James Potter woke up to an unfamiliar heaviness atop his chest. Still partially in his dream, he opened one eye by the tiniest of fractions, braced against whatever attack Sirius had planned, but none came. The barely-formed thought on how the lighting was somewhat wrong passed through his mind, and as reality reasserted itself with a more firm touch, he realised that what he'd assumed to be his dorm was a cupboard and what he'd assumed to be his bed was the floor. And then came the final realisation.

Blood red was spilled over his skin and he remembered her. He incredulously wondered how he could have forgotten. This was Lily Evans. She was fluorescence and aching laughter and a crisp citrus scent. She was undeniable and incomparable and most certainly unforgettable. Her hair was spilled everywhere and she was with him.

Lily's head rose so she no longer lay on him and James mourned the loss. She tilted her head towards his own, her body twisting beside him with her arms grazing his skin as she moved, and she propped herself up onto her elbows. She ran one hand through the hair that had crashed with the grace of waves, pushing it back, exposing the most beautiful face he believed to have ever existed.

James turned so that he could lie on his side. She stared at him – into him – the greenest of greens piercing through his own brown. Her eyes were surrounded by the puffiness of sleep, and James longed to kiss their softness. James longed to kiss her in general. The thought of kissing brought his gaze down to her lips and memories of yesterday flooded back, leaving a smile in their wake.

"Hey," Lily whispered. James's eyes snapped back to her own. Her voice sent his heart pounding and he willed it to calm down before she felt it.

"Hey," he replied.

"So this is awkward."

James chuckled and Lily gave him the type of smile he'd only ever dreamt of receiving. He had seen it stretched across her face thousands of times, but never directed at him. He usually received a look of contempt, thus any type of smile would be an improvement, but this smile was special. It begins as her eyebrows raising with a subtle quiver, then the smile erupts, with her teeth hidden and lips drifted towards one side, and finally, the eyebrows are lowered which allows the slight squinting of her eyes. A few years ago, he realised that the smile she currently wore was one saved for the happiness of those she cared about; she smiled because she was happy that others were happy, and James believed that there was nothing sweeter in the world. He felt honoured to have received her smile. He said jokingly, "Don't worry, I forgive you."

The smile lingered for the second it took for her to process the words, then it was gone as though it has never existed. "You forgive me?" she asked with her eyebrows furrowed, mouth slightly open and head leaned away from his own.

"Yeah," he said, his own smile fading.

"For what?" she asked.

"Um…" James questioned whether he'd offended her, but he found obvious reason as to how he could have. He hoped that it was just a miscommunication. "For you being a drunk mess last night," he clarified, though with a slight raising of pitch towards the end as though asking a question.

Lily's mouth fell from slightly open to gaping open. She sat up, grabbing the blanket in the process to hold over her chest, and shouted, "We have sex and the first thing you say is that you forgive me?!" She stood up, ensuring her body was entirely encompassed by the white sheet, and continued, "For being a drunk mess?!" The anger she was emitting was almost tangible. "Well I fucking apologise for not being up to your standards!"

James lay where he was as she watched her in silent shock. As her hand reached towards the door handle, he knew he had to stop her, so he shouted out the only thing that he could, "We didn't have sex!"

Lily halted in her dignified exit, slowly turned back around and asked, "What?"

James sat up, suddenly cold without her and their blanket. "We didn't have sex," he repeated the truth.

She watched him with what most would assumed to be a blank expression, but James had six years' worth of experience, and he saw relief. In her slow exhalation and relaxation of shoulders, he saw relief. She was relieved they hadn't had sex. He understood then. All the ridiculous beliefs he had held last night as she fell asleep in his arms were over, because the relief proved that she didn't want him. And that was okay. He'd always know that she didn't want him – she didn't even like him – and one drunken night wouldn't change that. He had to stop pining over her then expecting that love to be reciprocated. He mentally chastised himself for he was even doing it now; he was projecting his own hurt onto her, because for a brief moment, he thought that she looked sad.

"I'm sorry," she said.

With a newfound acceptance of his place in her life, James patted the floor beside him. Lily shuffled towards him, the blanket obstructing her movements, and she half-fell as she sat next to him.

"So you don't remember last night, huh?" he said, staring straight ahead, too afraid to look at her. Lily remained silent, and James took that as an answer. "What do you remember last," he softly probed.

After several long moments, just as James thought that she wouldn't answer, he heard her muted voice, "I lost it sometime during the game."

After some deliberation, he asked, "Want to know what you missed?"

"Yes, please," she replied.

James cast his mind back to yesterday and began his story.