Prompt: At a sporting event.

He was playing terribly, and he knew it.

He'd fumbled three passes, had dropped the quaffle twice when no one was even around him, and had somehow set off a chain of events that had led to assisting in Slytherin scoring on his own team.

And it was all because of what Lily Evans had said.

Or rather, hadn't said.

"What are we, Evans?" he asked.

"What do you mean?" she breathed in between the kisses she pressed against the column of his throat.

"I mean, what are we doing?" he asked, desperately trying to hold together a train of thought while her body was pressed up against him. It was something that had been bothering him for a while, but every time he worked up the courage to ask she was quick to distract him with her hands. Or mouth. Or both.

"We're just having fun. Nothing serious. We talked about this," she said, clearly exasperated, before returning to the path she was tracing up his neck with her tongue.

With great effort, he pulled back and pushed her off his lap. He strode quickly to the other side of the classroom, dragging in gasps of air– needing space to breath. She was intoxicating.

"What the hell, Potter?"

"I can't do this anymore," he managed.

"What?"

Was she really that shocked? He'd laid his heart out for her, and she hadn't said anything. She'd reacted very enthusiastically with her body, but every time he tried to get a verbal answer out of her– she clammed up and quickly shut down that line of questioning. She'd continued to deflect, always quick to distract him when he asked her what their 'arrangement' meant to her. But that had been a week ago, and there were only so many excuses James could tell himself about why she wouldn't give him a straight answer.

"I told you how I feel. I have feelings for you, Evans! This isn't just a bit of fun for me, and I can't keep acting like that's all it is. I want to be with you. I'm in lo–"

"Stop," she cut him off, looking pained.

"This is exactly what I'm talking about! Every time I try to talk to you about us, about being anything more. About how I feel about you– you just shut me down. I can't keep doing this if you don't feel the same. I can take a hint, Evans." He snatched up his discarded robes, and headed for the door.

"Wait," she called.

He turned towards her, hardly daring to let himself hope.

"I– I– I..." she opened and closed her mouth, no sound coming out. She just stared, and it was clear she wasn't going to say anything.

The cold settled in his bones– an ache deep enough to rival the pain in his chest. This was it. He'd given her the out, and she'd taken it.

"I'm sorry–" she whispered.

"It's okay, Evans. I always knew it was likely you wouldn't feel the same. No hard feelings," he rushed out the ending, suddenly desperate to escape her presence.

Something hard hit him in the shoulder, bringing back to the moment. He shook his head, trying to clear it. The ache in his shoulder grew and his left arm hung, useless, at his side.

"Time out!" Sirius yelled, flying over to his side as Madam Hooch blew her whistle to pause the match.

"What the hell is wrong with you? Snap out of it," his friend demanded.

"I'm trying."

"No. You're not trying. You're moping. And all you have to show for it is fumbled plays and a dislocated shoulder."

"Potter's off his game today. Maybe Black can knock some sense into him– or just knock him off his broom and take him out of play entirely!" came the voice of the announcer.

James gritted his teeth and gestured with his chin to his useless arm. Sirius rolled his eyes, but brought his broom level with James' bracing his hands against his chest and shoulder in a practiced move. In quidditch, a dislocated joint was commonplace– a trip to Madam Pomfrey would get you sorted right out. But it also meant being taken out of play. So with Sirius' help, a month of studying, and a few botched attempts– James had learned how to set his shoulder on the field– without having to be taken out. He grunted as the joint popped back into place. It wasn't perfect, and the pain in his shoulder was still excruciating, but at least now his shoulder was functionable.

Sirius flew back to the center of the pitch to take position for Madam Hooch to resume play. He made to follow him, when a voice caught his attention.

"Potter!" He scanned the crowds, but couldn't find the owner of the voice. He was just imagining it. "Potter!" the same voice called again. This time he spotted her. Lily Evans, hands planted firmly on her hips, a dangerous scowl across her face. Waiting at the bottom step of the house spectator stands. She gestured for him, and like a dog to a whistle he flew to her side.

"What the hell are you doing up there, Potter?" she demanded.

"I–"

"No. Don't even start. Because there is no excuse for quidditch playing that shitty."

"I'm sorry I'm a little distracted today, Evans," he quipped back sarcastically, the aching pain in his shoulder eclipsed by the overwhelming ache in his chest.

"Oh for Merlin's sake," she snapped. "You dropped this huge confession on me, then storm off without letting me get a word in edgewise!"

"I waited!" he protested angrily.

"No. You didn't!"

"Potter! We're not going to wait all day for your teenage melodrama!" bellowed Sirius. James held up a finger in a gesture for one second, and refocused on Lily.

"You took a pause for breath in the midst of your monologue, and when I didn't know how to respond– because Merlin forbid I not have thought this possible scenario through yet, and practiced my response– you stormed off like the arrogant prat that you are!"

"Potter! We will start the match without you!" yelled Madam Hooch, but her threats fell on deaf ears– his attention entirely on Lily.

"I–" he found himself lost for words.

"Yeah, not so easy is it? To think of an adequate response when someone's just hurling accusations?" He didn't say anything. "If you had waited for me to respond, you would've heard me say that of course I have feelings for you, you idiot. How could I have gone on so long if I hadn't? If you had waited, you would've heard me say that I love you! I am in love with you, James Potter!" Lily broke off, gasping for breath after her confession.

"Really?" he whispered, trying to tamp down his fluttering heart.

"Yeah, really," she whispered. "I love you, James Potter, you absolute prat." With that she leaned in and grabbed him by the front of his quidditch kit, pressing a firm kiss to his lips. His hand immediately came up to the back of her head, lacing his fingers through her hair, pulling her closer.
"Mr. Potter, while I am happy for the state of your interpersonal affairs, if you do not return to the pitch I will personally have you removed from the Gryffindor team!" boomed Professor McGonagall across the stadium via the commentator's microphone.

Reluctantly, James pulled away from Lily– unable to stop the huge grin from spreading across his face. "Gotta go," he said quietly.

"Go," she encouraged him with a smile. He flew up to take his starting position, his smile not even faltering when she called after him: "You better win, or I'm taking it all back!"