A/N: Ah, my faithful readers and reviewers, if any of you are still left, I apologize. I have no intention whatsoever of abandoning any stories, but life just catches up with you occasionally, and fanfiction always seems to be the first thing to go. Never fear, for I am now back at school, and the procrastination back in full swing. The really sad part is that I have the entire story typed up, and all I have to do is edit, finalize and upload, and I can't even find the time/motivation to do that sometimes. BUT NOW I DO! SO NEVER FEAR! Unfortunately is BACK! And I may begin posting Fortunately, the companion, soon too because I feel like it! HOORAY!

That said, I loved the last chapter, I like this chapter too, even if it is a little short *grins cheekily* more SOON! PROMISESWEAR!

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And for a moment, we simply stood there.

Would he?

Unfortunately

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Our eyes clashed. His cool, calm eyes, sparkling with some unknown mystery.

I knew he could see what I was thinking, feel the heat rolling off me, see the blush threatening to creep up my cheeks and the tears to creep down.

His eyes bored a hole in me, and I felt, rather than saw, as he took a final step closer.

With an almost audible—sound—his hands came to rest, one on my shoulder, the other in the curve of my waist. It was almost intimate, the way our breath mingled, his hands on me, touching me, sending jitters throughout me.

I could feel it as he exhaled, his warm breath in my hair, on my face.

I realized absently that I was shaking, trembling, tingling, vibrating, unable to relax. My head was buzzing, everything was spinning, and the only thought available was why, why does he do this to me and what to do and what was happening, and then it all collapsed, collapsed in a heap like I collapsed into his arms, against his chest, into his embrace.

I don't know if I was crying, or laughing, or just generally shivering, but he was stroking my hair, and rubbing my back just ever so slightly, and it felt so nice, so familiar, so perfectly right, to just stand there, enveloped by his strong, friendly arms, my head buried in his nice-smelling shirt. And then—

"Feel better, Lily," he said brusquely. Was that a tremor in his voice?

And then he was gone, and I was alone.

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Alone, I thought idly. The way it should be.

Then why was every cell in my body rebelling against this apparent truth, so hard that my vision was swimming, my knees were aching, and all I wanted to do was collapse in a heap and let the nausea from his absence subside.

I thought this was supposed to end when we were friends. I had thought the torment would stop, the invasion of my thoughts, my space, my privacy, my life, would just sort of fade away once things with James normalized.

I coughed weakly. There, I could vaguely see now. The hazy outline of the room was beginning to come in to focus. My breathing, on the other hand, was another arena. It hadn't exactly stabilized yet.

How completely and totally wrong I was. The more time I spent with James, the more I thought about him, dreamed about, stared at him, laughed with him, hugged him.

I swear, James Potter is seriously detrimental to my physical and mental health. He is a disturber of the peace. A disturber of my peace. A disturber of my comfortable, safe little world. One day he just barges in a turns everything upside down, and they never really turned right side up again.

My breathing was steadying, too, now. I was no longer gasping for air like a stranded fish.

I should sit myself down and give my arm a good, hard pinch. I wonder if this is really possible, if this could actually be happening to plain, boring old Lily Evans. If she could really be…

But no, I'm not even going to say it, because it's so preposterous and untrue that I won't even deign to respond to that annoying query in the back of my mind. Obviously, James has issues. Issues which somehow rub off on me and make me intensely…not uncomfortable, exactly—I guess the best word for it is aware—of his presence.

It made me so mad in a way, to think that some one else, someone I didn't even like until I randomly fell in love with him, could have this much control over my life.

I was surprised to find that a few tears had trickled down my face when I wasn't paying attention—you know, during the whole gasping for air session that followed James' abrupt departure.

I buried my face in the chair cushion in shame. This was so, intolerably embarrassing.

Ah, James Potter. What a conundrum, an anagram for trouble, a puzzle. Packed in to those simple words, there was such emotion, such feeling, so much meaning. Too much meaning, too much of everything. James was too much. Why did he push my buttons like no one else?

It's funny, in an unfortunate sort of way. Concerning James, I always seem to ask the question why. It is always why—why me, why now, why him, why this? Most of all, the reoccurring question tends to be why can I not evict him from his permanent residence in my head and life?

Occasionally, however, (like now,) I stop asking the question why, and begin to think of other question words.

After all, my relationship (yes, relationship, but not, unfortunately, like that) with James is far too complicated to be encompassed by the single question of why. Usually, the next unfortunate word that tends to pop in to my head is: how?

How could this happen?

How could I have let this happen?

How could I have let myself fall, wonderfully, unfortunately, blindly, irrationally, passionately, completely and utterly head over heels for none other than the wonderful, arrogant asshole of James Potter?

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hmm? REVIEW please, even if you hate me utterly.