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Shirts and Skins

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The first time Lily wore her friend James’s shirt was an accident.

She had grabbed it from the laundry pile she’d picked up from the communal laundry room, just like always. Without thinking, she threw the scarlet shirt over her head. As it slid down her face and into place, she noticed how good it smelled. Normally, when her clothes came back from the dryers, they didn’t carry this scent.

When the hem fell just above her knees, like a very short dress, Lily realized the shirt was definitely not hers. The fabric was well-worn but soft against her skin, dyed a deep scarlet with a majestic lion rearing on the front. It looked almost exactly like her own—except hers was undoubtedly smaller. She yanked the shirt off as quickly as she’d put it on, checking the tag. No name. Flipping it over, she found her answer.

The word "CAPTAIN" was printed in bold, golden letters across the back. The letters gleamed under the dim light from the oil lamps. Lily folded the shirt, shaking her head. How the football captain’s shirt had ended up in her laundry, she had no idea—but he’d probably come looking for it sooner rather than later.

She lifted the collar to her nose and sniffed. She’d have to ask James what aftershave he used because it smelled just like her grandfather. She wasn’t sure if he’d find that funny or humiliating. Probably humiliating. She supposed she shouldn’t tell her friend he smelled like an eighty-year-old man who ate too many cinnamon candies.

With the shirt in hand, Lily left her room, fully intending to return it. One of the perks of being Head Girl in her last year of boarding school was having her own private room. It was still in the same hall as all her friends, but instead of sharing a dormitory with the other girls, she had the space to herself. Her door was conveniently located at the end of the corridor—just like James’s.

She stepped out just in time. The Head Boy emerged from his room, dressed in the school uniform with a football bag slung over one shoulder. His perpetually messy black hair was a hurricane on his head, the strands sticking up wildly around his glasses. The lanky seventeen-year-old shut his door and turned to leave.

“James!” Lily called.

He faltered at the sound of her voice, turning to face her.

“All right?” he asked kindly, though she didn’t miss the way his eyes playfully raked over her from head to toe.

Lately, they’d been having trouble not staring at each other.

Lily couldn’t deny how handsome he looked, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his hair already windblown as if he’d been running across the field. When their eyes met, James’s gaze was sharp and calculating, like he was solving a complex equation in calculus.

“I’m fine,” she answered noncommittally. “Football practice?”

She already knew the answer. James spent every Sunday training with the second-string team. He was the kind of person who never did anything halfway—a star student, an amazing athlete, and, annoyingly, an even better Head Student than Lily.

“I promised Jessie Mills I’d help him with his defense,” James said with a nod. Then his eyes flicked to her outfit. “Going to town? You look nice.”

“Not until later.” Lily smoothed her palms over her jeans. “The girls and I are going to Mulligan’s.”

She didn’t miss the spark of mischief in his eyes as he grinned. “I hope I see you there.”

She wished she had enough self-respect not to blush whenever he complimented her so offhandedly, but her cheeks flushed anyway. Stepping fully out of her doorway, she hesitated. Moving toward James was always a gamble—he had no concept of personal space, and he never missed an opportunity to take advantage when she got close enough. To protect herself, she held the shirt up between them with a half-smile.

“There was a mix-up in the laundry room,” she offered.

James took the shirt with a quizzical look, then lifted it slightly, as if toasting her discovery. “Cheers.”

His gaze flickered over her once more before he turned and walked away, leaving her standing in the doorway alone.

The rest of Lily’s Sunday passed uneventfully. She spent a few hours planning out her French Revolution essay—also known as gossiping with her friend Mary while blank sheets of paper sat untouched in front of them. Around three in the afternoon, she broke up a nasty fight in the hallway. At five, she had dinner in the dining hall with her friends. James wasn’t there, nor was he at Mulligan’s later that night. She didn’t think much of him again until Monday.

Monday Night.

Lily was running late for patrol duty thanks to Shelly Mathis chatting her ear off at dinner. She sprinted up the main staircase, taking the steps two at a time. By the time she rounded the third-floor landing, she was completely out of breath, her hair disheveled, and her school skirt riding two inches too high on her waist.

James was waiting for her—her assigned partner for the night. Leaning casually against the nearest wall, his hazel eyes swept over her appearance with quiet amusement. When his gaze dipped to her legs, his fingers twitched toward his hair.

Lily stopped halfway to him, momentarily stunned at how a boy could look both full of trouble and completely innocent at the same time. She took her time walking over, tugging her skirt back into place, her heart still pounding.

“Sorry,” she gasped. “I lost track of time.”

James didn’t mention her lateness. Instead, he pushed himself off the wall and reached for her tie. His hands weren’t shy as he adjusted it, brushing it from her shoulders so it lay neatly against her chest. Then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, he reached up and attempted to smooth her hair back into the messy bun atop her head.

That was enough. Lily furiously swatted his hands away. “James, it’s fine. I’m going straight to bed after this.”

He grinned at her irritation, wrinkling his nose as he shoved his hands into his pockets. “Fine. But don’t ever complain to me about my hair again.”

Lily eyed his perpetually wild black tresses with mock scorn. “I’m still not convinced you own a hairbrush.”

When they were younger, she’d teased him relentlessly about it. Now, nearly adults, the thought of running her fingers through his hair herself was… dangerous.

Not that she’d ever tell him that. Because if she did, he’d let her. And she knew herself well enough to realize she’d fall down that rabbit hole without hesitation.

As far as Lily’s hormones were concerned, James was better than hot tea on a rainy day. As far as her head was concerned, he was best kept at a very safe distance.

James started walking and motioned for her to follow. “Let’s get this over with, yeah?”

She rolled her eyes but followed, her smile lingering despite herself.

“Are you ready for snogging?”

James pulled a rubber band ball from his pocket, tossing it into the air and catching it effortlessly. Lily’s eyes followed the little ball, always marveling at how someone as lanky as James could be so coordinated—never fumbling, never letting it hit the floor. She waited until he caught it again before answering.

“Am I snogging you?”

He laughed at her joke, tossing the ball up again, this time twirling midair just to wink at her before catching it with ease.

“Clever.”

She smirked at his approval but kept her tone light. “Monday nights aren’t heavy snogging nights. We should have a pretty easy patrol.”

“Good,” James said. “Because I’m not in the mood for a snog tonight.”

“Shame,” Lily muttered under her breath as they turned down the hallway.

As far as Lily was concerned, they’d gotten the best shift. James led the way into the trophy room, still tossing and catching his ball. Lily dropped onto the floor beside him, leaning against the glass case he’d settled under. She pulled a roll of parchment from her bag, ready to start drafting her science essay.

James, meanwhile, started bouncing his ball against the opposite case, letting it rebound back to him. The rhythmic sound of rubber hitting glass filled the quiet space, steady and soothing. Lily had always hated complete silence, so she didn’t mind the noise.

All in all, it was a normal Monday night.

Monday nights, funnily enough, were Lily's favorites. James didn’t expect anything from her, and she expected nothing from him. They simply enjoyed each other’s company and kept an eye out for trouble. Some nights, James brought a deck of cards, and they played endless rounds of Go Fish until midnight. Other times, they wandered the school grounds, James walking right beside her, entertaining her with stories from his childhood.

And sometimes, Lily felt like they were becoming something more than friends.

James knew things about her that few others did. He knew about the trouble at home—her strained relationship with her sister, her mother’s illness. He knew she was trying to find a job so she could take care of herself after school. He knew so many of her secrets that she sometimes wondered if she’d told him too much. But James was just so easy to talk to.

Even now, with the crystal trophy cases glimmering in the moonlight and his rubber band ball bouncing steadily across the room, Lily found herself talking.

“How was practice yesterday?”

“Fine,” James said, setting the ball down between them and leaning his head back against the wooden cabinets. “Cody Simpleton scored his first goal, I got hit in the back by a foul ball, and I think Anthony Hopkins is an idiot.”

Lily mirrored his position, resting her head against the cabinets and turning her cheek so she could look at him. James was staring out the glass windows at the moonlit night beyond. It was a half-moon, glowing silver against the dark sky.

The only light in the trophy room came from the cases themselves, casting a soft golden glow across the space. It bathed James in warm light, highlighting the sharp angles of his face.

And in that moment, Lily thought he was so incredibly handsome.

"Cody was buzzing in class this morning, telling all his mates he made a goal," she commented, forcing herself to focus on anything other than James’ face.

James suddenly turned his head to face her, their eyes locking. For a second, neither of them spoke. He got under her skin like no one else—being around him always felt like fighting a losing battle just to keep her hands to herself. James cleared his throat and shifted slightly, pressing his back flatter against the cabinet.

"So," she continued, desperate to fill the silence, "is your foul ball-induced back pain related to why Anthony Hopkins is an idiot?"

She really should’ve just gone back to her essay.

"He fancies himself a ladies' man." James crossed one leg over the other in clear irritation.

Lily lifted her head to look at him properly. "What?"

Anthony Hopkins was anything but a ladies' man. The number of times she’d seen him getting told off by girls for being a complete arse was uncountable. He was the type to brag about his conquests and supposedly kept a tally in his belt. Lily didn’t quite despise him, but she definitely avoided him.

James pushed his glasses up his nose. "He spent all of practice talking about how he was going to get this one girl to go to Mulligan’s with him. When I told him to stuff it, he kicked a ball at me—then had the nerve to claim it was an accident."

Lily snorted. "Why do you care who Anthony Hopkins is trying to take to Mulligan’s? Don’t you have better things to worry about?"

James unfolded his arms from behind his head and nudged her foot lightly with his ankle. "Well, normally, I wouldn’t care," he admitted. "But this was different."

Lily blinked, realization dawning. He meant Anthony had been planning to ask her.

"Oh."

James brushed off her surprise. "I broke my spine for you, Lily. Never forget it."

He leaned forward and turned his back to her, lifting his shirt to reveal a massive blue and purple bruise stretching across his lower back.

Lily’s breath caught. Without thinking, she reached out, resting a hand on his shoulder. He tensed slightly beneath her touch, his skin burning hot against her cool fingertips.

"Ouch," she murmured.

"Anthony Hopkins has wicked aim," James said, his voice lighter now. "It’s the only reason I didn’t bury him on that field."

“I’m so sorry,” Lily murmured, her fingers ghosting over the bruise.

James shifted under her touch, and for a brief moment, neither of them moved.

Lily’s eyes flickered up toward his head, but with his back still turned, she couldn’t see his expression. Maybe that was a blessing. If she looked into his eyes, she might forget how to breathe. Carefully, she lowered his shirt, making sure not to brush the bruise again. He sighed and leaned back against the case beside her, smiling at her like she was the moon.

"I think I get major friend points for stopping Anthony from asking you out."

“You get ten thousand points.”

“When do I cash those in for a trip to Mulligan’s?”

He leaned in slightly, and she knew what he wanted. It was the same thing she wanted—and that terrified her. Lily dropped her gaze to her lap, forcing herself to look anywhere but at him.

James pulled away abruptly, exhaling as he laced his fingers behind his head. He was trying to act unaffected, but she knew better. She felt it too—that sting of rejection.

The worst part was, it hurt her more than it hurt him.

"Lily?"

She turned her head, meeting his gaze. There was something different in his expression now—something hesitant. James wasn’t looking at her; he was staring at his fingers, as if gathering courage. Lily flexed her own at her side, resisting the urge to reach for him.

"What?" she asked finally.

His voice was quieter this time, careful. "I like spending time with you."

The words hit her like a pulse of electricity, making her heart hammer against her ribs. He knew exactly what he was doing—James was never afraid of these moments. He was ready to leap, to risk everything. But Lily… Lily was afraid that if she jumped, she’d never want to climb back out. She was so scared of losing him that she never considered how much of herself she was losing by avoiding her feelings.

"I like it too, James," she admitted, the words barely above a whisper.

The way his face lit up, she might as well have handed him the world wrapped in gold.

James settled in beside her, closer than before. Neither of them spoke for the rest of the night, but the silence between them buzzed with unspoken thoughts, loud enough to drown out everything else.

The following week was one of the rainiest on record in Northern England. The downpour was relentless—cold, pounding sheets of water flooding the fountains in the square and spilling into the paved roads. Outdoor classes were canceled, and sports were forced indoors. Lily didn’t mind much—her only outdoor class was morning yoga, and she was relieved when they were told to meet in a classroom.

That relief lasted right up until their instructor, the ever-eccentric Yogi Yolanda, decided the storm was the perfect opportunity for a meditative walk in the rain to ‘wash away their stress.’

Sirius Black, James' best friend and Lily’s preferred yoga companion, was less than thrilled. Actually, he was livid.

“What kind of lunatic forces their students to risk hypothermia in the name of inner peace?” Sirius grumbled as they sprinted toward the dormitory steps, pushing through the crowd of equally miserable students vying for the nearest hot shower.

“I—I—don’t know,” Lily chattered through her teeth, her fingers numb from the cold. “But if this rain keeps up, I’m skipping class on Thursday.”

Sirius tugged at the bun atop his head, shaking out his shoulder-length hair with a dramatic sigh. Water droplets flew in every direction, splattering across Lily’s already-soaked face.

She scowled. “Sirius.”

He turned, catching her glare before flashing a sheepish grin. “Sorry, Lily.” He didn’t sound remotely sorry.

Lily wrung out the ends of her drenched robes, sighing. “It’s fine. It’s not like I’m not already soaked to the bone.”

Sirius chuckled, slinging an arm over her shoulder as they climbed the stairs. “Come on, Evans. Nothing like a little hypothermia to build character.”

Lily groaned, shoving him off with what little strength she had left. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

And unfortunately, he was right.

They stumbled into the common hall, where dry students scattered to avoid the bedraggled group who looked like they’d just survived a monsoon. Sirius shot Lily a parting grin before disappearing down the stairs, leaving her to trudge toward her dorm with every intention of peeling off her soaked clothes and sinking into warmth.

She swung her door open with desperation, already tugging off her drenched sweatshirt and throwing it to the floor like it had personally offended her. Shivering, she hooked her fingers into the waistband of her leggings, ready to strip them off—

Her door burst open behind her.

Lily yanked the wet fabric back up in a panic. “What the hell?”

“Light of my life!”

Even though she was frozen to the bone, even though her fingers were numb and her patience thinner than her soaked socks, warmth still curled in the pit of her stomach at the sound of James Potter’s elated voice.

He took one look at her—red hair dripping, clothes clinging to her like she’d gone for an impromptu swim—and smirked. “Did you go swimming?” His gaze flickered to her soaked upper half in amusement. “You forgot to invite me.”

Lily crossed her arms over her bra, glaring. “Make it fast, James. My goosebumps have goosebumps.”

James, in true James fashion, gave no warning.

Before she could react, he grabbed the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head in one fluid motion.

Lily's breath caught. Her jaw nearly hit the floor as he casually tossed the red fabric at her. The warm, dry material fell over her shoulders, carrying his scent—clean soap, fresh air, something distinctly him.

It was the third time in a week she’d found herself wrapped in his clothes. It was ruining her resolve.

She inhaled deeply, savoring the warmth before tugging the shirt down over herself, scowling when she caught him laughing at her expression. He was already straightening the white undershirt he wore beneath it, entirely unbothered.

"Why did you barge into my room?" she demanded, refusing to let him distract her—not when she was literally wrapped up in him.

James grinned. “Listen, I’m gonna need you to put a hold on the blankets and hot chocolate party.”

Lily scoffed, wringing out her hair and watching another puddle form at her feet. “More like a hot shower.”

Preferably, one James Potter had absolutely no access to.

James, entirely unaffected by her misery, pressed on. “Some arse put milk in Savannah Long’s tea, and now she’s in the infirmary throwing up buckets.” He barely paused before adding, “So, keep my shirt on, follow me, and get ready for all-night rounds, Head Girl.”

Lily groaned, casting one last longing look at her warm, dry room before stomping out into the drafty commons behind him. For the first time, she genuinely regretted taking on the responsibility of being Head Girl.

A few students turned to watch them as they passed through the common area, but most were glued to the communal television, where a popular band was performing a live set of their biggest hits. The hum of excited chatter filled the space, a stark contrast to Lily’s rapidly deteriorating mood.

“James, why?” she lamented as the door shut behind them, trapping her in the cold corridors of duty.

She might have been wearing his dry shirt, but her leggings were still soaked through, her shoes let out embarrassing squeaks with every step, and her fingers felt permanently frozen. She squeezed out another stream of water from her red hair, convinced she’d never be warm again.

“Because Savannah cheated on Michael Amoco, and I’m pretty sure he poisoned her,” James said with a snigger, clearly enjoying himself far too much.

Lily momentarily forgot her wet clothes, gasping as she turned to him. ��Wait—someone finally told Michael about Savannah kissing George?”

“Savannah told Michael,” James corrected, thoroughly entertained. “What were you even doing in French that you missed the entire weepy showdown happening right in the middle of the hallway?”

Lily bit her lip, sidestepping away from him with an exaggerated air of innocence. “Nothing.”

James narrowed his eyes, his grin widening as he pointed at her. “Aha! You’re hiding something!”

Lily clamped her mouth shut, refusing to give anything away. He snorted, reaching out to nudge her playfully, and she laughed, covering her face to hide the inevitable blush creeping up her cheeks. There was no way she’d ever admit the real reason she hadn’t noticed the drama between Savannah Long and Michael Amoco—she’d been too busy staring at James.

He had spent the entire class absentmindedly doodling on his parchment, and Lily had been desperate to see what he was drawing. But by the time she worked up the nerve to ask, the lesson had ended, and the moment was gone.

Now, as she pulled her hands away from her face, she found James watching her, an utterly endearing look in his eyes.

“You’re a liar, Lily.”

“I didn’t even say anything!” she argued.

“You didn’t have to.” He rolled his eyes, shaking his head like it was obvious. “I’ve known you since we were kids.”

Lily huffed, countering his eye roll with one of her own. Their footsteps fell into sync as they walked, the dormitory behind them, heading toward Savannah Long’s assigned patrol route. Lily absentmindedly squeezed some water from her leggings, though James’ oversized shirt covered most of her anyway. Not that it made her feel any warmer.

“So, what’s student patrol like on Wednesdays?” she asked, hoping it would be uneventful.

James sighed dramatically. “Well, first, we have to check the greenhouse. Apparently, some students have been sneaking in for smokes.”

Lily groaned, dragging a hand down her face. “No. That means I have to go back outside?”

“Yep.” His lips twitched, but he at least had the decency to look somewhat apologetic. “That’s why I didn’t bother letting you change first.”

“Jaaames,” she whined, stopping in her tracks and dramatically slumping against the nearest wall.

He laughed at her theatrics, turning to face her as he shoved his hands into his pockets. His expression softened, like he found her utterly amusing. Which, in fairness, she was.

“I know,” he said, voice laced with mock sympathy. “It’s shit. But I promise we won’t be outside long. Most of the patrol is indoors. No one in their right mind would be out in this weather anyway.”

Lily narrowed her eyes at him but begrudgingly followed as they neared the greenhouse door. The moment she pushed it open, a fresh gust of cold, wet air blasted into the corridor, carrying the sound of relentless rainfall. Water sloshed over the stone floor, and Lily turned to glare at James.

James burst out laughing at her misery before reaching over to tug lightly on a strand of her damp hair.

“Don’t be mad at me,” he said with a smirk. “Be mad at Savannah Long.”

Before Lily could protest, James grabbed her hand and took off toward the nearest greenhouse door. With a swift yank on the handle, he threw it open and all but shoved her inside.

The humid air hit them immediately, thick and heavy compared to the biting cold outside. Even though she’d been in the rain for barely twenty seconds, water had already seeped through James’ borrowed shirt, and her leggings clung to her legs uncomfortably. James gave a full-body shake beside her, sending droplets flying as he grabbed an umbrella from the back of a nearby chair. His hair was plastered to his forehead, and his glasses were streaked with water.

Lily, still shivering, couldn’t help but laugh as he dramatically waved the umbrella between them.

“We could’ve used that five seconds ago.”

“We need it for the trip back,” he reasoned.

“I don’t think I can get any wetter.”

“That’s what she said—ow!” James yelped as Lily smacked the back of his head with a swift flick of her wrist.

She took in their surroundings. The dimly lit greenhouse classroom was cluttered with overturned pots and tools, while vines with curling tendrils hung from the ceiling, stretching lazily in their direction. James flicked on the lights, and they stepped deeper into the greenhouse, surrounded by rows of delicate white hestia flowers with golden centers. Lily let her fingers brush against the petals as she gazed at the glass walls.

Normally, she found the greenhouse beautiful, but tonight, with the rain hammering down in relentless sheets, the outside world was nothing but a black void.

James stood beside her, peering out at the storm. “I don’t even think the umbrella will save us.” He sighed. “Let’s wait it out.”

Lily groaned dramatically, plopping onto an overturned pot. “Great. We’ll be sleeping here all night.”

“Think positively.”

“We’ll be sleeping here together all night.”

James grinned. “That’s better.”

She rolled her eyes, but he only laughed, settling himself on the floor between her legs, leaning back against the pot she was perched on. He pulled out his phone, scrolling through his apps until he landed on Snapchat. Without thinking, Lily automatically leaned into frame as he flipped on the front camera.

James typed: stuck in the greenhouses with @lilbean because it’s raining cats and dogs

They passed the time playing games on his phone while rain splattered against the glass ceiling above them. At some point, Lily slid off the overturned pot to sit beside him on the cool tile floor. She stretched her legs out in front of her, sighing as she adjusted her position.

When she turned her head, she caught James watching her with an unreadable expression.

“What?” she asked, arching a brow.

James swallowed, scratching his chin like he was working up the courage to say something.

“We’re close, right?”

Lily just stared at him. James licked his lips, shifting to face her fully. She wasn’t sure what to do when he slid into her space so effortlessly. Her fingers instinctively tightened around the fabric of his shirt—his shirt—hanging loose on her frame. His hazel eyes were impossible to look away from, and for a moment, she thought she caught a flicker of uncertainty in them.

"Can I say something crazy?" he asked.

"You normally do anyway." She tried to sound unaffected, but James saw right through her.

"I'm about to be romantic, so hold onto your bloody pride for a second, would you?"

“Fucking hell, James.”

Instead of looking offended, James just laughed—loud and unbothered—before grabbing her hand. Lily glanced down, watching the way their fingers intertwined so easily, like it was the most natural thing in the world. God, she wanted it to be that simple.

“I have to be honest,” he said, his voice softer now. “When we switched shirts, I spent all of practice imagining what you’d look like in one of mine.”

Lily let out a short breath and looked down at herself. "Sorry to disappoint."

Her self-deprecating tone only made James lean in closer, his long nose nearly brushing her cheek.

"Ah, Lil? Newsflash? You look way hotter than I even imagined."

Her heart stuttered. “We can’t do anything crazy, James.” Her voice cracked. “We’re supposed to be working.”

James tilted his head, studying her. “But you’re not fully opposed to kissing me when we’re done, right?”

Lily kept her eyes on the hestia flowers. “I’m not fully opposed to anything.”

James squeezed her hand. "Wait. You aren’t opposed to anything?"

She turned to glare at him, already regretting her wording. His smirk was downright wicked.

“So,” he said slowly, eyes glinting, “if I were to, say… snog you tomorrow, you wouldn’t fully oppose it?”

"Ah—"

He pressed a finger to her lips. "Shhh," he whispered blissfully, grinning. "Don't answer that."

She mumbled something against his finger, and he pulled it away excitedly.

“No opposition?” he repeated, voice full of delight.

Lily narrowed her eyes at him. “You wouldn’t do it anyway.”

James arched a brow. “You don’t think I’d kiss you?”

“No,” she said stubbornly. “You wouldn’t because you’d be afraid.”

James scoffed. “Afraid of what?”

Lily’s chest tightened under the weight of his stare. “Afraid of what would happen.”

For the first time, his smirk faded. “That’s the pot calling the kettle black.”

She bristled. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

James adjusted his glasses with a sigh. “It means that if anyone in this school is afraid of what would happen if we stepped over the line, it’s you.” He gestured between them. “I’ve never been anything but honest about how I feel about you.”

Lily opened and closed her mouth twice before finally finding her voice. “I’m not pushing you away.”

James rolled his eyes and stood up. “Yeah, sure, Lily.”

"Well," she sputtered, scrambling to her feet. "You’re just as pushy!"

James cracked his neck and shot her a look. “I’m not pushing you away.”

Lily flushed. “No,” she mumbled, crossing her arms. “Not that kind of pushy.”

She watched as he wandered over to the hestia flowers, running his fingers along the rim of a pot. I’m not pushing him away, she told herself. But James pulled her in the way waves were drawn to the shore—inevitable, unstoppable. If anything, he was pushing. Pushing her closer, pulling her deeper, until she was standing on the edge of something she wasn’t sure she was ready for.

With a sigh, Lily stood, brushing off James' oversized shirt. She hesitated before moving to stand beside him, deliberately leaving a safe amount of space between them. It didn’t matter. Even with distance, her pinky brushed against his. And just like before, James didn’t hesitate—he caught her hand in his, lacing their fingers together.

“Listen, James,” she murmured, staring at their joined hands. “Clearly, I’ve got some things to work through. But it’s only because I don’t want to lose you as a friend if this… blows up in our faces.”

James yanked his hand away as if burned. “Lily, my only issue is how badly I have it for you.”

Lily froze, her fingers barely grazing the petals of a flower. Slowly, she turned to him, head tilted in stunned silence. James ran a hand through his hair, suddenly looking sheepish—like he hadn’t meant to say it quite like that. His dark eyes traced her face, searching for a reaction.

“Nothing to say to that?” he asked, almost breathless.

Lily swallowed. “I… don’t know.”

James exhaled sharply, leaning against the table. His gaze stayed locked on her, but she couldn’t bring herself to meet it. Instead, she toyed with the hem of his shirt, staring at the tiled floor.

How could she explain that James had become something she needed? That he was woven into her life in ways she wasn’t sure she could untangle? Fancying James Potter wasn’t easy—he was the kind of person everyone watched when he walked past, the kind of person people talked about like he was larger than life. And Lily? She was just Lily. A girl from Cokeworth with a messy mind and too many doubts.

“Okay,” James muttered, voice tight. “Alright.” He turned away from her.

“James,” Lily pleaded, stepping forward. “Don’t be mad. You just… caught me off guard.”

His shoulders dropped slightly, and after a moment, he glanced at her over his shoulder. “I’m not mad,” he admitted, softer this time. “I just wish you’d stop questioning what you see in me.”

That was the thing—she wasn’t questioning what she saw in him. He was kind, sharp, endlessly funny. The best person she knew. It was never about him.

It was about her.

What did James Potter see in Lily Evans? What made him stand by her side so proudly, so effortlessly? What happened if they finally crossed the line between friendship and something more—only for him to wake up one day and realize she wasn’t anything special? That she wasn’t the brilliant, untouchable girl he thought she was, but just Lily. The daughter of two accountants. Outwardly clever, but secretly terrified she wasn’t good enough.

James didn’t press her after that. In fact, he didn’t say much at all as they finished their rounds and made their way back to the common room. The castle was silent at one in the morning, and for the first time, James felt just as quiet. Normally, he was an open book—loud, unfiltered, teasing. But now, he was shut off, his thoughts locked away somewhere Lily couldn’t reach.

She hated it.

They had come so far as friends. And she knew he wanted more.

So did she.

Lily reached out, grabbing James’ wrist before he could disappear behind his door. He stilled, bracing a hand against the frame as if he needed the support. When he turned, their eyes locked, and for the first time all night, Lily’s thoughts felt clear.

James’ glasses had slipped down his nose, his gaze cautious—like she was a fuse about to spark.

“I’m not questioning what I see in you,” she said softly, and the shift in his expression told her she had his full attention now. “I’m questioning what you see in me.”

James’ guarded face melted into something warm, something familiar. “Have I ever given you a reason to doubt how I feel about you?”

“No, but—”

“This ought to be good.”

“What if you get sick of me?”

James let out the most incredulous groan. “That is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”

“It’s not! Savannah Long got sick of Michael Amoco.”

He rolled his eyes. “Lily, please don’t compare us to those idiots.” Then, he hesitated, his expression shifting into something more serious. “Wait—are you afraid you’ll get sick of me?”

She frowned instantly. “Of course not!”

James half laughed, half groaned. “Then why are you making this so difficult?”

"I’m making it difficult?” she asked, baffled.

James exhaled sharply, like he was finally losing the last bit of patience he had left. “Lily. You don’t even know.” He pointed a finger at her, shaking his head in disbelief. “For months, I’ve had to sit through your staring contests in class. I’ve had to hold my breath every time you get too close because you smell like fresh-baked biscuits—don’t laugh, it’s true! I’ve actively avoided Mulligans so I wouldn’t lose my mind if I saw you out with some other bloke. And do you know how many times I’ve had to physically restrain myself from kissing you when you do or say anything remotely sexy?”

Lily blinked. “Sorry.” She tilted her head. “Me? Sexy?”

James threw his hands up. “Look at you!” He gestured dramatically at her, exasperated. “I am barely functioning!”

Lily stared at him, then muttered, almost nonsensically, “The feelings are quite mutual.”

James actually laughed at that—really laughed—and she felt it all the way to her toes. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, instinctively smiling in response. But her breath caught when James placed both hands on her shoulders, guiding her to look up at him. His eyes softened, filled with something unreadable yet entirely familiar.

“And Lily,” he murmured, whistling under his breath, “nothing has ever driven me quite as mad as seeing you wear my shirt all night.”

Lily recognized that look—the one she had been avoiding all year. And in that moment, she made a decision.

She wasn’t going to ignore it anymore.

Without another thought, she pushed up onto her tiptoes and kissed him. James froze for all of three seconds before snapping into action, pressing her back against the door with a soft thud. He kissed her like he had been waiting for this—like he had spent months holding himself back and had finally lost control. His lips were persistent, rushed, teasing. He nipped at her lower lip, and Lily felt the heat curl in her stomach.

She loved everything about it.

Leaning against the door, she met his kisses with a half-hearted attempt to slow them down. It was useless. James’ hands were everywhere—threading through her damp hair, skimming her waist, pressing her even closer. Avoiding him all this time had been a lost cause, she realized. Kissing James was like pulling the trigger of a gun, setting off something electric inside her. Her fingers tangled in his shirt, his jacket—anything she could hold onto as his glasses pressed into her skin.

He finally pulled away, and Lily just stared at him, breathless. His hands traced absentmindedly up and down her arms, and she didn’t know if the goosebumps came from the cold or his touch. Probably both. She kissed him again—right there in the middle of the hallway, still wearing his shirt, drenched from the rain. A laugh bubbled up in her throat, and James nuzzled her playfully, his nose brushing against hers.

“What?” he murmured, his lips still hovering close.

“I’m definitely going to get pneumonia.” She threw her arms around his neck, grinning. “I’m freezing.”

James smirked. “I can help you warm up.”

She laughed, and he took that as permission—swallowing her laughter with another kiss, then another. It wasn’t long before she was so tangled up in him, so dizzy from the heat of it all, that she felt lightheaded. When they finally broke apart, Lily’s hair was a mess, falling over one shoulder, and James’ already wild black hair had gone completely rogue.

She licked her lips, still leaning against the door, smiling up at him.

James grinned back, looking thoroughly pleased with himself. “I’d better get to bed,” he murmured, but he didn’t move—just lifted a hand to trace his finger across her cheek, as if committing every inch of her to memory. “Before I do something completely reckless—like refuse to leave you standing out here looking lovelier than anything in my shirt.”

Lily raised an eyebrow. “I can give it back, you know. If it’s that big of a bother.” She teasingly reached for the hem, but James caught her wrists before she could lift it, tugging the fabric snug around her hips.

His eyes darkened with something unreadable. “Keep it.” His voice was quiet but firm. “The look suits you.”

It wasn’t the first time Lily had worn James’ shirt.

And it certainly wouldn’t be the last.

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