chapter 2 of keeps me on my toes! i looked over this a million times and squealed and hope to not disappoint! :) there's one more part after this!
Amelia had classes three times a week on Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Thursday.
Obviously, that meant he'd get to see Lily three times a week.
Nine beautiful hours a week.
Lovely.
On the next day he'd taken Amelia to practice, he'd made a great effort to make himself look much more presentable than he was the day before, where he'd thrown on a random t-shirt over his uniform pants because he'd just planned on seeing a movie after dropping Amelia off. He hadn't expected to end up impressing somebody. He'd tried to tame his hair as much as he possibly could, neglecting the bottle of hair gel that his dad had invented solely for him to use, because he quite liked his hair the way it was; his goal was only to make it look as if his hair had been ripped— not physically, of course, because that would be a disaster— out of the cover of a fashion magazine, not out of a hurricane like it usually was.
He'd perfected every stroke with his comb, like it was an art. Each strand of his messy hair had to stick out in a certain direction, or it would throw off his entire look altogether.
Amelia had banged on his bathroom door at least fifteen times, but he ignored it each time, because she just didn't have an understanding of how brilliant his hair had to be. "James! I'm thirty minutes late," she'd said, an exaggeration merely to trick him out of the bathroom. He wasn't going to fall for it, because once he checked the time on his phone, they'd have loads of times left, and—
Shit.
What she'd said had turned out to be right, the time on his phone in fact demonstrating that they were late, that she wasn't pulling his tail.
He'd burst out of the bathroom, stumbling down the stairs as she trailed after him, and he grabbed his keys off of the kitchen counter. Thirty minutes put to waste, because all of this rushing was most definitely going to mess up his hair anyway, and Lily wasn't going to notice a difference despite his efforts. He'd only planned to spend at most ten minutes in the bathroom, with far more than enough time to get there early, but, apparently, ten minutes turned into an entire hour.
Time, though a social construct, was stupid.
"What were you doing?" Amelia seethed from her seat.
"Oi, relax. You're the best dancer in the class, besides Lily, I'd say. You're not going to miss much from thirty minutes."
"You're— oh my goodness, did you spend all that time in the bathroom for your hair?" she asked in an accusing tone, the anger from her voice turning into incredulity, and, if James was correct, quite a bit of amusement as well at the sight of his hair.
"Hush, you," he said, his eyes trained on the road, "I'm speeding, which means I'm more susceptible to a crash."
"Do you want me to bring your hair up to Lily, then?"
"Could you please? I'd like to earn some brownie points with the fair maiden."
"If you— hey!" she started, a thought suddenly going through her head, "Since you didn't go anywhere yesterday, do I still get to drive your car?"
"What? No."
"What? Why?"
"Did you really think I'd trust you with Esmeralda?"
She crossed her arms at him. "I'm not going to bring your hair up to Lily, then," she huffed, a futile attempt at threatening him.
"Fine by me," he shrugged, "Because if you noticed, then Lily's got to notice too."
She pouted at him, but they'd made it to the studio by then— thanks to his speeding just slightly over the limit. As soon as he put his car into park and took the keys out of the ignition, she'd bolted from her seat and into the building, James following her from behind.
Just as it was human instinct to turn one's head towards the source of sudden movement from another part of the room, everyone already inside of the studio was immediately drawn to the presence of James and his sister. Lily, who had been sporting the usual ballet wear— a leotard that showed off her shapely legs—, with her lips covered in a red that was very much absent yesterday, a color that drew even more attention to her face, stared in surprise for a brief moment, but then she beamed at them.
"Amelia! Hello. You're late," she greeted her, not even an inkling of anger or disappointment on her face.
"Sorry, Lily," she said apologetically, before turning to glare at him, "If only someone didn't take so long in the bathroom."
"It's all right, really. We've just been warming up, so you haven't missed a thing," Lily smiled, her eyes flickering towards him as she curved her lips upwards more, and consequently making his heart jump miles high.
They'd returned to their stretching exercises, and Lily had— thankfully— left them to their own devices, saying that she was all-too familiar with the routine to be able to do it herself, and strolled over to James, who'd been leaning against the wall in an effort to look cool, like he was posing for his own photoshoot. He bloody well deserved that photoshoot too, because his hair was looking amazing, if he did say so himself.
"Lily. Fancy seeing you here," he said, his lips quirking up at her.
"You're quite in luck, then. I'm here three days out of the week." She pursed her lips at him. "Have you done something to your hair?"
"Did Amelia point that out to you?"
"No, that's rather low of low to assume that I can't notice it for myself. It looks nice."
"Yeah?" he grinned, "She tried to con me into letting her take my car out for a spin."
"Then, is that why you were late? Your hair, I mean."
"I've got to impress a pretty girl somehow. Nice lipstick."
"That's quite the dry compliment."
"I'd have added something dirty, but I'm afraid it's not appropriate for the situation."
She drew her eyebrows up at him, looking pleased. "Because of the girls?"
"Because I don't think we've reached that stage yet," he corrected her, "But that too. Hey, right, remember yesterday when you said that it was unfortunate about me not having any sort of ulterior motive?"
"I have an idea," she allowed, the corners of her lips rising.
"Do you want to elaborate on that?"
"Would it be terrible of me to say that we've got to return to practice?" she asked teasingly.
"When you say 'we' it sounds an awful like you're including me in the collective group."
"I could be. Care to join the class today?"
"Are you insinuating that I embrace my femininity? Because if you are, then I'd bloody love to."
She beamed at him, taking his hand in hers— holy fuck, her hand was soft— as she led him to the front of the room. Even then, she didn't let go, which was more than enough for the girls to go off of, because they were immediately flooded with prodding questions and accusations, all of which were along the lines of "Are you two dating?"
Their words only served for her to tighten her grip on his hand— and his poor little heart— as she smiled pleasantly at them. "This is James. He's Amelia's brother, and he'll be joining us today."
They were met with more chatter.
The only person who didn't express her excitement through gossip talk, of course, was his darling sister, who only stared at them with a smug look, like she was the reason they were holding hands. They'd flocked around him like swans, quite the comparison because such birds were known for their grace. There was also the ballet, but the movie with Natalie Portman was quite terrifying, and he shuddered to think about it.
"Will you be here every class? You were here yesterday, too."
"Do you know the basics of ballet?"
"You've got really cool hair."
"I love ballet," he started, "Been going to every one of Amelia's performances since she started. I reckon I've picked up a few tricks, too, only I don't want to show them because then you'll all get offended if I do it wrong. And thank you. My hair's fantastic."
"As much as I love this little bonding, I'm fairly certain that you're all supposed to be warming up," Lily cut in, and the girls groaned, returning to the barres on the wall not covered with mirrors.
"Buzzkill," he teased, and she quirked her lips upwards in response.
"Your little fanclub that you've got can dote on you all they want when they're not here for class," she said, her eyes flickering over to the girls, who had been sneaking glances back at them and quickly turning back when Lily looked over at them. "We should get started, then."
"I thought you'd never say."
She dragged him over to the barre, their hands still intertwined— the best few minutes of his life, he thought— and she'd only let go to place her hands on the barre for support. "I'm assuming that you know that this is called the barre."
"I do."
"Great," she beamed, "Every class starts at the barre. It's also the term for the first portion of the class, where you strengthen your body to prepare for the second part of class."
"So it's like warm-ups, pretty much."
"I suppose so, yes."
"Should I have brought a leotard for myself?"
"Oh, god no," she laughed, "You're fine. It's only for just today, isn't it?"
"Reckon so," he grinned back.
They'd started with pliés first, which Lily had explained as being used as a transitional step or as a cushion for the end of a traditional jump or the beginning. She'd started out on her first position with her toes out to the side and her heels touching. "When you're pliéing, you should make sure that your knees are going directly over the center of your foot. It's like you're going up and down and that there's two walls in front and behind you. The full extent of it is when your heels lift off the ground."
He followed form, the exercise proving to not even be all that bad, and he could only blame it on his athletic conditioning. After he'd gotten that done, he was rewarded with her pretty smile, only accentuated by the red on her lips. They'd continued with other exercises, like elevés and relevés. When she deemed him worthy of having finished with the barre, she moved on to the next portion, which involved the entire class.
Apparently, there was a lot to know about arm positions, like the exact location on finger placement, and how many inches the fingers had to be away from a certain point, and the importance of posture. It was almost all too much for him to keep up with, but he was a bloody genius in the field and in the classroom, and he was going to nail these positions, because the feat could very much up his chances of impressing Lily.
Center work? Piece of cake.
Adagio? Let's ada-go.
Lily had explained that this portion consisted of slow, graceful steps that helped to develop balance, extension, and control, something that James was a professional at, his years of football ensuring that. Balance was his best friend— don't let Sirius hear that— and it came in handy so many times in instances where he could have fumbled with the ball or fallen over in his haste to pass and receive.
Of course, the main problem was that he was much too inexperienced in this art, and his feeble attempt at arabesque en pointe, which wasn't even a serious attempt, really, because most of the girls in the class had only just learned to pull it off. It was only after Lily had demonstrated on her fancy shoes with her fancy feet, and he'd done it lighthearted, for fun.
Balance was most definitely not his best friend in this situation.
He'd tried standing on the tips of his toes without the pointe shoes, which was the first mistake that he should have been all the wiser to not have done, because it was hard enough without standing on his toes, much to his surprise. Adagio really was the term to describe the portion of the session, with everything suddenly moving in slow motion— slow, graceful steps— as his toes gave way to the ground, and he'd already had the next few seconds playing out in his head, where he'd crash onto the floor headfirst, and he'd probably smash his nose in, all because of his efforts to make the redhead—
He'd been met by her arms.
His left hand had been gripping the barre, and his right hand had been caught by her arms, which steadied him as she pulled him back to his straight posture. "Looks like I fell for you," he said cheekily, ignoring the manner in which his heart was thumping against his chest at their closeness, and the girls erupted into a fit of squeals.
"Smooth," she deadpanned, "Except I'd rather you not get hurt on my accord."
And en pointe? Well, he was most definitely not on point when it came to such a feat, but he'd like to think that if he had done ballet at a young age, he'd be the best ballerina the world had ever seen.
They'd moved on to the allegro portion next, the portion concerning faster, livelier steps, turns, jumps, and— the one term that he'd actually been aware of before this lesson— pirouettes.
With the stunt that he'd pulled earlier with the adagio, he didn't dare try it out on his own, instead, resorting to watching Lily and the girls twirl gracefully as he watched from the comfort of the barre. They'd gone through petit allegro, which was mostly small jumps and turns, and it soon escalated into much more grand movements, movements that James was somewhat able to keep up with.
They'd ended with reverence, the girls bowing and curtsying Lily, who merely smiled. James, feeling that he was a student of hers on that day, decided that she was well due the respect, and he'd made a ostentatious, over-the-top gesture towards her, ending it by pressing a kiss to the back of her hand. "Was a pleasure for you to have taught me today."
Her lips curved upwards. "It was a pleasure for you to have learned from me today."
There was his opportunity. Eight simple little words that when strung together, they were to be interpreted as initiation into a romantic relationship. Eight simple little words that when strung together, they were not to be misinterpreted as something else altogether.
"Do you want to go out…" he started, but the situation wasn't right. He couldn't quite possibly ask her that so suddenly. "—Side with me?
"Now?" she asked in surprise.
"Well, yeah. I reckon that was the point."
"No ulterior motives?"
"Nah, not unless you don't mind any prospect of that coming up."
"Well, I did say the lack thereof was unfortunate."
"And you've said it was unfortunate because…?"
"Oh, I don't want to spoil that for you. Let your imagination run wild," she replied, a mischievous glint in her eyes, and she grabbed her sweater out of her bag, pulling it around herself as she covered herself up. They walked outside, James holding the door open for her like the gentleman that he was, because if his mum caught wind of the fact that he didn't take advantage of an opportunity to be chivalrous, she'd key his car, even if it was paid by the money in her wallet. A traditional woman, his mother was.
"James Potter," she said, the cool air nipping at their skin, "You don't know my last name."
"I don't. I reckon I earned the privilege of learning it after today."
The corners of her lips curled upwards. "It's Evans."
"Evans," he repeated, "Lily Evans."
"Potter," she mimicked, "James Potter."
"Bond. James Bond."
"Are we just saying names now?" she asked in amusement.
"Reckon we've got to have broken the ice somehow."
"More icebreakers, then," she said, taking his hands in hers, and he eyed it for a moment before looking back at her, "Tell me about yourself."
"What do you want to know?"
"Everything."
"Everything?"
"Everything," she nodded.
"That's a lot of information."
"I'm aware. That means we'll have to spend more time together for that to be achieved, unless you're opposed to it, of course, but I'm under the notion that you quite like my company."
"And what makes you think that?"
"A lot of things," she answered, "Besides, you didn't deny it."
"Why should I? When you— oh, fuck, I'm so bloody sorry," he said, reminded of the strenuous activities they'd done in the studio.
"For what?" she asked, surprise on her face.
"You've been doing a lot of footwork, and my sister complains a lot about how sore her feet are afterwards, so obviously that'd be the same for you, that is, unless you've got an awfully high pain tolerance. I feel like an arse for not asking you to sit down."
"Oh, no," she replied, smiling, "It's fine."
"No, honestly, sit. I'll sit down beside you. I'll massage your feet, too, if you want— no, shit, wait, that sounds creepy. Swear I don't have a foot fetish or anything, not that I find feet repulsive and not that I worship feet, because gross."
He'd been so preoccupied with fumbling over the implications of his words that he hadn't even noticed that she'd let go of his hands, strange enough, and had taken to sitting on the curb. "As adorable as I find you to be stumbling over your lack of a foot fetish, could you maybe take it over here?"
"You find me adorable?"
"That's what you're focusing on?"
"I love compliments. I love receiving them, and, on the occasion, giving them." He settled beside her on the curb. "Your lips look exceptionally pretty today."
"Just my lips?"
"Fishing for compliments, Lily Evans?"
"Nope. I can't coax a compliment out of an occasional compliment-giver, apparently."
"You wanted to know everything about myself. Here's something: red's my favourite color."
"Oh? Mine's gold."
"Is it because of my eyes?" he asked, leaning in closely to blink repeatedly at her, fully aware of how close they were, the lights from the studio shining down at her to fully capture the shine in her eyes and on her lips. His action only served to evoke laughter from those lips of hers. When she laughed, she radiated sunshine, and he didn't even know that was possible, having thought that all of those romantic movies he'd watched were far too unrealistic. It was a pretty sort of laughter, the sort where her eyes would crinkle together and they'd gleam even brighter.
She reached up to stop his blinking with a hand, consequently smudging his glasses slightly. "I can't believe you'd think I'd be as shallow as that. It's because I'm materialistic, obviously, and the gold reminds me of my one true love."
"Obviously," he agreed, smiling, "When's your birthday? I've got to give you something tangible on that special day and not just a flimsy compliment."
"January 30th. Yours?"
"March 27th. Reckon we've got to wait a whole year for any gifts," he answered, unable to take his eyes off of the beauty that was her. She'd noticed, of course. How could she not when conversation had ceased, when they were the only people outside, in the world, really? He hadn't bothered to elaborate, to continue on his contributions to the conversation, but even if he did try, what would he have said? He'd been too entranced with the greens of her eyes that seemed to be luring him in.
"You're staring," she said.
"I am," he admitted.
"Why?"
He cocked an eyebrow at her. "Do you really want me to answer that?"
"I'd like to hear it from your lips."
"You are fishing for compliments, only I've already given you a compliment for the day. I do stand on my statement about your lips, though. Awfully pretty, they are."
"Well, I did choose to wear this bold color for a reason. It's working, too."
"It's a waste," he insisted, "Because how could you wear it without thinking that I'd want to kiss that lipstick off of you?"
Her lips drew upwards. "That's why I wore it."
He reached over to brush her hair out of her face and then inched closer to her, trapping her legs between his own. His lips were very much about to acquaint themselves with hers, and he could feel her breath on him as his heart hammered at his chest, doing about a million pirouettes, and her eyes fluttered shut, her long lashes tickling his cheeks.
This was it.
This was how it'd go with her, the conclusion to the first act of the story, the—
"James!"
Right, he should have expected that one.
Lily's presence had made him forget that there really were other people in the world, that isolating them from everyone else didn't necessarily equate to being able to do their hearts' desires without interruption from someone. And Amelia— how could he have left her out of the equation?— had stayed in the studio and had only exited when her friends had left.
He should have known that with great power comes great responsibility.
With a menace of a sister comes great responsibility.
With a menace of a sister comes great urges to strangle said sister.
He pulled away reluctantly from Lily, who had some sort of amused look on her face, as he turned wearily to his sister as she started towards them. His hands had at one point found themselves on Lily— one cupping her cheek and the other on her back— and Amelia noticed. She gave them an innocent look. "I interrupted you two, didn't I?"
"Damn right you did," he grumbled, and Lily nudged him, her eyes giving off the message to be nice or else there won't be any other opportunities that could easily end with someone cockblocking.
"Sorry Lily," Amelia said, and not at James, her own dear brother.
"Oi, where's my apology at?"
"I waited in the studio for exactly five minutes after Phoebe left. It's not my fault you didn't get to kiss," Amelia shrugged, "Let's go, Big Brother. I'm hungry."
Lily stifled a laugh, her hand reaching down to gently tug his own off of her. "Best not keep your sister waiting."
"If only she'd waited another minute or two," he sighed, helping her up to her feet, "You good?"
"As always," she assured him.
What was he supposed to do after that? A hug would have shown that he was being much too clingy for knowing her after a day, and a kiss to even the cheek felt weird with his sister watching their interactions. He'd settled for an awkward pat on her shoulder, and she offered a quizzical quirk of her eyebrows at the gesture, but she didn't question it.
Not so confident now, was he?
Everyone that he knew would most definitely take the mickey out of him now, and his mother would do everything in her power to speed up the business trip just to catch the earliest flight she could take in order to whack him over the head with a newspaper clipping. Sirius would move back into their house if it meant he could laugh at James's life and make a joke out of everything.
He could see it now: What does one do when they nearly, almost, not quite there, get some after 18 years of cursing the dirt with his existence? Pat the poor person who'd been kind enough to bring them out of their misery.
Amelia? Well, what was she not doing everyday that didn't concern embarrassing him in some way?
But then Lily, who seemed to have detected his deepest, darkest thoughts, smiled at him, and stood on the tips of her toes— en pointe, on point— as she pressed a sweet, hard kiss on his cheek. He'd turned towards her in incredulity, and a quick scan of her lips showed that they weren't as vibrant as they had been before, which only meant that she'd left her mark on her, that there was a bloody lipstick print on his cheek.
He was at a loss for words, his jaw having dropped on the hard, asphalt ground and not wanting to climb back up. She pouted at him, her lips puckered up quite attractively. "You're not saying anything."
"Thank you," he said in a daze, because his mother had taught him the importance of manners, and he didn't want to come off as ungrateful to such an angel. He reached up to touch the blessed cheek, the part of his face that he'd never bloody wash again if hygiene wasn't a necessity.
"I figured that I had to get this lipstick smeared somehow," she replied, her lips curving upwards, and then she patted his shoulder back, "I'll see you, James. Bye, Amelia." She waved at him, then his sister, who had the right mind to not interrupt again, instead having fixated her eyes on the ground, because she wasn't that evil.
That, or she didn't want to see her brother getting love and affectionate.
She walked away, and James knew right then and there that he was going to do about a million horribly-executed pirouettes when he got home.
This was for sure the start of something amazing, phenomenal, theatrical.
When James's parents came home from their trip to America, they'd been startled to see their only son spinning about in the living room.
Honestly, he didn't even blame them.
Actually, no, he took that back. They shouldn't have even been surprised in the first place, because he got up to a lot of bullshit in his free time, and doing pirouettes in the comfort of his own home was probably one of the most normal activities he'd ever done in his entire lifetime.
He'd bought real, authentic swords online and dualled with Sirius, where they'd then proceeded to slice a bunch of fruits with said swords; it did not end well for either of them, both of them sustaining wounds on their arms and faces after swinging just a bit too hard, and his mother had taken the swords away from them. He'd bought a live lobster from the local supermarket and kept it as a pet, taking it on daily walks on a leash until it had nearly pinched Amelia, and his mother promptly cooked it. He'd done strange things as a teenager, and they were focusing on his inner ballerina?
The disrespect.
At least his mother didn't chop his legs off.
He wasn't being reprimanded for it, but their judgmental stares were more than enough to nearly deter him, nearly being the key term here.
They'd asked him if he needed to see the doctor and that they could set up an appointment if he wanted, and after insisting that he really was fine, they'd dropped the case, but they'd continue to look at him with those judging eyes of theirs.
He'd unfortunately had to wash the lipstick off his cheek, though only after he'd taken a clear picture of it— the lighting in his bathroom allowing him to get the perfect shot. He was quite disappointed with it gone, but with so much of his life left to live, he was bound to get more of those kisses from her.
His parents weren't the only ones who picked up on his strange behaviour.
After securing Lily's phone number the next and last class of the week, which had led to his jovialness in the first place, he couldn't even plan a date with her, having created other plans with his mates after his own practice on Friday. Of course, having spent a week in a completely different environment doing different activities with his feet, he'd gotten his team to warm up, and, consequently, accidentally ended doing a plié, which did not go unnoticed by his team.
His barre exercise was met with a string of What the fuck, Potter?'s.
He scoffed at them, because he was the captain of the team and was not going to endure their ideas of toxic masculinity, going on an entire rant about how one should not at all be repulsed by actions that appear to reduce one's own virility and then ending it with the fact that women were awesome. His speech had shut their mouths immediately, and they carried on.
Bloody confident, he sounded.
If only James had that power everywhere he went.
He was quite proud of himself for saving his arse, but, as it did everywhere, word travelled quickly, and as soon as practice had let out, he'd met up with a laughing Sirius and an amused Remus and Peter.
"What?" he demanded, which only made Sirius laugh harder. "Remus?"
"Frank's posted a photo of you doing some sort of ballet exercise on Twitter."
"Bloody fucking—" he started, and then he narrowed his eyes at them, "You lot don't look surprised."
"Why would we?" Remus asked, "You've done a lot of weird things."
"Someone's even created a Twitter account called 'shitjameshasdone,'" Peter added.
Sirius had calmed down from his laughing bout by then, but he didn't add anything too important to the conversation. "A companion to 'shitsiriushasdone'. You know what they say, the sequel can never match up to its predecessor."
"I've gone to so many of Amelia's classes that I got mixed up, is all."
"You've gone to three," Remus pointed out.
"And I was fully interested all three times," he insisted, feeling the need to defend himself.
"Fully interested in that instructor, more like," Sirius muttered under his breath.
"What? There's no correlation between that and Lily."
"The barre. Ballet. Lily. Correlation."
And Sirius, having had a wicked thought occurring to him, said, "You know what they say about dancers and their flexibility? They can do amazing shit in bed. She can do a split on your—"
"Don't even finish that thought."
"And she could hang upside down and suck—"
"This is why I don't tell you things."
"I've never seen Lily in real life, but I already know what she looks like because you keep to detail and describe literally everything about her," Peter put in.
"I don't—"
"Amelia tells us what you leave out."
"We have a group chat with her and everything. We talk about you all the time."
"Oi, Peter, that was confidential."
"Sorry."
"No, you're not."
"Glad that you care enough to make an entire chat for me," James grumbled, "Hope you lot have Uber money. If not, I'll leave you money to catch a ride home."
"Where the fuck are you heading? We're going to eat, if you've forgotten."
"Home," he answered, "I don't have to deal with you taking the mickey out of me if I don't want to."
"You'll only get teased at home," Remus brought up, and he turned back around, a scowl on his face.
He really couldn't win.
By Amelia's sixth lesson since James had started driving her, everyone by then had found out about his slightly high infatuation with the redhead.
Amelia had continued her gossips about her classmates— Luca had finally asked Phoebe out, but it turned out that he'd only used her to get to Amelia, a twist that James honestly should have figured out. Needless to say, Amelia rejected him right off the bat, thank god for that, because that git didn't deserve his sister. They'd bumped to the songs on the radio, the genre varying from day to day depending on what they were feeling that day.
He'd been insistent that he, rather than their mother, drive her to her classes, and that, along with his pirouetting that he'd taken up on doing around the house— he'd done it while making breakfast, while doing his homework, and even once attempted it in the shower, which had almost landed him on a trip to the ER had he not gripped the wall to steady himself— had made it all more suspicious for her.
But his mother, who was not one to stop quality brother-sister bonding time, had let it go, and he thought he'd been safe, that she wouldn't yet find out about his crush because he'd begged Amelia not to say a word of it, even going as far as promising to do her homework for the rest of the week. It'd proved efficient too, as he'd walked in to the living room to his mother asking her sweetly if she knew what was wrong with him, and Amelia had only subtly changed the subject each time.
Safe he was not.
He'd been watching the girls— mainly Lily— practice their petit allego, and his eyes were transfixed on her long, shapely legs as they moved about, a striking similarity to the movement of a fairy, light and gentle, like she was a leaf drifting in the wind without even a care in the world. She'd stopped every once in a while to give a pointer to one of the girls, helping them to perfect their movements, like the sweet woman that she was, and—
The door burst open.
It was akin to one of those iconic scenes in those movies, like where the husband presumed dead came back home to his loving spouse, or where the federal forces broke into a convicted criminal's hiding spot, except not really.
His mother's eyes landed on him immediately, and she had a smug look going on for her, the cat having finally trapped the mouse, knowing full well that the taste was well worth it, and that's what he was right now: a puny, feeble mouse. She was adorned in professional wear, which was not at all unexpected from her, and she heaved a pleased sigh.
The entire class had stopped to see the source, and Lily beamed at the woman in question. "Mrs. Potter. How have you been?"
"Lily," she smiled in return, "I see you've met my idiot of a son."
"Well, I wouldn't say that he's an idiot," she replied, a small blush on her cheeks. James would know it's there. He had an an appreciate for the small things in life. "I— Mrs. Potter, I'd really love to chat, but I've got a class to teach."
"Of course," his mother said, "I'd only come to check on my loving children. Amelia, sweetie, keep up the good work."
Amelia nodded, and with one last smug look at him, she walked out of the studio.
He hadn't at all expected her to drive to the studio to check on him. Was he really that transparent? Did it really only take one more look to see the reason why he'd wanted to take Amelia to her classes?
The answer, of course, was yes.
He still hadn't gone on a date with Lily, still hadn't gotten to kiss her properly, because of their schedules, and a little more than 9 hours a week with her physically just wasn't cutting it. They'd talked on the phone a lot, mostly in the dead middle of the night— because who needs sleep anyway?— and texted each other throughout the day. She was the type of person who'd still continue the conversation even after hours passing since the last text was sent, like the barrier of time didn't exist, which was great. She never left a single line unanswered, much to his delight.
And as he walked out of the studio with her, having compromised with Amelia to allow them ten minutes alone, they sat down at their usual spot on the curb, her hands reaching back to take her hair out of its bun. He much preferred it down, loving the way it fell in waves around her, plus there was also the prospect that once they finally kissed, he could run his hands through them.
He was a sucker for romance, a sucker for her hair, and a sucker for her.
He wrapped an arm around her, pulling her closer to him, and she smiled her pretty little smile, taking his hand in hers. "What was that little stunt with your mum earlier?" she asked him.
"I dunno. I reckon she was trying to prove something about us."
"About us?"
"Yeah."
"That's strange. It's not like we're dating or anything. Not yet, anyway."
"Mum likes to interfere a lot in my life," James said, his heart dancing at the 'not yet' bit.
"When I think about it, she did mention you an awful lot when she talked to me," she hummed, "She always said how charming you were, but I'd always thought it was because she thought highly of you because you're her son."
"Having second thoughts about that?"
She nodded. "It didn't even come to me that she might have been trying to get me to think highly of you."
"Did it work?"
"I wouldn't be sitting beside you if it didn't, and I wouldn't have let you almost kiss me that other night."
"We can talk about that?"
"The kiss?"
"The almost kiss, yeah."
"I don't see why we can't."
"My mates have been taking the mickey out of me for that. Amelia runs her mouth to them, that traitor."
"Amelia talks about you a lot, too. It's obvious that she loves you, from the way she shows you off."
"Are you sure? That doesn't sound like my sister."
She nodded. "I'm positive. She's said things like 'My brother is top of his class' and 'I can always go to my big brother if I need help with something' and 'He always knows what to say.' You're very protective of her."
"'Course I am. That's what siblings are for, right?"
Her eyes flickered down to her lap. "I guess so," she said quietly.
"Are you all right? Shit, I didn't mean to rub salt on the wound. I didn't realise—"
"No, it's fine, James," she replied, giving him a reassuring smile, "Really."
"We can change the subject, or if you want to sit in silence then that's completely fine, too—"
"I can talk about it. I shouldn't leave you in the dark about it."
"Honestly, Lily—"
"James Potter, I am going to tell you, and you are going to sit your pretty self down and listen," she demanded, and he complied. She tucked her hair behind her ears. "I've got an older sister— Petunia— and she's never really been supportive of my decision to dance, which makes zero sense because it doesn't at all affect her, and the least she could do is at least pretend to be there for me, like she did when we were kids, but she thinks that dancing will get me nowhere in life. I wasn't even planning on taking the professional route for dancing, and don't get me wrong, I love dancing, but what I'd really like more is to help change the world for the— I'm saying too much. Sorry."
"No, don't apologize for that, Lily. Keep going. Didn't you say you wanted to tell me? I mean, obviously you don't have to continue, but don't stop because you feel that I might be judging you for saying too much. You know? And the situation concerning your sister, I'm sorry that she's not sticking by your side no matter the decisions you've made, but I know that things will get better for both you and her."
She offered him a small smile. "Thank you, James."
"I'm just being a decent human being, is all," he shrugged.
"Well, thank you for that," she said, the left corner of her lip twitching upwards, "I suppose I understand that she wants what's best for me, but I think my choices are what's best for me."
"'Course, if your choices make you happy and they don't hurt anyone else, then why shouldn't you see them through the end?"
"Exactly," she sighed, hugging his arm, and he revelled in her touch as she pressed her head on him, "I can't pick my family, but it doesn't change the fact that I do love her. You smell nice."
He couldn't help it. He burst into laughter at her admission. "Is that a cue for the serious discussion to end?"
"I've got to say something about it. You've that got attractive man smell going for you."
"Is it the smell that makes me attractive or is it me that makes that smell attractive?"
"Both, I'd say. You've a lovely smell and a lovely face."
"You're being generous with the compliments today."
"If it helps to get us out of this limbo of some sorts between friendship and romance, I'd happily tell you that you're attractive a million times, James Potter."
"No need for that. We could put an end to that limbo right now, and—"
And like every other opportunity that he had to make a move, they were interrupted yet again.
Perfect.
Guess who decided to show up at that very instant?
It was like the universe got off on cockblocking him, or, if that was too much of an exaggeration, at least his sister.
"Did I interrupt again, Big Brother?"
"Nah," he answered, knowing very well that she'd take much pride in meddling in his relationships, and he turned towards the redhead beside him, "I'll see you next week? And Facetime tonight?"
Her lips curled up, "That's the plan."
He helped her up from the curb, and she walked towards her car, offering him a mock salute while he waved at her.
"You didn't get mad at me," Amelia observed, in near amazement.
"Why would I?"
"Because I interrupted you and Lily again."
"That's a petty reason to get mad, 'Melia, and, I dunno, I guess it's not as romantic if I try to rush it knowing full well that you could cut us off."
She sat down in beside him, in that spot that Lily had occupied just moments ago. "I hope I don't turn out like my idiot brother."
"Oi," he said, "No need for that negativity. I'm your ticket home, remember?"
"No, like, you're so lovesick, and it's only been like a week since you've met her. Doesn't it feel scary to know that someone can do that to you?"
"Yeah, it's a little terrifying," he replied slowly, "But it's worth it, I think, I dunno. I'm not in love, not yet, anyway, and I sure as hell am not a love expert."
"How do you know when you're in love?"
He shrugged. "I think I'll eventually come to realise it. Why all these love questions?" he asked curiously, turning towards her. Her face flushed red, and she adamantly refused to meet his eye. Ah. That just about explained it.
She fancied someone.
His little, diabolical sister fancied someone.
She was concerned in her little gossip talks, only having left herself out each time so as he wouldn't suspect that she was very well involved in the love life going on about her school.
"You know, Amelia, you've got so much of your life to live for before you fall in love," he told her, "Future doctor, remember? Got your mind set on that, remember?"
"I know, James, but I can't help it."
"It's all right, 'Melia. You can love who you want to love—"
"No, James," she interrupted quickly, "It's a guy that I fancy, not a girl."
"Oh," he replied, scratching the back of his head, "That's fine, too. Which little bugger stole my little sister's heart? And for how long?"
"That's all you're getting from me today, Big Brother." She stood up from the curb, brushing any debris off of her person, and he was not going to let it go.
"Oi, when I find out, I'll be sure to be the one to drive you to your first date with him."
"That's fair," she said, "You need to do something with your boring life, anyway."
Fucking brutal she was, even at times when he thought he had the upper hand.
Whoever that bloke was, he was a lucky bastard.
He could only hope that his sister's heart wouldn't be broken horribly.
*** find me on tumblr lovesickjily
