made no effort to talk to one another. Being just friends, it seemed, just wasn't an option for them. They were far too deeply in—
He shook himself out of the past, focusing on the task before him.
He pulled out a box with lights sticking out from the top of it, knowing that this one most definitely contained Christmas-related decorations, and he slammed it down onto the ground beside Sirius, who looked at it with an air of disinterest. "You're doing this now?"
"You put up the tree two months in advanced," James defended, "I want the place ready for guests. And Eleanor is coming over, sooner or later."
"Later, hopefully," Sirius responded, "But with my luck, it's probably sooner."
James looked up from the box. "I thought you'd warmed up to her."
"What am I, a bloody chicken in need of defrosting?"
"More or less," James answered truthfully, and he pulled out the lights at the very top of the pile and laid it out on the ground before moving on to the next form of decoration. "But I say you'd be a disgrace to the chicken species."
Sirius shrugged, unfazed. "Not too different from my current familial situation, I'd say."
James snorted. "Leave it to you to somehow turn this into a pity talk."
"We both know that the person more in need of pity currently is the one wearing glasses with lenses thicker than bloody oatmeal."
"I'm over her—"
"I didn't mention anyone who could fall under the category of getting over, so that goes to show just how much you're 'over her.'"
James sighed. "I— It's been a year, mate. Eleanor's really cool, and I really want to move on with her. What's not cool is you constantly telling me that I'm better off with an ex."
"Thought you liked honesty?"
"I like it more when you try to make an effort to like someone."
"I never said I didn't like Eleanor. She's just boring."
"Not besting you in every conversation does not make her boring. She's sweet, and she can be awfully funny if you give her the time."
Sirius regarded James's response with little interest, if any at all, and he merely returned to scrolling through various menus of various restaurants so as to see what he— they, probably— would have for dinner tonight. "Doesn't matter if she's boring."
"She's not—" He willed himself to refrain from adding fuel to the fire and instead resorted to making a noise of frustration that fell from the back of his throat. "We've got matching soulmarks."
"Still using a term conned by your ex, I see," Sirius grunted, "The universe must bloody love you to set you up with someone so boring."
James looked up at Sirius, the extensive cord in his hand looking as if he was threatening his friend with it. There was no getting to his mate, and so he gave up on convincing him that Eleanor truly was a great person, the only problem being that Sirius didn't give a rat's arse about any love interest of James until she had red hair and green eyes.
As he walked from room-to-room, the lights stretching up from behind him, he thought that he could practically hear her laughter from beside him as he told her some stupid joke about how she lit up his life, and it hit him that he'd no longer be able to ever hear the sounds of her laughter ever again. It didn't matter if he pursued her, because he knew that he'd hurt her so badly that she'd probably never want to smile in his near vicinity, not that she would have any urge to, anyway.
He'd truly, honestly thought that he'd repressed all feelings that he felt for her, but, of course, because Christmastime had decided to creep up from a dark corner, his feelings had decided to tag along as well, simply since it was known that the holidays were a favourite of one particular redhead, who spread joy through the contagiousness of her smiles. It would be absolutely ludicrous for him to not be able to think of, especially when he'd come to associate the holiday season with her.
Over time, perhaps he'd learn to forget about her, but right now, one year— one measly little year— just wasn't enough for him to erase such a large part of himself, and he knew that she'd always hold one little piece of the entire puzzle of his life so that it would forever be incomplete.
There'd been conflicting emotions that battled constantly within him. Part of him had thought he was undeserving of finding love after hurting her the way that he did, but the other part of him was convinced that everyone deserved another chance at it. On some days, the former won out when he remembered how hurt she'd been that day, and though she'd stayed the night with him, she lied on the other side of the bed, so audibly upset by him. He didn't even get to say one last goodbye to her, because all traces of her were already gone when morning had come.
Perhaps he'd been thinking about her too much, or perhaps there was some part of him that was compelling him, but for whichever reason it was, he found himself opening the very top drawer in his room, one in which he'd forsaken for the longest of time, because that very specific drawer was used simply to store things that he had absolutely no use for— whether it was old glasses, expired cards, whichever. His eyes fell upon the one thing his subconscious had been looking for, one little box that he'd remembered throwing haphazardly into the drawer without a second thought.
He picked it up carefully, opening it up to see that it was still completely intact, and he remembered how a year ago, he'd bought it with the hopes that once the recipient got it, her laughter would fill the air as she expressed her joy for the piece. He recalled how her eyes had caught on to the piece of jewelry that one winter day that they'd walked back to his place, and he'd made the resolve to buy it as soon as possible, though he'd never gotten around to giving it to her, not when fate took a turn for the worse.
He knew what he had to do, though.
There was no other reason for it to lying around in the house, not when it was intended for someone else.
The lights, it seemed, would have to wait for another day.
He didn't think that he'd be here any time soon. He didn't think that he'd ever be here after that day, yet there he was, standing like a complete idiot with his hand poised over the door, ready to knock once he'd gained the confidence to do such a simple action.
He braced himself— possibly spending far more time standing at the door than actually getting there— but enough then he knew that no amount of preparation could ever get him to stand bravely on his feet.
There shouldn't be anything so terrifying about knocking at a door, yet the mere knowledge that she was at the other side of the door was enough to knock any air of confidence that he'd managed to build up inside of him, and any wondering that he'd done was finally to be put at ease once he'd see her again. If even ease. There was the overwhelming fear that both parties would leave one another in a fit of tears as nostalgia for the past crept up to them.
And when he'd finally managed to knock, tapping three times, just loud enough for her to not miss it, he felt his heart thumping equally as loud.
It felt as if everything was moving in slow motion, and the door soon opened, revealing the one person he hadn't seen in so long. It felt as if it was a dream to see her once again, and he was merely only able to take in the sight of her, and when his eyes met green, green that quickly grew guarded upon realising just who it was that had happened upon her door, he smiled softly at her, as if to tell her that he meant absolutely no harm.
And then the door, just as swiftly as it had opened, began to swing closed.
Though surprised by the reaction, he quickly jammed his foot in between the crack, underestimating the rigour in which she had applied so as to shut it, and he was very much aware of the pain stinging in his foot at where the door had made impact. "Ow— fucking—" He winced terribly at the shooting sensation in his foot. "I— Give a bloke some warning next time, yeah?"
"Give me some warning the next time you decide to show up at my place uninvited," she returned immediately without so much as a hint of a smile, and she opened the door carefully, as if that would easy any pain that he felt physically. She moved over to the side, which signified that she wasn't yet kicking him out, and he hesitantly stepped inside, the smell of chocolate filling his nose immediately.
She'd gotten a haircut, he'd noticed, her hair stopping at her shoulders, and he would have berated himself for thinking that she was still as stunning as ever, before reminding himself that there was absolutely nothing wrong with acknowledging that a person was attractive. There was something different about her, something that he couldn't quite put his finger to, but before he could learn what it was, she began walking towards the dinner table, to which she stood behind the chair facing away from him.
"Are you going to sit, or are you going to just stand there?" He'd have thought she was talking to anyone other than him had it not been for the manner in which she'd turned around just the slightest to acknowledge him.
"I— right." He felt his feet moving on their own accord, which was fine with him, because he didn't think that he'd have been able to do it himself, and he seated himself across from her, watching as she stirred a mug of hot chocolate, to which she slid across the table to him. She grabbed her own mug, decorated with whipped cream and topped with cinnamon, before sitting down herself.
"That was supposed to be for Mary—" He couldn't help but take her statement as one with the slightest scorn, as if she felt compelled to give it to him. "—But she won't be home for a while, so take it."
"Lily—"
"I know how much you love hot chocolate, James Potter." Her voice cracked at the end of her statement, as if just saying his name hurt to her right down to the bone. "Take it."
He nodded, reaching out to take it, not realising that her hand was still curled around the rim of it, and so he wound up feeling her fingers beneath his. The sensation warmed him, even if it lasted for just a short second, and she let go of the mug, wiping the back of her hand subtly on her shirt as if he was dirty to the touch.
In an attempt to escape the awkward atmosphere, he picked up the mug, taking a small sip that brought the overwhelming smell and taste of chocolate and peppermint, which brought him back to a distant time where there were no doubts about the joy that he had felt then.
He couldn't help but recall how sweet her lips had tasted as he took the opportunity to taste the hot chocolate that she'd made. He remembered laughing so hard that his cheeks hurt as he licked the whipped cream off of her lips before kissing her with all of the love that she deserved, and it was such a contrast to the setting now, where he was using the very same type of drink to wash down the tense air between the two of them.
There was no smiling in this situation.
No matter how much he gulped down, no matter how much of the liquid burned his throat, he couldn't get rid of the memories bubbling up from the depths of his brain, and so he slammed the mug down, making a sound loud enough to make her jump in her seat. "Sorry."
"Right, well, you've a lot of things to be sorry for," she replied, and he'd have refuted her argument if she wasn't right. It wasn't even that she was trying to guilt-trip him, because he knew how much hurt he'd left her, how much hurt he'd brought onto himself, and yet he still felt like complete rubbish for it all anyway.
"I do," he merely said instead, and he noticed how she'd yet to meet his eye. Anytime he'd thought she was looking at him, it seemed that she'd taken to look at a fixed point somewhere above his shoulder instead. "How have you been?"
She didn't satisfy him with an answer, though he hadn't expected her to. "James, what are you doing here?"
He looked at her, and there she was, looking at, perhaps, the refrigerator behind him rather than actually at him. He tried to make out the emotions that she'd always let stir in her eyes, mixing with the greens, and he found that they were completely guarded and completely lackluster of the usual shine that she used to showcase to the world.
It was strange to think that this was the same person who shone brighter than the sun, who had lit up his life in so brightly a manner that he wouldn't have been surprised if she was the reason why his eyesight was so poor, because now, as she sat there, the only thing that he could perceive was how tired she appeared to be, as if every day was a struggle to breathe through. He felt his heart hammer out at the thought of how much pain she felt each day, but he quickly chastised himself.
Who was he to assume that she'd be upset over the likes of him? He wasn't worth the pain.
He thought that he was getting better as the days passed, but the sight of her in such a state tore down the progress that he was making, because all he wanted in this very moment was to somehow bring a smile to her face, to give her the fuel she needed to make the planet pick up its pace and revolve as scheduled once again, as the world seemed to have somehow stopped because of the state of Lily Evans.
It wasn't even that he expected her to be so merry and happy after he'd promised her that he'd keep her heart, which she had happily given him, only to break it into a million pieces and bury it deep into the ground. That was far too unrealistic of him, but all he wanted was for her to have the best life that she could, even if it meant that he'd be miserable in the process.
Cracking a joke wouldn't help in this situation, and so he pulled out the physical reason for visiting her, sliding the box across the table to her. "This is for you."
Her eyes flickered down to the box before returning back to the point behind his shoulder. "I am not taking that."
"At least look at it."
"James, you can't just show up to my house and give me something expensive when we haven't spoken in a year."
"Why the bloody fuck not?" he shot back, "Lily, I bought this for you."
She swallowed and took a deep breath. He could make out a slight trace of pain in her eyes when she focused them on his shirt. "Word on the street is that you've got a new girlfriend, so why give this to me instead of her? Surely, you've got to be treating her with all of the respect that she deserves."
A new girlfriend.
Eleanor.
Eleanor hadn't once crossed his mind this entire time that he'd been here, and he felt shame bubbling in himself this entire time, because he'd probably thought about Lily's well-being more times than he'd probably ever thought about his current girlfriend, and if not, then such thoughts were definitely not as strong as the thoughts he'd had about Lily. He was being a complete arse right now, even if he had no control over the thoughts that frequented his mind, because he should have been putting his girlfriend somewhere near the top of the list, and yet, there he was, reunited with his ex-girlfriend.
Even just the thought of her being an ex sent a jolt to his heart.
He ignored the fact that her words were confirmation of the goodness in her heart, even if the implications of her words were of how harshly he'd dropped her. "I— I didn't get this recently, all right? I got it a year ago for you specifically. It caught your eye when we walked past a store together, and I wanted to be a nice boyfriend and get it for you, because it was the least that you deserved."
She stared down at her mug, not answering, and she let out a light sniffle before closing her eyes momentarily. He watched her take a deep breath, her hands tightly gripping her mug, before she slowly opened her eyes again. "I still can't take it."
"You can—"
"No, I can't, James. I—" She finally willed herself to meet his eyes, and he was hit with the sight of something that was all too familiar to him, yet so foreign because it had been so long since green had met hazel, so long since the moon met the sun. "What am I supposed to do with it? I can't wear it, and I can't sell it. Why are you putting this to waste when—"
"I can't give it away when it was intended for you."
"And I can't wear it when it came from you."
"Lily, please don't be so stubborn," he said, and just saying those words seemed to break him even more on the inside, because they were a reminder of one of the reasons why he'd fallen for her so hard. Her stubbornness was a part of her that he could never want disappearing out into the world.
"If I take it, what will happen then? Are we just never going to see each other again?"
He casted his eyes down at his hands, because as much as he'd like to see her again, he knew that wasn't a possibility, not when he'd stomped all over her heart the way that he did. Truly, he hadn't considered what was to happen after their meeting, having been far too swept up in the memories circulating from the past to even give thought to the future. "I don't know. I've never— I couldn't just do anything about it without seeing you about it first. I felt that you had the choice because it was for you, Lily."
"And it took you a year to see me about it?" He could hear the hurt in her voice.
His hand flew up to his neck, scratching it awkwardly. "I couldn't exactly give it to you as soon as we'd broken up."
"That is not what I meant." He waited for her to elaborate. "Why now, when I was finally starting to get over you?"
There was silence on his part, and he once again felt deep shame welling inside of himself upon hearing her words. He knew that his presence was merely rubbing salt into a wound that was just beginning to heal, but he'd felt so intent on delivering the necklace to her that he hadn't even stopped to consider the consequences of such an action. Finally, he said, "It had to happen sometime."
"It didn't have to happen at all," she shot back, "James, I truly can't take that necklace."
"If I gave it to you before we broke things off—" Before he had broken things off, more like. "—What would you have done with it?"
"I would have returned it to you. James, please—"
"Lily, I'm not asking you to take me back. Take it. Please."
"You're an arsehole, did you know that?" she snapped at him, and he was taken aback by her words, though he was quick to notice the hot tears brimming in her eyes, "You're the biggest bloody arsehole I've ever met. I really was planning on moving on. I was going on a date today, and you just— you can't even choose whether or not to stay in my life. When I think that I might finally be over you, I'll suddenly be thinking about your smile, or your voice, or your— I can't even go on the bloody date anymore, because it wouldn't even fair to the other person, not when the only thing I'll be thinking about is you, whether I want to or not."
More shame welled up inside of him, more than enough to fill an ocean. "Lily—"
"I know that you've ulterior motives in bringing this to me," she cut him off, "You can't possibly be daft enough to think that I don't have an idea of what's going through your head when I know you more than I know myself."
"I don't— Lily, I don't," he denied, stammering, "I can't even imagine the pain that you're going through, and I'm sorry. I am so bloody sorry for hurting you the way that I did, but I can't. I can't do anything but bring this to you. I swear that I don't have any tricks up my sleeve. I just—"
"If you're sorry, then leave. Please leave." He heard the urgency in her voice, and looking down at her hands, he saw that they were clenched tightly to the point that he'd feared they would break. Flickering up to her eyes, he noticed that there were tears that she was forcing to not fall. She was holding back. After all of this, and she was still holding back the deepest parts of her feelings.
They didn't have the privilege of cradling each other's hearts in their hands anymore. It was all on him, not her, who had kept faith in their relationship even in the moment of truth.
His eyelids felt heavy with a certain feeling, and he didn't at all blame her for closing her eyes so often as she'd done. He didn't blame her for anything. He only blamed himself. "If I take this, will you go?"
He swallowed, his heart feeling heavy. "Yeah."
She hesitantly reached out to pick the box up from the table and opened it, her face growing even more crestfallen at the sight of the content in the box, just as the past came to punch her in the very place where she was most vulnerable. She closed it promptly, putting it off to the side, and looked at him, as if there was nothing amiss with the situation, as if she wasn't on the verge of falling apart. "Is there anything else?"
Her words held the implication that she no longer wanted to see him, but the very thing was that he didn't want to leave her just yet, because they had so much to catch up on, and he still didn't have the slightest clue as to what had been going on his life, only to chastise himself for having such thoughts. He didn't have the right to know anymore. He'd given all of that up a year ago. "Before I go, can we hug?"
The pain that shot through her eyes and bounced off of every surface of her face was more than enough of an answer to his question. "Please, James. Don't make this any bloody harder than it already is."
He felt his heart respond with a shooting pang, and though her eyes were shining, it was from the tears that were threatening to fall rather than from any joy that she could have. He nodded at her, giving in to the notion that there was no hope for saving any remnant of their relationship, whether it be maintained as platonic or even as acquaintances. "Right, I understand." He stood from his seat, having forgotten about the chocolate, which had turned cold by now. "Take care, Lily."
"That'll be easier said than done," she replied softly, and he was almost halfway to the door when she'd said that. He wasn't able to stop himself from turning around to look at her, memorising the sight of her, and he wondered vaguely if it spoke words about this little gesture, that even now, he still stopped to catch a glimpse of her, knowing that this might be the very last time he'd ever see her again. Though, he'd thought that he'd never see her again after that day a year, and quite evidently, that was false.
He opened the door and closed it quietly behind him, and with the barrier between them, he finally felt the feelings that he'd suppressed creeping back up onto him and engulfing him like a burning flame.
And, just when he'd thought that he couldn't possibly feel any worse, he distinctly heard the sounds of her sobs through the wall, a sound so heartbreakingly sorrowful that had the birds caught on to the sound, they'd sing songs just to remind her of all of the joys in life, though their singing would only be in vain. Something had exploded within him, leaving shrapnel that was to pierce him permanently. He wanted so desperately to turn around, to burst in and cradle her while telling her that it would be all right, but the fact of the matter was that he couldn't even convince himself that things would look up for him, and so he continued walking forward, each step more painful than the next.
There were thoughts that his mind was forcing him to acknowledge, and the mere fact that he'd let her go without any form of mercy was enough to break him in two. He knew that he didn't deserve her, but that was a thought that he should have recognised as the truth a long time ago.
He wasn't sure when his own tears had begun falling, but once he'd realised, he made no effort to stop them.
He'd broken Lily Evans.
He'd thought that he'd get better after a year, yet here he was, feeling just as miserable as he'd been when everything had spiralled downhill.
In a year, he'd managed to go days without thinking of her, managed to get through life without so much as wanting to fall apart, and now, he was right back to square one, simply because of the knowledge that she was equally as torn as he was, if not worse.
Eleanor had invited him over to her place, having made hot chocolate from a mix that she'd brought from the same cafe that he'd met her at, and he found no good reason to turn down her offer, because it meant that he'd spend time with his girlfriend, who he was supposed to be cherishing with as much of his heart as he could give. She set a mug filled to the brim with marshmallows down in front of him, and he smiled at her in gratitude. "Thanks, Eleanor."
Her lips drew up at the ends before turning downwards at the sight of him. "Are you okay? You look a bit tired."
"I'm fine." That was a lie, and she could see right through him. How could anyone not see through him, when his eyes probably had bags deep enough to cause concern?
"I understand if you don't want to talk about it, but—"
"No, no, it's not that I don't trust you with that information," he cut in, "I don't want to burden you with my problems."
"You're not going to burden me," she assured him, and she reached over to take his hand in hers, "I want to be there for you."
He smiled softly at her, pulling her down to his level to press a small, chaste kiss to her lips, though he took slight notice of the fact that their kisses didn't make him feel as warm as he'd expected them to. They rarely felt warm. "And I appreciate that. Really appreciate it, actually."
"Is there anything I can do to make you feel better?"
"Just being there helps, really." He took a small sip of the hot chocolate, the liquid burning his tongue immediately because he'd forgotten to blow at the surface, and he let out a small sound of profanity.
He watched her eyes soften in sympathy. "Are you—" She stopped herself. "I'm sorry. That was a dumb question."
He shook his head at her. "It wasn't dumb. Don't think that."
"But—"
"I really am fine, El." He opened his mouth, sticking his tongue out. "See? It's still there, isn't it?"
She still look concerned. "James, I don't think I see it." He blinked at her, before a hint of a smile grew on her face, and he let out a slight, playful groan.
"I can't believe I really just bloody fell for that," he said, plucking a marshmallow that hadn't yet melted in the mug and dropping it into his mouth. The sweetness of it filled his mouth almost immediately, and he was again reminded of a memory that he'd tried so desperately to suppress, but the sound of sweet laughter was threatening to overcome his ears, a sound so loud that it appeared that it would be the only thing that he would ever hear again.
He wasn't supposed to hear it again. He didn't deserve to hear it, and yet, her laughter was ringing out in his ears, as if it was a sound that was actually in the room at that moment.
The problem was that no one was laughing, not him, not Eleanor, and most definitely not her.
It was difficult to appear nonplussed by her sudden emergence, having found a way to overtake every one of his senses, every inch of his person, without actually being there, and so he wasn't surprised when Eleanor grew concerned for him once again. "James—"
"I'm fine," he said once again, and he didn't know whether he was trying to convince her or himself, but from the way in his his hands were slightly trembling, it must have been the latter. He didn't want to talk about her to his current girlfriend, because she didn't deserve to hear the miserable side of him that still hadn't found a way to get over a ghost of his past, a ghost that he could never push away no matter how hard he tried.
The sound of her laughter went away, though there was no room to feel ease, because he'd suddenly thought back to the sounds of something completely different, sounds that he'd wished he'd never have to have heard from the one person who radiated sunshine in every single aspect. He told himself again and again about how unfair it was to Eleanor that he continually thought about Lily, but she'd somehow managed to gain complete control over his thoughts, making it so that she was the only thing that constantly swarmed his mind.
In the back of his mind, safely tucked away, was the knowledge of why exactly he couldn't escape her, that every path he tried to avoid in an effort to forget about her only paved the way that led right back to her. He'd stowed it away, not wanting to accept it, but when fate was desperate to take its course, he couldn't disregard that vital piece of information.
He wanted to be with Lily, not with Eleanor.
He was in love with Lily, and no matter how hard he tried to sway himself into believing that Eleanor was the one for him, he couldn't help but dwell on the fact that they didn't have the exact marks that supposedly a soulmate, because her freckle was small enough to notice a difference. If such a case, maybe he didn't need a soulmate.
Why would he need a soulmate, when she wouldn't be the one person that he wanted?
He'd always assumed that soulmates were supposed to complete one another, just like the way puzzle pieces fit, but perhaps that wasn't accurate, as he'd remembered that his life functioned perfectly well before meeting her. Perhaps, instead, he was one whole puzzle himself, put together the way the universe had arranged for him to be, and hurting her broke him apart, making it seem as if he only functioned with her.
He could make it work. They could make a relationship work, no matter if they were soulmates or not. They could learn to work through it together, because that was how a relationship remained strong, but this was the exact argument that she'd used that dreadful day, only that he'd been foolish enough to not listen.
It wasn't even completely certain that she would even take him back, and he wouldn't even at all blame her if she chose not to. He was more than willing to put himself through the worst of situations if it saved her from any emotional pain, but he was sure that she'd absolutely refuse any form of pain to him, simply because it was just in her person to do such a thing.
No, he had to stop.
He was getting far too ahead of himself. There was Eleanor, too sweet to even be with a ponce like him, standing there as his thoughts left a silence that hung over the air like a cloud that threatened to break the horizon, ready to unleash its contents onto the world so that everyone could feel its wrath. "I'm sorry, Eleanor."
Her understanding of the situation shone through in her words, and she gave him a small, wistful smile. "This is about your ex, isn't it? Lily?"
There was no accusation in her tone, yet he still found himself surprised by her response, and he blinked at her. "I— yeah. How did you know?"
"You looked miserable when we first met. I've noticed that people look that way when their soulmate isn't who they expected it to be," she replied, and she pushed the mug of hot chocolate towards him, "It's cooled down a little. You should drink it before you go."
"I'm not going to leave you, El."
"I really appreciate that, James, but you really should go."
"No, I— I'm not going to make you feel like shit for leaving you for an ex."
She shook her head. "You wouldn't be."
"The thing is, I would, actually, and—"
"James, I'm breaking up with you."
He blinked at her, not sure why he didn't at all see that coming. He hadn't put his all into the relationship, and any observer would have realised it.
He didn't have to ask if he would see her again. This would, most definitely, be the last time he'd ever meet up with her.
"You deserved better, Eleanor," he told her sincerely, and she shrugged lightly.
"I know. There's no point on entertaining that thought."
"I'm sorry again," he said, "For using you to get over someone else. That was a shit thing of me to do."
"There's no need to apologise," she assured him, and he couldn't help but think about how she was far too good for him. Women were far too good for him. "I knew what I was getting myself into."
"But you don't disagree with that being a shit move."
She shook her head. "I don't."
He gave her a self-deprecating smile. "At least we can agree on that."
She let out a small sound of agreement. "Yeah. I wish you and Lily the best."
"I reckon it's only Lily who deserves the best," he replied, and cringed inwardly as he realised how that could have been misinterpreted, "That is, I'm not the best. At all. I mean that I don't deserve half the good things that come to me."
She didn't agree or protest his words, keeping silence on the matter regarding how worthy he was. He knew that she wasn't completely vocalising her feelings, but it didn't matter; the fact that he was too willing to dump her for an ex that he'd absolutely no chance with showed that he truly was the biggest arsehole to have ever existed. She walked around him to grab a napkin from the kitchen counter, lingering behind him before placing it down in front of him. "You've got five soulmate marks."
His eyebrows drew together in confusion at her words. "I have four."
She shook her head at him. "You never told me that you had a mark on your neck."
"That's because I don't—" He blinked, his mind flashing back to that one mark of Lily's that he'd always found alluring, as it was a magnet pulling him in, located on the very back of her neck that he'd always treated with the utmost delicacy. He'd never known the reason as to why it had always drawn him in, because he'd never felt so strongly for any of her other marks, but now, his mind was running through about a million thoughts at a time as he began to ponder the possibilities.
Could he…?
No, because that would only lead to the question of how could he have never noticed it in all of his years of living?
The answer to that came to him soon enough, as he'd recalled how, as a child, whenever someone so much as mentioned any mark that he had, he put put a fight to not listen, covering his ears and singing loudly so that he could not hear them. There was the point that he had always kept his hair long enough to cover that one part of his neck that couldn't possibly have a mark, located in a place where he would never have seen it, even if his hair had been short.
He'd gotten a haircut yesterday, though, which was entirely out of a whim, because he'd been struck with the memory of how much Lily had loved the length of his hair, and when even that was a reminder of her, he'd resolved to put a change to it.
He looked at Eleanor confoundedly, his heart feeling as if it was running a race of its own. It was painfully obvious where the mark was now, if his heart wasn't lying to him. "It's on the back of my neck."
She nodded in confirmation, smiling lightly as he began to put two and two together. "It's on the back of your neck."
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