A/N: Pointless fluffy jily au for your enjoyment 3 Hope it makes you smile! This is a late laaaate gift for Petals' birthday
"Grab a freaking brush."
The barked order is immediately followed by a color dappled paintbrush being tossed across the room. It falls at James's feet with a clatter.
"Pardon, I didn't catch that."
Lily snorts. "I noticed Mr. Jock."
"I'm basically Troy Bolton if he was a props assistant," James asserts, squatting to pick up the brush, "And I meant I didn't catch what you said - I can only comprehend kind words."
"So you haven't heard at least half of what I say to you."
"Cute."
"It explains why you didn't listen when I said too many changes would put us behind schedule," Lily continues, dabbing more emerald green onto the backdrop.
"We're not behind schedule," James says with a shrug, though he does sit down, paint brush in hand, at the ready for instructions.
"Orange," Lily orders, "Up there."
"Pumpkin or blood?"
Lily snorts, cleaning her own tool in water that's distressingly murky. But it's after one in the morning and a 20 minute nap before opening night is starting to feel like a pipe dream, so she swishes the bristles through the mix and flicks away excess before settling on a shimmery silver pigment. "Pumpkin."
"Yes dear?"
"The color you arse. Don't expect terms of endearment any time soon, Potter."
About 30 seconds pass - 30 seconds of stick, stick, drag and pull, pull, pull across the backdrop before James yelps and breaks the soothing atmosphere. "I'm sorry maybe it makes me immature or whatever but if we don't have some sort of sound happening I will die of boredom."
"So I get silence and freedom?"
"And no one to help with your procrastination coverup," James adds, the sound of his bluetooth speaker powering on acting as his backing track.
"I didn't fu-" Lily draws in a breath through her nose and mutters, "You're such a toe rag."
James glances up mid-scroll, his phone casting a blue glow from beneath his chin, "Gotta love a good call-back."
"Classics never go out of style," Lily agrees.
Soon, James selects a playlist - a mix of pop-y favorites with enough bops to get some energy back in the room. Which, much as she hates to admit it, was an excellent and much needed idea. Lily was not far from the 'I'm so tired I don't care about consequences' mindset that leads to napping with unfinished sets or worse - snogging your prop master.
James reaches for the greys and rinses his brush, rolling his shoulders with a groan. "You'll never guess who rang me again last night."
"Ooh, fun," Lily claps her hands, brush balanced between her pointer and middle, "Guessing game at quarter of two in the morning."
"Don't need your sarcasm," James mutters, dabbing at his paints, "Especially since I'm being so, so unselfish."
James is grinning, waiting for an answering witty barb or at least a dry chuckle.
Instead, there's silence, a pause of strokes covered by the Jo - "I should be ashamed of myself, honestly," Lily says with a sigh as she sketches another hasty outline of mountains and trees, "I'm supposed to be a bloody professional."
"You're fine Evans," James answers without hesitation, nudging Lily's side with his elbow. "If that fucking idiot hadn't changed his 'artistic vision' about ninety thousand times, you'dve been done with this ages ago."
She sends him a soft, grateful smile. "I will never understand why Lockhart gets gigs."
"Hell if I know," James agrees, nudging his glasses with his paint streaked fingers, leaving a stripe of grey across his cheek.
Lily takes a deep breath, like she's steeling herself, and blurts, "Especially when someone like you is available for the same production."
Her eyes dart to the side, scanning James for any kind of reaction. He's stilled mid brush stroke, like he's been knocked for six.
But he recovers with a rakish grin aiemd her way - a James Potter staple - and resumes his painting. "I'll stick around to help whether you butter me up or not."
Lily grabs his working wrist, pulls his hand into her lap - because it's two in the morning and little things like self-control and professionalism are rapidly becoming unimportant to her stress-addled mind.
"I'm serious - and don't make the damn joke," Lily breathes out, "You're the only reason this show will actually go on. It would've been a flaming dung heap without you and I could barely tolerate my interaction with Lockhart. You've been glued to his side for two months."
"I should be getting hazard pay," James says with a laugh.
"James," Lily squeezes his fingers and waits until his eyes blink at her from behind fingerprint smudged lenses, "The program might not say it, you might not get paid for it, the owner might be an oblivious idiot, but I know and the cast know that whatever good comes of this is you."
James flips his hand over where it rests on his thigh so his fingers gradually knit with Lily's. Her eyes dart back and forth between his, and for a second, her gaze falls to his lips.
Lily's thumb skates over his wrist, his thrumming pulse point and James finally murmurs, "Shucks."
She snorts. "Wow."
Blushing high on his cheeks, James ruffles his hair. "What can I say? I am a wordsmith."
"If I were to lean in a bit," Lily says softly and slowly does so, "And maybe run my fingers through your hair," she continues, acting on her narration.
"It's quite nice," James interjects, barely above a whisper.
Lily hums, doesn't move further, but doesn't relinquish any space between them either. James practically purrs as her fingers scratch at his scalp.
Moments tick away, newspaper crinkles beneath them with each subtle movement, until it starts to feel unclear whether they've sat there for seconds or hours. Or whether either of them will ever actually take the next step. That final last commitment to It.
The decision remains unmade - at least by James or Lily - when suddenly the air fills with bouncy guitar and lyrics - "It feels like one of those nights!"
Their eyes meet and in that way that only happens after midnight, break into giggles, James burying his against Lily's shoulder while tears stream down her freckle and paint speckled cheeks.
"I can't believe my own musical choices betrayed me," James moans, face still reddening.
"Shit deejays are those who can't read the room," Lily laughs, hand now slipped to rest on his knee, though she doesn't move away.
"Apologies. Though to be fair I read the room ten minutes ago when I set the queue," James defends, "I wasn't aware we'd transition enough to need a bit of "all I know is we said 'hello' -"
Lily's cheeks glow beneath the lingering paint stains as she answers, "Probably for the best not to uh-"
"Snog?" James supplies, blinking oh so innocently at her, save the curl of mischief at the corner of his lip.
"If we ruined what we've got so far I might've bought a one way ticket to Belarus."
"Bucket list trip?"
"Non extradition country," Lily corrects.
With a chuckle, James grabs his brush from where it's dropped on the papers and shifts back toward his section of canvas.
Lily does the same - nearly painting purple grass in her state of tiredness. Because it's definitely tiredness and not distraction at slowly dissecting every word of their repartee to determine whether it had been cheeky banter between friends who are friends, or between friends who want to be - special friends.
"What are your thoughts on brunch?" James asks, interrupting Lily's reverie - or spiraling depending on the observer's desire to avoid reality.
"Erm - fun?" Lily manages, "I do enjoy a nice mimosa."
James ruffles his hair and remains hyper-focused on his rock shading. "I uh - sometimes find a late brunch after an opening night can be fun."
Lily freezes - it almost sounds as if…
"I make a mean waffle."
"I prefer a kind breakfast pastry," Lily snickers, studiously skirting around the issue so as to avoid a faulty assumption about intentions.
"I - I can't tell if you are saving my feelings or if you're completely daft," James replies with forced lightness.
"If it's some kind of cast bonding event - no offense but there's not enough mimosas or mean waffles in the world," Lily blurts, "But if it's about you and I - I'd even suffer through eggs benedict."
James beams and an answering smile spreads across Lily's face. Both resume their tasks - tsk, tsk, swipe, swipe.
"So what time should I come 'round Saturday?"
"Half eleven on Friday night."
James' brush skids across the canvas. "Shit."
"Not - just to - that way we can shop together? I'm not presuming - "
"Lily, I would love to snuggle your cat and then take you to Tesco's for a first date."
Lily clears her throat and passes James a rag to swipe up the excess paint, then cream colored pigment to cover the remaining streaks. "Well good - though Evie may not put out that quickly."
"I'm very persuasive."
So quick an observer might've missed it, Lily swoops forward and presses her lips to James' cheek and murmurs, "I know."