"I love you," he whispers, tentative, fifteen. Silence. He waits; silence lingers. Touching James' chin with one finger, he turns the other boy's face towards his own, searching for something, but James' eyes are closed, lost in the sensation of touch and taste, awaiting pleasure. "I love you," repeats Severus. It is so unlike him to admit it that he is shocked by himself. He's never told anyone that before, save his own mother, and certainly no one has ever told him. They don't look his way, not really, except the Muggle girl, Lily Evans, who offers to help him clean up after Potions class sometimes and smiles kindly at him in the halls, sympathy in her gaze. She doesn't realise he's afraid even to brush his hand against hers, lest he be tainted by her blood. But surely James must feel something. They've been meeting for months now, sneaking off whenever James manages to disentangle himself from his suffocating friendships. Sometimes, it's nothing more than a kiss, a quick embrace. Other times, they lay languid as times drips by in slow dollops, limbs spilled across the sheets of Severus' bed, hidden by silencing and visibility reducing charms for hours on end. Like now.
James opens one eye, disappointed. He doesn't want to talk, definitely doesn't want to discuss Severus Snape's feelings, for Merlin's sake. What he wants is to lie still and feel Severus' hands on him while his thoughts drift to Lily Evans, she of the red hair and knockout smile. He wishes Severus would be quiet and get back to work, make him feel good again, instead of leaving him untended to and babbling about love. What is love, James thinks. His mind shows him Lily, the way she waved once, at him, how she looks when she lays in the grass by the lake, reading. He wonders what it would be like to hear her admit love, infatuation, anything, the way Severus is apparently bent on now.
"Severus..."
He feels himself redden as James looks at him. There is no passion in that gaze, just the glaze of boredom that James often wears during History of Magic class, when Sirius is busy talking about himself and Remus Lupin takes notes with the intense devotion of a supplicant. He has spoken too soon. "Never mind."
That James should say something is obvious to both of them, but it is James Potter, arrogant James Potter, Severus has chosen, and James isn't the type for mush and sentiment. He falls back against the pillow, a slight smile across his face, now that it is resolved.
The air seems to grow cold, still. Severus shivers and reaches for his robes. Humiliated, he stares down at James' smug, expectant face and feels a twinge of hatred, more for himself than James. He shouldn't have expected anything, should have anticipated James was only in it for the sex, and even though he knows he shouldn't care, he can't help but feel hurt.
"Oh, now what?" James says impatiently, rising up. He see Severus dressing and his expression darkens. "Oh. Bloody marvellous," he remarks, dragging on his trousers and shooting Severus a glare so like Sirius' patented one that Severus wants to hit him. "You're not a bad lay, Snape, but no bloke's going to fall in love with you for that. I wouldn't have figured you to be so sappy."
"I'm --"
"Save it," James advises. "I better go anyway. It's getting late; everyone will wonder where I've been."
"Sirius Black," Severus scoffs jealously.
James pretends not to notice. "Um hum, and Remus, Peter. Maybe Lily," he adds, his voice slightly dreamy. Adjusting his glasses, he looks at Severus. "Tomorrow?"
If he were a stronger man, Severus would shoot James a look of disdain and tell him never again, but it is lonely on the outside, cold too, and James is the one person who seems to think he's worth anything. Other than Slughorn, no one tries to spend time with him, and sometimes, believe it or not, the best brewer of his age wants to discuss something other than potions. Severus nods. "Tomorrow, then."