He had stopped asking her out. She could not tell why she thought this thought when she had, only that halfway through her fourth bite of treacle tart she had paused to look at him and realized that he no longer asked her out.
She wondered if it was because he was no longer interested. He did not, after all, stare much at her anymore. He was too busy paying attention in classes now. Maybe he didn't find her very attractive. Tastes change.
She wasn't nearly as intimidating as before, she thought. They were occasionally partners in class now and again and they interacted quite normally with one another. Maybe her mystique was gone as well. Maybe he thought she wasn't worth all of the trouble. Maybe he finally got the hint.
……………
"What?" he asked, not looking up from his book. They were sitting in the library, and as it was rather full, they were sharing the same table.
"Hmm?" she mused. "I didn't say anything."
"I know you didn't say anything. That's the problem. Whatever it is you're thinking, just say it already."
She paused for a moment, unsure if she wanted to answer, and he stopped his reading and looked up at her. "Well?" he asked with the tone of infinite patience.
"You don't ask me out anymore," she said, and it was almost accusatory. He raised an eyebrow, as if not sure how to respond. "Do you want to go out with me?" she asked, when it was obvious an answer wasn't forthcoming.
He frowned. "Why are you asking? Trying to get out of going with someone else or something?"
"No," she said sourly. "I was just curious is all."
"Listen, there's no way I can answer that. If I say no and you want the answer to be yes because you want to go out, then I'm still the same prat I always was, only now I'm worse because it'll make you feel bad. If I say yes and you want the answer to be no, then I'm still the same prat I always was, only now I'm worse because I haven't gotten over you yet. If I say no and you want the answer to be no, then there was no point in asking."
"Or," she said, "You could say yes and I could want you to say yes, and then for once, everything would be different."
"Things are already different. I'm not going to risk it on a one in four chance that I get what I want when I'm quite content with what I have."
"Oh," she said, slightly dejected. It was better this way, though, she rationalized. This way, she thought, they could keep on the steady path toward friendship, and leave behind the past. So then why did she not want to be his friend? She wanted to get mad at him and she wanted him to get mad at her. Anything other than his quiet. Anything other than his lost looks. Anything other than this imposter James.
But he had changed. This was not an imposter. It was him. Really. And she really did like this him, even with his strange looks and silent nature. She thought about him all of the time when he was not around, little half-thoughts about his smile and laugh and how if she could make him smile and laugh she would feel validated somehow, as if she was better and more valued than others.
But this new him gave her no outlet to explore the fact that she was female and he was male. The old him was obsessed with this fact, and while it was something she detested about him, now she almost wished for something of the old him to surface, if only for a few moments, so she was not the one acting as though this fact was more important than it really was. That was the problem, of course. While she liked this new James because he was…adult, she hated him for it as well, because it only showed all of the ways that she wasn't.
She wondered if he ever thought about kissing her. She wondered if he ever looked at her lips and desperately wanted to. He was back to reading his book and so missed her flush face. She wanted him to want her. If he did not, then it made her own affections stupid and pointless. If he did though, she could go back to ignoring him. She wondered if this was how he felt before he had gotten over her.
It was ridiculous, she thought, furious with herself as she focused back on her own reading. She would put it out of her mind. It didn't matter. It didn't matter at all.
James shifted in his seat almost restlessly and a thousand thoughts ran through her head. Maybe he was tired of reading and she should engage him in conversation about something he enjoyed, like Quidditch. Maybe she should suggest a walk around the lake or a trip down to the kitchens for a snack. Maybe she could tell a joke or funny story that he would like.
She shook her head. She wasn't funny and it was still cold outside this time of year and supper was coming up in quick order and while she enjoyed a good game as much as the next person, she didn't really have much to say in the way of sports. She sighed.
"Want to head back to the tower then since you can't seem to focus?" he asked, and while the words could have been patronizing, his tone wasn't anything but considerate.
She wanted to say of course not, she was just being silly, she wanted to study some more, but instead the words, "Are you ready?" slipped out instead.
"No, but you can head up without me," he answered.
It wasn't a clear dismissal, but it was close. She was bothering him, distracting him, annoying him. She felt stupid for wanting to stay if he was staying, and it came out in her tone. "Fine," she said, slightly sharp.
She packed up her things quickly, but he seemed to sense her frustration and stopped her. "Save me a seat at dinner, would you?" he asked kindly. "I might be a bit still and I have it on good authority we're having Shepard's pie tonight."
"Sure," she said almost breathlessly. The hand that had caught her wrist seemed to be the only thing she could clearly think about, other than he wanted to sit with her at dinner. She shook off the smile that had slipped on her face as she walked out of the library and into the hall. He probably just wanted to talk about class anyway, she thought.
AN: so apparently not a one-shot. Will be updated randomly. Time will pass between chapters. Because I am too lazy to write the intermediate periods of interest. That is what bc is for.
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