Welcome To The Tortured Showgirl Department

you tell me your favourite colour is emerald green and i call you stupid for not just saying green. as revenge you colour a dozen sticky notes emerald green and raid my wardrobe with them and all the other emerald green things you manage to find. it is endearing and i hate it. but you tell me it's because of the colour of my eyes. i call you a cheeky git and flip you off on my way to class. between you and me, the idea of a favourite colour is positively tosh. and i don't mean to say i've never had one but lately i've only been able to see life in emerald coloured things.

they have peas for dinner today and you're throwing a fit again. standing over the dinner table, so bloody tall, yelling at anyone who'll listen that they're an abomination. there's a weird feeling in my gut. it follows me around every time you're near. like a shadow. like you. everywhere. all the time. inescapable. there are rumours about us of course. i wait for you to acknowledge them because i'm too scared to. instead you just smile at breakfast, steal my toast and wink at me before leaving. the feeling sucker punches me again.

sirius is frantic about losing his new beatles record somewhere. you call him a lunatic while he hollers and whines about it to everyone. later i find it on my bedside table with a note that says 'listen to it backwards ;)' the wink is atrocious. i listen to it in order just to spite you. to stomp on the feeling in my gut. at breakfast sirius is happy again. dramatic as he is, hugging his record and shedding fake tears. i tell you listening to it was like floating. you say you know i did not heed the note. and i'm floating. i have to drag down my nails on my arm to keep myself from flying.

gryffindor wins the house cup. you're delirious. drunk on everyone's affection. my hands twitch at my sides when i walk over to you. your smile is so contagious; it's magnetic. i don't know what to say. "why thanks evans, i was brilliant" you say, grinning. i can't get myself to say a word. i'm reaching forward, trying to make you laugh. really, all i want to do is make you laugh. "you should play for slytherin. i hear their emerald green uniform's all the rage." you laugh and it lights up everything. the room. the frantic beating thing inside my chest. and i'm thinking about how that's all the colour i need.

Jily one shot. i am not normal about them and I'm not sorry. here's the ao3 link for this fic: https://archiveofourown.org/works/87902706?style=creator