#foolexby

Or at least the man who had once been yours.

At first, you thought you were mistaken. After all, years passed without seeing him or hearing his voice, but it was him.

For several seconds, neither of you moved. You stood frozen, one hand gripping the strap of your bag while he looked at you.

Then he smiled. He had changed, his face was more mature now, his features sharper, his shoulders seemed broader beneath the dark coat he was wearing.

Life had moved forward for both of you. You have taken different paths, met different people, built entirely new versions of yourselves. You graduated, found a job, moved away from home, and learned how to live on your own, and yet, as you watched him rise from his seat and walk toward you, a part of you felt all those years disappear.

James made his way through the small crowd gathered near the counter, and for a moment the murmur of the café faded away completely. The only thing left was the sound of his shoes against the wooden floor.

"Wow..." he said when he stopped less than a meter away. His voice was deeper than you remembered. "It's really you."

You tried to react, forcing your vocal cords to produce a sound. "James," you managed, and your own voice sounded strange to your ears. "Hi."

"Hi," he replied, his eyes behind his glasses studying your face. "You look... incredible. Seriously."

"Thanks. You look... different," you said, adjusting your bag on your shoulder.

"Is that a subtle way of saying I'm getting old?" he joked.

The tension in your shoulders eased immediately. God, it was ridiculous how he could still do that with a single sentence.

"A vanilla oat milk latte to go!" the barista called from behind the counter, interrupting the moment.

"That's mine," you said, gesturing vaguely toward the counter.

James nodded, but he didn't move, he kept looking at you, and from the way his fingers nervously tapped against the side of his coffee cup, you knew he was fighting an internal battle of his own.

"I know you're probably busy..." he said, taking a small step back to give you space, though he never looked away. "But, I moved here a week ago for a new project. Do you have to run, or... do you have five minutes?"

You glanced at your phone. 8:40, if you left right then, you'd arrive at your desk ten minutes early, answer emails, and continue with your life.

James slipped a hand into his coat pocket and waited for your answer.

"I have ten minutes," you heard yourself say before your brain had time to catch up.

A small laugh escaped him, a mix of relief and genuine happiness, and he nodded toward the table by the window he had just left. "Ten minutes is more than enough," he said, turning around to lead the way.

You walked toward the counter to pick up your vanilla latte. As you took the cardboard cup, you noticed your fingers trembling slightly, a physical reaction that betrayed the nerves you were trying to hide. The barista gave you a quick smile before turning to the next customer.

You sat down in the chair across from James. On the table, besides his half-finished coffee, there was a notebook and a pen.

“So, the big city,” James began, resting his forearms on the table and leaning slightly toward you, reducing the physical distance and, almost unintentionally, recreating a small bubble of intimacy. “You always said you wanted to come here after graduation. You look completely in your element.”

“It took me a while to adjust, I’m not going to lie,” you replied, wrapping both hands around the warm cup. “The pace here is intense, but I found my place. I work at an agency a few blocks from here. What about you? You said you moved here a week ago.”

James nodded, running a hand through his hair. That gesture, at least, hadn’t changed at all.

“Yeah, it was kind of last-minute. I was offered a position leading an urban design project here. Getting settled has been chaos, I still have everything packed in boxes in an apartment that’s way too big for me, but it was an opportunity I couldn’t turn down. Though I’ll admit, this place was a little overwhelming. Up until about two minutes ago.”

The way he looked at you gave the last sentence a weight that made you hold your breath. There was no flirtation in his tone; it was simply James being honest.

“And are you here alone?” you asked. The question lingered in the air.

James caught the implication immediately. A spark of amusement flashed in his eyes before his expression softened. “Alone,” he answered calmly, holding your gaze. “Completely alone. My dog arrives next week once the heavy part of the move is done, if that counts. But other than him, there’s no one.”

An involuntary, almost imperceptible sense of relief traveled down your spine. To distract yourself, you took a sip of your coffee.

“What about you?” he asked, tossing the question back with genuine curiosity. “Is there someone?”

You glanced at the café clock on the wall. Four of your ten minutes had already passed. But when you saw the anticipation on James’s face, you realized there was no point in hiding the truth.

“My routine is pretty solitary,” you said with a small smile. “I like the quiet before heading into the office.”

James nodded slowly, taking in your words. There was a brief silence between the two of you, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was the kind of pause that happens when two people who once cared deeply for each other try to figure out how much of the past remains intact and how much has worn away with time.

“It’s strange,” James murmured, breaking the silence as he absentmindedly stirred his spoon in his cup. “I ended up on this street completely by accident because I got lost. I came here because I desperately needed caffeine and then suddenly, there you are.”

“Fate has a pretty twisted sense of humor,” you commented, feeling the warmth of the coffee beginning to loosen the knot in your stomach.

“Or maybe it’s just good luck,” he replied. “We didn’t end things in the best way, I know, but I always wondered how you were doing. I always wanted to know if you managed to accomplish everything you talked about back then.”

Your ten minutes were running out, but the concept of time was beginning to lose its importance in the face of the moment’s gravity. You were about to answer when the phone in your bag started vibrating, cruelly reminding you of the real world.

You pulled it out quickly, feeling almost guilty, as though you’d been caught doing something forbidden. The screen displayed your boss’s name. It was 8:51.

“I have to take this,” you said with an apologetic grimace.

“Don’t worry, duty calls,” James replied, straightening in his chair and giving you an understanding smile.

You raised the phone to your ear as you stood. “Hello? Yes, Marta... No, I’m just around the corner. I’ll be there in two minutes. Yes, the reports are already on my desk... Of course. See you in the conference room.”

You hung up and slipped the phone away. When you looked up again, James was already standing, he had closed his notebook and was adjusting the buttons of his dark coat.

“You always were a woman of your word,” he commented, amusement dancing in his eyes as he walked with you toward the café exit.

The cool morning air hit your face the moment you pushed open the glass door. The sound of traffic, the murmur of hurried pedestrians, and the scent of damp asphalt instantly pulled you back to reality. Your office was only three blocks away.

You stopped at the edge of the sidewalk and turned to face him. James stopped in front of you, his hands tucked into his pockets, rocking slightly on his heels. The wind tousled the fringe falling over his forehead.

“It was really good seeing you, James. Truly,” you said, surprised by the complete honesty in your own voice.

“Same here. More than you can imagine,” he replied.

For a second, uncertainty hung between you, that awkward moment when neither person knows whether to say goodbye with a handshake, a hug, or a kiss on the cheek. James broke the indecision by stepping forward and wrapping his arms around you.

It was a brief hug, but a firm one. When he pulled away, James slipped one hand out of his pocket and held out a small card.

“My new number. And the address of my office, which, from what I can tell, isn’t too far from yours,” he said, looking at you. “If you ever have another ten minutes one afternoon, or maybe even an hour, I’d love for you to finish telling me what happened to you all these years.”

You took the card. Your fingers brushed his for a fraction of a second, and once again, you felt that spark.

“I’ll text you,” you promised, slipping the card into your blazer pocket.

“I’ll be waiting,” he smiled, taking a step back. “Have a good day at the office.”

“Good luck with the move.”

You turned around and started walking briskly toward your building. After a few yards, you couldn’t resist the temptation and glanced back over your shoulder. James was still there, standing in the middle of the sidewalk, watching you leave. You tightened your grip on your coffee cup and quickened your pace.

The next months became an exercise in patience and rediscovery. What started with a text message on a Thursday afternoon, "I have an hour free. Are you still interested in that coffee?" soon became a constant.

Too much had changed, and neither of you wanted to ruin the peace you'd found after the breakup by diving headfirst back into old habits. So, you decided to get to know each other again from scratch, as if you were two strangers who happened to share memories.

You discovered that the James Potter in his late twenties, no longer left everything until the last minute. Work had given him structure; you watched him speak with genuine passion about his urban development plans.

For his part, he got to know the woman you had become. He was always impressed by your confidence, by the way you defended your projects, and by how completely you had made the city your own.

"You're much more decisive than I remember," he told you one evening while the two of you shared a pizza on the floor of his new apartment, his enormous Labrador resting its head on your knees. "You used to overthink everything. Now you just go and do it, I like that."

"Well, the city forces you to grow up," you replied with a smile, though the compliment left a warmth in your chest that lingered for days.

As the summer went on, your meetings became more varied. They were no longer just coffee before work, they became walks through the park, visits to secondhand bookstores, and dinners after long days at the office.

The strangest thing was how easy everything felt, there wasn't the awkwardness of traditional first dates because you already knew he hated raw tomatoes, and he knew perfectly well that you crossed your fingers when you were nervous. Yet there was still this new layer of mystery: discovering his new musical tastes, his new ambitions, and the scars, both physical and emotional, that the years apart had left behind.

By September, the line between "just friends" had begun to feel dangerously thin.

You could see it in the way James held your gaze a second longer than was strictly platonic, or in how his hand unconsciously searched for yours whenever you crossed a busy street, only for him to let go a little too quickly afterward.

One autumn evening, as you walked back toward your building beneath a light drizzle that was beginning to cool the streets, the silence between you grew dense.

You stopped beneath the awning entrance, sheltered from the rain.

"Thanks for walking me home," you said, pulling the collar of your coat higher.

"Always," James replied.

His eyes flickered briefly to your lips before meeting yours again.

The wind picked up, and he took a step closer, closing the distance you had both spent months carefully maintaining.

"Hey..." he said. "I've been thinking."

"Oh yeah? About what?" you asked, your heart suddenly stumbling in your chest.

James ran a hand through his hair and sighed. "About how much I've loved getting to know you again these past few months. Really. You're incredible."

Then he took another half-step forward, leaving only inches between you and completely shattering the invisible barrier of friendship.

"I think I've already gotten to know my new best friend," he said softly. "And the problem is that I'm starting to like her just as much as I liked her the first time."

You froze.

The cool autumn air seemed to solidify inside your lungs, and your hands clenched into fists inside your coat pockets. You had no idea what to say.

James's words hung between you, mixing with the sound of rain striking the pavement.

For months, you built the perfect fortress, a safe place where James Potter was simply a wonderful friend recovered from your past. With a single sentence, he had torn it all down.

Your eyes widened slightly as you stared at him, your mind, which normally operated at a thousand miles an hour, went completely blank. You wanted to say something clever, maybe make a joke to ease the sudden electricity crackling in the air, but your vocal cords refused to cooperate. Your mouth parted slightly, but no sound emerged.

James noticed your paralysis immediately, the confidence he'd shown moments earlier wavered, his fingers twitched nervously, as though he wanted to touch your arm and apologize, but he stopped himself halfway.

"Hey..." he murmured, offering a small, shy smile. "You don't have to say anything. I didn't mean to scare you."

You remained motionless, your pulse hammering in your throat, painfully aware that whatever you said next would change everything, then the elevator bell rang inside the empty lobby. The metallic sound made you jump. The doors slid open, and you escaped into them as if they were a refuge. You pressed the button for your floor three times in rapid succession until the doors finally closed, erasing James and the rainy street from view.

The hum of the elevator surrounded you as it climbed, but the silence was deceptive. Inside your head, the noise was deafening.

"What did you just do?" you scolded yourself, leaning against the mirrored wall.

Your reflection stared back at you, completely lost cheeks flushed from cold and nerves, rain-speckled hair, wide eyes full of guilt. You had left him standing there.

After months of rebuilding something beautiful, you run away like a frightened teenager.

When the elevator finally stopped, you stepped out into the hallway of your floor and made your way to your apartment. Your hands were trembling so badly that you dropped your key once before finally managing to fit it into the lock, you slipped inside, turned the deadbolt, and rested your forehead against the cold wood of the door, closing your eyes.

Your apartment, which usually greeted you with a comforting sense of peace, felt strangely unfamiliar tonight. You let your bag fall to the floor without worrying where it landed and shrugged off your coat, draping it over the back of a chair.

You crossed the living room toward the window overlooking the main avenue. You knew it was a bad idea, knew it would only make everything worse, but your feet moved on their own, carefully, you approached the glass, partially hiding behind the curtain, and looked down toward the entrance of the building.

The sidewalk was empty. James was gone.

Only the reflection of the streetlights shimmered across the wet pavement while cars passed by, spraying water in their wake. A wave of something that felt alarmingly close to disappointment washed through you.

Then your phone began vibrating in the pocket of your coat. The steady buzz against your thigh made your heart lurch. Slowly, you pulled it out, already dreading what you might find on the screen. A text message.

From James.

You stared at the glowing notification for several long seconds, your pulse still racing as you debated whether to open it or simply turn your phone off completely.

Finally, you swiped your thumb across the screen.

“I'm sorry, I moved too fast and put pressure on you. That wasn't my intention, I never meant to scare you or damage what we have now.”

The simplicity of the message drove a sharp spike of guilt straight into your stomach.

There were no accusations, no anger, just James's usual kindness, even after being left standing alone in the rain in the most abrupt way possible.

You sank onto the couch, curling your legs against your chest. The phone remained lit in your hand, casting a bluish glow across your face in the dim living room.

You forced yourself to examine the panic that had overtaken you only minutes earlier. Why did you run? The answer was so simple it frightened you, because the safe ground, you'd convinced yourself you were standing on, had never really existed. For months, you had told yourself that you and James were only friends. That you had moved on, that the past was behind you, but the truth was that you'd fallen in love with him all over again, or maybe, if you were being completely honest with yourself, you'd never stopped.

You stared at the text box beneath his message. The cursor blinked patiently, waiting. You typed;

“I'm upstairs now. Everything's okay.”

Then deleted it, too cold.

You tried again.

“I'm sorry. I had a panic attack.”

Deleted, too vulnerable.

In the end, you placed the phone face down on the coffee table, you decided the best thing to do was let the night pass, to wait for the storm in your head to settle.

The four days that followed were filled with silence so complete it felt almost suffocating. Your phone never rang with James's familiar ringtone. No messages appeared on your screen in the middle of the afternoon. But the silence wasn't because of a lack of interest, if anything, it was because of the exact opposite, pure fear.

The problem wasn't that you didn't like James, the real problem was that you felt exactly the same way.

His words had lodged themselves firmly in your mind, replaying on an endless loop every night as you tossed and turned in bed.

The realization that the older James, the mature, grounded, renewed version of him, attracted you just as much, if not more, than the boy you'd loved years ago terrified you completely.

Moving forward meant tearing down the safety net of friendship that the two of you had spent months carefully rebuilding, and once that step was taken, there would be no going back. What if the ghosts of the past returned? The memory of your breakup, with its sleepless nights, distance, and broken promises, hung over you like a shadow.

You remembered how hard it had been to put yourself back together the first time. If you tried again and failed, you wouldn't just lose an ex-boyfriend. You would lose the chance to keep him in your life at all, whatever fragile thing remains between you would finally break for good. So, you retreated to your oldest ally: Routine.

On Friday morning, you walked into the café, ordered your vanilla oat milk latte, and sat at the table by the window, staring out at the street.

Part of you hoped to see his dark coat emerge from the crowd, another part dreaded it, but James never appeared. He was giving you space, or maybe he was afraid too.

On Saturday night, unable to focus on the movie playing on your television, you found yourself staring at the small white card he'd given you months earlier, still tucked safely inside the drawer of your nightstand. Your mind had become a battlefield between logic and your heart; logic told you to protect yourself, the stability you'd built in this city was too valuable to risk over a love from the past, but your heart remembered the warmth of his embrace, the easy familiarity of his laughter, and the unmistakable love in his eyes whenever he looked at you.

By Sunday, the weight of uncertainty had become unbearable, you couldn't spend the rest of your life hiding behind fear. If the past few months had taught you anything, it was that neither of you were the same immature college students anymore.

With shaking hands and a heart pounding against your ribs, you picked up your phone, opened your conversation with James, which had slipped several places down your message list after four days of silence, and typed:

"We need to talk. Do you have ten minutes?"

The moment you sent it, you locked the screen and placed the phone face down on the table, holding your breath as you waited for the answer that would determine whether you let the past win, or finally allowed yourself to build a future with him.

The reply came less than two minutes later. Not as a text, but as the sound of a notification that made your heart leap.

"For you, always. I'm at the park near your building, walking Sirius. Do you want me to come to the entrance, or would you rather come here?"

You looked out the window, the afternoon sky had begun to turn violet, and the autumn wind was blowing hard.

You didn't hesitate, you wrapped a scarf around your neck, grabbed your keys, and left, you needed to walk, and the cold air to clear your mind before seeing him again.

The moment you entered the park, you spotted him. James sat with his back to you on one of the wooden benches while his black Labrador enthusiastically sniffed through a pile of dry leaves, he wore the same dark coat from that first morning. Even from a distance, you could see the tension in the line of his shoulders. He wasn't moving. Just waiting.

Your footsteps across the grass made the dog perk up his ears and bark happily, immediately giving away your presence.

James turned around, the moment he saw you, he stood, relief flashed across his face, quickly followed by obvious caution.

"Hi," he said once you were close enough.

The wind tousled his hair, and his eyes searched for yours.

"Hi," you replied, stopping a few feet away.

Sirius trotted over enthusiastically, wagging his tail, and petting him gave you the few precious seconds you needed to gather your courage.

"I told you I'll always make time for you," James said softly, sliding his hands into his coat pockets. "Listen... I'm sorry if what I said the other night made you feel pressured. I never wanted to scare you or push you away. These last four days without hearing from you have been... difficult."

"I didn't pull away because I don't feel the same way, James." The words escaped before you could stop them. "The problem is exactly that I do. I feel exactly the same way you do."

James froze, a spark of hope flashed across his face, but before he could move toward you, you raised a hand.

You weren't finished.

"I feel the same way, and it terrifies me," you admitted, your voice trembling. "It took me a long time to recover from what happened between us in college. I built a life here where I feel safe. A life where I know exactly what tomorrow is going to look like, and then you came back and turned everything upside down."

You swallowed hard.

"These last few months have been wonderful, but I'm scared, James. I'm terrified that if we take the next step, the ghosts of the past will come back. What if we make the same mistakes? What if distance, work, or our own insecurities destroy everything we've worked so hard to rebuild? If we fail again… I don't think I could survive it."

James listened without interrupting once.

When you finally finished, he took the step you'd stopped him from taking before, closing the distance between you. You could feel the warmth radiating from him despite the cold. He removed his hands from his pockets and gently took yours in his. Your fingers were freezing.

"Look at me," he said softly.

You lifted your eyes.

"You have every right to be afraid. I am too. I'd be an idiot if I wasn't afraid of losing you again." He squeezed your hands gently, filling you with a sense of reassurance you hadn't realized you needed.

"But there's something you're forgetting," he continued, a tender smile touching his lips. "We're not those kids anymore, the ones who didn't know what they wanted or how to communicate, we've changed, you're not the same person, and neither am I."

His thumb brushed softly across your knuckles. "We can't pretend the past never happened, but we also can't let it decide our future. I don't want to go back to what we had before."

His voice softened further. "I want to build something completely new with you. Here. Now." He leaned closer, breaking the final physical barrier between you.

"I can't promise it'll be perfect. I can't promise we won't have problems. But I can promise that this time I know exactly what I have in front of me, and I'm not going to let it go because of something stupid."

His eyes never left yours. "We don't have to rush. We can take it slow."

A small smile appeared. "One day at a time. What do you say?"

The wind swept through the park again, sending dry leaves spiraling around your feet, but the cold no longer mattered, you looked down at your hands intertwined with his, then at his face, the face of the man you'd loved, the man you'd missed, the man you'd rediscovered in an ordinary little café. The ghosts were still there somewhere, tucked away in forgotten corners of memory, but for the first time, the light of the present felt brighter than the shadows of the past.

"One day at a time," you whispered. A tremendous weight lifted from your shoulders.

James smiled, and before you could say anything else, he leaned down and sealed the promise with the kiss you'd both been waiting months for.

You could feel James's gaze burning into the back of your neck. That cold, possessive intensity. You knew exactly what expression he was wearing; jaw clenched, eyes fixed on you.

That same night, safely inside your apartment, you walked over to the bookshelf where a tiny hidden lens sat tucked between the spines. You stopped there, running your fingers slowly across the books with your back to the camera before turning around with your phone in hand. You knew he was on the other side of the screen, sitting in his own room, watching your every move.

You sat down on the couch at the perfect angle for him to see your screen as you typed a message to Thomas.

"Thanks for helping me with the notes. See you Monday at the library, right? <3"

You waited for Thomas to reply.

"Of course!"

You made sure to leave your phone face-up, the screen lit for a full minute, before turning off the lights and heading to bed, you looked directly toward the hidden camera concealed inside the lamp. You didn't smile, that would have given you away, instead, you let out a small sigh and adopted an expression of subtle vulnerability and exhaustion.

Monday morning arrived, and you walked into campus with your heart racing in anticipation. When you entered your literature class, Thomas was already there, he had a cut on his lower lip and a dark purple bruise blooming across his left cheekbone, poorly concealed beneath the hood of his sweatshirt. The moment he saw you, his eyes widened in genuine panic, he didn't move, didn't smile, didn't even nod hello.

The second you stepped toward his row, he hastily gathered his things, his hands trembling slightly, and relocated to a seat in the very front row as far away from you as possible. You froze in the aisle, pretending to look confused and hurt, lowering your gaze, you hugged your books against your chest and quietly made your way to the back of the classroom, taking a seat alone.

Then the door opened, James walked in, he moved with effortless confidence, his hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket, he crossed the room without sparing anyone else a glance and headed straight for your row, taking the seat beside you.

You visibly tensed, you looked toward the front row, where Thomas was shrinking into his seat, then back at James with wide eyes, searching for some sort of reaction.

"Did you see Thomas?" you whispered, your voice trembling as your eyes locked onto his. "What do you think happened to him?"

James leaned closer, invading your personal space, forcing you to breathe in his cologne, he stared at you with those intense eyes and raised an eyebrow in feigned surprise.

"No idea," he replied quietly, sounding almost uninterested. "Looks like he had some bad luck. Some people just don't know what they're getting themselves into, don't you think?"

James stretched his arm across the desk, leaving his hand dangerously close to yours.

You swallowed hard and looked away as though frightened, letting a slight tremor run through your shoulders. "That's horrible..." you murmured, pretending to be outraged and scared.

"The world is a dangerous place," he concluded in a tone that sounded almost protective as he settled back in his seat.

You turned toward the front as the professor began speaking, hiding your face behind your hair. James leaned back, satisfied, convinced that his little psychological game had cornered you and placed you firmly under his control.

He couldn't see your face, couldn't see the smile slowly forming on your lips.

Poor James, you thought as you wrote the lecture title at the top of your notebook, so predictable.

The three-hour class passed in the blink of an eye, buried beneath the tension humming between the two of you. You could feel James's gaze drifting back to you repeatedly, fixed on your profile, monitoring every breath, every blink, searching for any crack that might reveal what you were thinking.

The moment class ended, you moved quickly, gathering your notebooks with slightly trembling hands, you left the room without looking at him, you hurried through the faculty hallways, weaving through crowds of students, absolutely certain that he wouldn't immediately follow.

The cool afternoon air hit your face as you stepped onto campus.

You glanced toward the soccer fields and spotted Thomas sitting alone on a bench. His hood still concealed most of his face while he pressed a cold water bottle against his bruised cheek, adjusting the strap of your backpack, you headed straight toward him. You knew perfectly well that James was watching, and you knew that approaching Thomas again was an open act of provocation.

"Thomas," you said softly as you stopped in front of him, forcing an expression of guilt and concern. "Oh my God, are you okay? What happened to you?"

The boy nearly jumped out of his skin, when his eyes met yours, the panic in them was so genuine that you almost felt sorry for him.

He frantically looked around, left, right, toward the buildings, as though he expected lightning to strike him at any second. "It's nothing," he said, his voice cracking as he tried to stand. "I fell on the dorm stairs. It was an accident."

"Thomas, please." You leaned forward slightly, lowering your voice and slipping into the role of the distressed victim worried about someone else's safety. "I know it wasn't an accident. It was him, wasn't it? James Potter?"

At the sound of that name, Thomas went completely pale, his lips trembled as he took a step backward, putting distance between the two of you as though you were something dangerous.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he stammered. "I don't know any James. Please, just leave me alone, don't talk to me, don't text me, I don't want anything to do with you."

Then he turned around and practically ran toward the dormitories without looking back, leaving you standing there alone, you remained rooted to the spot, clutching your books against your chest and letting your shoulders sag in a flawless imitation of defeat. Anyone who saw you would have thought you were terrified.

You returned to your apartment later that evening, enjoying the quiet streets, when you stepped inside, you didn't turn on the lights, you left your backpack by the door and walked through the darkness straight toward the bathroom, stopping in front of the mirror, you knew that behind the wooden frame, hidden in the seam of the wall, there was another camera James had installed two months ago, taking advantage of an afternoon when you had deliberately left the kitchen window unlocked.

You let your hair fall loose around your shoulders, looking into the mirror, you held your own reflection's gaze, but in reality, you were looking directly into James's eyes through the lens, you put on an expression of complete exhaustion, subtle desperation, turning on the faucet, you splashed cold water on your face and let a couple of fake tears slide down your cheeks. You wanted him to see them, you wanted him to see you broken, frightened by the power he seemed to have over your life, you wanted him to believe his strategy was working, that you were slowly collapsing, that you had no one else left to turn to.

You dried your face with a towel and stepped out of the bathroom, then you noticed something, a faint scent lingered in the apartment, his cologne.

Your heart lurched with pure exhilaration, though your face froze into an expression of shock and fear, your eyes drifted toward the dining table, there, in the center, sat a small package wrapped in paper and tied with a black string. There was no note beside it, but you knew that James had been here while you'd been at university, he'd used his copy of your key, the one you had "lost" last month. He had walked through your space, breathed your air and left behind a message.

You approached slowly, forcing your hands to tremble as you untied the black string, opened the package. Inside was a small box of your favorite chocolates, the ones you'd never told anyone you liked, but whose wrappers he had undoubtedly spotted in your trash through the cameras.

You clapped a hand over your mouth, smothering a gasp for the benefit of the cameras in the living room, and stumbled backward, dropping the package onto the table as though it disgusted or terrified you, then you ran to your bedroom, locked the door behind you, threw yourself onto the bed, and pulled the blankets over your head, there, where none of his lenses could capture the corners of your mouth, you finally allowed yourself to smile, a wide, dark, hungry smile.

You were driving him insane, as he obsessed over possessing you, watching you, and decipher you, he sank deeper into a web he couldn't even see, James thought he was gathering information, he thought he was learning all your secrets, but in reality, he was only consuming himself because the more he watched you, the more he needed you. Without realizing it, he had reached the point where his days revolved around you, what you were doing, who you were talking to, and what you might do next. And the more space you occupied in his mind, the less room there was for anyone or anything else.

And even though part of you knew he would never truly mock something that mattered to you, the embarrassment was still there. It was irrational, sure, but you couldn't help it.

So, you kept the secret for years, carefully hiding your binders on top of your closet and making sure James was never around whenever you received new cards or planned a trade.

It was a perfect plan. Until one afternoon, when you asked James to get something down from the top of the closet.

"What's this?" James asked.

"What's what?" you replied without looking at him, too focused on finishing what you were doing.

When no answer came immediately, an icy chill ran down your spine. It took exactly one second for the pieces to click together in your head. The closet. You turned around slowly, silently begging the universe for it to be anything else, an old shoebox; school notes; Christmas decorations; anything.

But the universe was not on your side that day.

There was James, half-kneeling on the floor, holding a transparent plastic storage box that had popped open when it hit the ground. A transparent plastic storage box containing three thick black leather binders and a couple of metal storage tins, each bearing the classic Yu-Gi-Oh! logo gleaming beneath the room's light.

You swallowed hard as heat rushed to your cheeks.

"It's nothing," you said, your voice coming out slightly higher than usual as you hurried toward him. "Just some old stuff from my brother. Hand me the box, James."

James looked up at you after picking up one of the black faux-leather binders. "Your brother's old stuff?" he repeated slowly.

"Yes," you answered immediately, crossing your arms and leaning against the doorframe, trying your best to appear indifferent.

James glanced down at the spine of the binder and then back at you. "Then why is it in your room, hidden in the back of your closet?"

"Because he left it with me when he moved onto campus last year," you improvised, feeling a bead of cold sweat slid down the back of your neck. "You know, he didn't have enough space in his dorm and asked me to store it for him."

James raised an eyebrow. Bad sign. That meant James wasn't buying a single word of it.

Before you could take even one step toward him, he opened the binder on top of your bed, your soul immediately left your body.

Every single card was double-sleeved: a clear inner sleeve and a premium matte outer sleeve. You had even placed small colored tabs along the edges of certain pages to separate archetypes.

James flipped a page with a soft crinkling sound, then another, and another pausing occasionally to admire the shine of the holographic cards.

"Your brother makes some very cute notes," he commented, the corner of his mouth twitching with the effort of holding back laughter.

Your heart stopped. The air caught in your throat. "What?"

James leaned in slightly and pointed at a small pastel-yellow sticky note carefully attached to the bottom corner of a page filled with gold-foil cards.

"Trade for MFC Dark Magician Girl (Near Mint condition or better). NO REPRINTS."

Your eyes squeezed shut, you wanted the earth to swallow you whole or for a truck to crash through your bedroom wall and save you from humiliation.

You had spent three entire nights planning that trade strategy on internet forums.

"That's weird," he continued, stretching out across your bed, completely entertained. "Because this handwriting looks a lot like yours."

"Families tend to share traits," you replied, opening your eyes and desperately trying to preserve what little dignity remained. "Genetics are complicated, James. Handwriting can be hereditary."

"That's not how that works, and you know it."

Fed up with the torture, you lunged forward and tried to snatch the binder from his hands but James, blessed with excellent reflexes and at least a foot taller than you, effortlessly lifted it above his head.

"James," you warned.

"Darling," he replied in the same tone.

"Give it back. Now."

"First explain why your supposed complete lack of interest in Yu-Gi-Oh, the same lack of interest you mentioned last month when we walked past that comic book store and you called it 'a children's game', by the way, includes a binder with more organization and quality control than the finance department at my university."

"I don't have to explain anything to you. It's my room, they're my things, eh, my brother's things, and you're invading my privacy."

"You're right," he admitted, without lowering his arm even an inch. He turned another page with his free hand. "But I'd still love to hear it. The truth shall set us free, you know.

You groaned in frustration and buried your face in your hands, it was hopeless, James was unbelievably stubborn.

Silence settled between you again as he continued browsing through the binder, fascinated by the dragons and warriors illustrated on the cards.

Then suddenly his eyes narrowed, he froze. "Wait," he said, his teasing tone shifting into genuine curiosity.

Your stomach dropped. "What?"

"Does this thing actually have real monetary value?"

"What thing?" you asked, lowering your hands, panicking instantly racing through your mind as you wondered which card he was looking at.

"This one. The one with the ‘white dragon with blue eyes’. The background's shiny and it's got weird letters down here."

You leaned over to see James had partially pulled the card out of its sleeve, holding it by the edges, your eyes immediately widened in horror.

"BE CAREFUL WITH THAT! DON'T TOUCH IT WITH YOUR DIRTY HANDS! OH MY GOD, USE THE SLEEVE!"

James froze completely, the card halfway out of the plastic. "Why?" he whispered, startled by your reaction.

"Because..." You stopped yourself abruptly, biting your tongue so hard it almost hurt.

You looked at James. James looked at you.

You had just made a terrible mistake, the ultimate mistake.

The smile that spread across James's face was slow, wicked, and radiant. "Oh," he said.

"James, shut up."

"You care."

"Don't."

"You care a lot."

"I don't care," you lied, though your voice cracked several octaves higher than normal. "It's just that fingerprints ruin the value of my brother's cards. That's all."

"You just yelled at me like I'd tried to throw a cat out a window."

"Because you're a brute who doesn't know how to handle delicate things!"

"You care. Admit it. You're a card nerd."

You let out a long, defeated sigh, your shoulders slumped as every ounce of resistance abandoned your body, you flopped backward onto the bed and covered your eyes with one arm.

"It's a first-edition Blue-Eyes White Dragon from Legend of Blue Eyes White Dragon," you muttered from the depths of your soul, utterly resigned. "It's graded PSA 9. It's worth more than your car, James. So, if you leave a fingerprint on it, I swear I'll bury you in the backyard."

James looked down at the binders scattered across the bed, this time, he examined them more carefully, letting his fingers trace the worn edges, the look in his eyes was that of someone witnessing something genuinely important.

"So, all of this..."

"I've been collecting it for years," you finished quietly, sitting cross-legged beside him, feeling strangely vulnerable.

"And you never told me?" he asked.

For a fraction of a second, there was genuine surprise in his voice. Almost as if it hurt him a little to realize he'd been excluded from this part of your life.

You shrugged and looked away toward the window. "I thought you'd make fun of me. You know, it's a card game. I thought you'd say it was childish."

For a moment, James simply stared at you, processing your words, tthen, completely shattering the dramatic tension of the moment, he burst out laughing so hard it echoed off all four walls of the room.

"Oh, I'm absolutely going to make fun of you," he assured you, wiping away an imaginary tear.

You pointed an accusing finger at him, torn between outrage and relief. "See?!"

"No, listen." James carefully placed the binder back on the bed, making sure it wouldn't slide off, before moving closer to you. "What I find incredible," James said, "and honestly kind of adorable, is that you've been hiding this like it's some kind of state secret."

"It was a state secret to me," you grumbled, crossing your arms.

"You thought I was going to judge you?"

"Maybe a little."

James fell silent for a few seconds, studying you. Then he stretched out his arms, gently took you by the waist, and pulled you closer until your knees bumped against his.

"Darling," he said, making you look at him.

"What?"

"I used to play with wizard cards when I was twelve. I collected Chocolate Frog cards and stuff like that."

You blinked, completely caught off guard. "What? You? The captain of the football team?"

"Well, they were Harry Potter cards," he admitted, scratching the back of his neck with a sheepish smile. "I kept them all in a shoebox."

You stared at him, processing the information before frowning. "That doesn't count. That was movie merchandise, James."

"The important thing," he interrupted, his grin widening, "is that everyone has weird hobbies."

"This isn't weird," you argued, sitting up straighter. "It's a niche hobby."

"Okay, nerd, let me correct you," James said, giving you a playful nudge. "Owning more than three hundred cards officially qualifies as weird."

"More than seven hundred."

The silence was immediate, the air in the room seemed to freeze.

James's eyes widened. Every movement stopped. "How many?" he asked in a whisper.

Your hand flew to your mouth instantly too late, you had already said it, your collector's pride simply couldn't tolerate having your inventory reduced to less than half.

And the expression of complete, absolute, overflowing fascination that appeared on James's face made you realize that you had just opened a door that would never, for the rest of your life, close again. "Show me," James demanded, his eyes shining with the intensity of a child on Christmas morning.

"No."

"I want to see all seven hundred. I want to see the one worth more than my car. I want to see all of them."

"You're not going to understand any of it," you declared, trying to sound firm as you slipped out of his grasp.

"Perfect." His smile somehow widened even more. "Then you can explain every single one of them to me. We've got all night."

You sighed and reached for the binders piled at the foot of the bed. Sitting beside him with your legs crossed and the binders spread between you, you began shy, your voice a little quiet, afraid of boring him.

"Okay, this one here is one of the older cards," you began, pointing to a card with a classic design. "You summon it by tribute, which means you have to send other cards to the Graveyard before you can play it, and this one, well, it has a continuous effect that blocks your opponent's trap cards."

As the minutes passed, your fear of being judged slowly disappeared, you completely forgot about your embarrassment, and your real personality began to shine through, your voice grew stronger, your hands started moving enthusiastically as you talked, your eyes lit up.

Halfway through a particularly detailed explanation about why a certain trap card had been banned from official tournaments due to the unfair advantage it provided, you paused to take a breath.

When none of James's usual jokes came, you turned your head to see if he had fallen asleep, but James wasn't looking at the cards. He was looking at you, his chin rested in the palm of his hand, a soft, genuine smile on his face, he was watching you as though you were the most extraordinary, fascinating, beautiful thing he had ever seen in his life, there wasn't a trace of mockery in his expression, only pure admiration.

The moment you noticed the weight of his gaze, your words froze in your throat, your cheeks, which had finally begun to cool down, immediately burst into flames again.

"What?" you asked, partially covering your mouth with your fingers. "Why are you looking at me like that? I warned you this was going to be boring."

James let out a small laugh, a soft breath of amusement, without breaking eye contact, he lifted a hand and brushed the back of his fingers against your cheek before sliding them into your hair at the nape of your neck. "It's not boring at all," he said, his voice a little lower. "It's just that you're a complete nerd."

"Oh my God, you're such a nerd," he added with a quiet laugh.

Before you could complain, his fingers slid along your neck, drawing you a little closer.

"But you're a really cool nerd. And you're ridiculously hot when you talk about something you're passionate about."

Your heart lurched violently against your ribs. "Don't be ridiculous," you said, trying to look down at the red binder to hide your smile, though the tremor in your voice betrayed how much his words had affected you.

"I'm not being ridiculous," James insisted, leaning forward until his forehead brushed against yours, forcing you to feel his breath. "I'm serious. I love seeing this side of you."

James's gaze dropped to your lips for a second that felt eternal before lifting back to your eyes, and before you could pull out another card, James leaned forward and kissed you, leaving the binders forgotten among the sheets.

Dating James wasn't bad at all, in fact, he was exactly the kind of person you had always imagined being with. There was something about him that made everything seem easier, his company had the strange ability to turn ordinary moments into wonderful memories.

James was attentive and affectionate. He even seemed to know exactly when to make you laugh after a difficult day, being around him never felt like something that required constant effort.

One day, the two of you decided to go to the café you usually visit after class. It was one of those quiet afternoons when there were no plans; you simply wanted to spend some time together before returning to your respective responsibilities. Everything seemed completely normal. The place was busy, and the familiar scent of freshly brewed coffee filled the air.

While placing your order, your attention drifted toward James. You watched him speaking with the cashier, a girl who looked about your age and who served you both fairly often. At first, you didn't think much of it, she said something you couldn't quite hear, and he immediately replied. The conversation lasted only a few seconds longer than usual, nothing truly important, but it was enough for your mind to latch onto it.

It was a completely insignificant interaction; James was friendly with everyone and was probably having exactly the same conversation he would have had with anyone else. However, once the seed of doubt had been planted in your mind, it became impossible to ignore.

Suddenly, you began noticing details that probably didn't even exist; the way she seemed to lean forward slightly while talking to him; how quickly she responded whenever he made a comment; he ease with which the conversation appeared to flow. Every tiny gesture started to take on ridiculous importance.

The cashier was pretty, very pretty, she had an easy smile, a relaxed attitude, and seemed completely comfortable in her own skin. And although you rationally understood that none of it meant anything, the irrational part of your brain had already begun constructing an entire story around a few seconds of interaction.

By the time you finally sat down at your usual table, the discomfort was still there.

At first, you tried to ignore it. You repeatedly told yourself that you were overreacting, that it was silly, that James probably wouldn't even remember the conversation five minutes later. But every time you looked up and saw how calm he was, how easy it seemed for him to exist without constantly questioning everything, irritation began to grow inside you.

Your answers became short and distracted, and although you tried to act normal, the tension started seeping into every gesture. You crossed your arms, avoided looking at him, and pretended to pay attention to anything that wasn't him.

It was a ridiculous anger, childish even. Before you realized it, you were analyzing everything that had happened in the last twenty minutes as though you were gathering evidence for a case that didn't exist.

At that moment, you sat across from him pretending to be deeply interested in a paper napkin so you wouldn't have to look him directly in the eyes, somehow, it seemed like a perfectly reasonable idea.

It took James a while to get tired of ignoring the obvious. At first, he continued talking normally, commenting on whatever came to mind while stirring the straw in his drink, making the ice clink softly against the glass. However, each of your responses had been shorter than the last, building a wall of disinterest that eventually cut off the flow of his words, to the point where having a conversation with you had become nearly impossible.

"What's wrong?" he finally asked, giving up. He rested an arm on the table and leaned forward slightly, searching your face.

"Nothing," you replied immediately, keeping your eyes fixed on the napkin.

"Mhm," he drawled, the skepticism obvious in his voice.

"What?"

"That didn't sound like 'nothing,'" James replied, tilting his head as he studied you carefully.

"Nothing's wrong."

"That was exactly the kind of answer someone gives when they're upset," he insisted, crossing his arms.

"Well, I'm not upset," you said firmly, your jaw tightening.

James raised an eyebrow, dismantling your lie in an instant. He clearly didn't believe you for a second. He knew you well enough to recognize the exact tone of your indignation.

"You've been answering me with one-word responses for ten minutes," he pointed out with a sigh of restrained frustration.

"I don't have much to say," you muttered with a dismissive shrug.

"Or maybe you are upset."

You looked away immediately, unable to hold his gaze. That obvious retreat was enough to confirm all his suspicions.

James let out a long sigh and ran a hand through his hair before resuming the interrogation, this time with meticulous patience. "Did I do something?"

"No."

"Then someone did something."

"No."

"Did something happen in class?" he asked, trying to rule out any outside problem.

"No."

"Did one of your friends say something?"

"No."

"Then why are you acting like this?"

The question made you press your lips together tightly. Because now that the silence was breaking and the moment had come to say it out loud, the reason sounded just as ridiculous as it really was. For a few seconds, you seriously considered swallowing your pride, letting it go, forget about it, and change the subject with some excuse.

"You seemed to be having a lot of fun with the cashier," you blurted out.

The silence that followed was immediate, thick, and almost comical. James blinked a couple of times, as though trying to process whether he had heard you correctly.

"What?" he asked, bewildered.

"The cashier," you repeated, crossing your arms and settling into a defensive posture.

"What about her?"

"You were smiling at her way too much," you accused, finally revealing the real complaint.

James remained still for a few seconds, absorbing your words, then he blinked again, slowly processing the source of your anger, a spark of understanding crossed his eyes.

"Wait," he said, while the corners of his mouth threatened to curl upward. His entire expression began to change. "Are you jealous?"

"No," you answered quickly, feeling your cheeks grow warm.

"You're definitely jealous," he declared, his grin widening with pure amusement.

"James..." you warned, your tone carrying a clear threat, but it was already too late.

"Oh my God."

To his credit, your boyfriend at least tried to hold back his laughter. He pressed his lips together and looked away for a second, he genuinely tried. He failed when a small laugh escaped through his teeth.

"Don't laugh," you snapped, glaring at him.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he said, raising his hands in surrender, though his voice dripped with barely concealed amusement.

"It's not funny."

"A little bit," he argued, clearly enjoying your misery.

You shot him a look, the kind that would have made anyone else immediately back down and apologize. James, of course, knew you far too well to be intimidated, if anything, he seemed even more entertained by your sulking.

"You think I was flirting with the cashier?" he asked, leaning back in his chair and enjoying every second of this.

"I just said you seemed very interested in talking to her," you clarified, trying to downplay the situation and keep what little dignity you had left.

"She asked if I wanted my usual order," he explained, breaking down the entire interaction with infuriating calm.

"And you smiled."

"Because she was being nice."

"Uh-huh."

"And then I said yes."

"Uh-huh."

"And then she charged me."

"Uh-huh."

"And that was the entire interaction," James concluded, raising an eyebrow as he waited for your verdict.

The worst part was that it sounded completely reasonable, logical, and mundane, because objectively, it was. You opened your mouth to argue and then immediately shut it again, indignant. James burst into a bright, genuine laugh that drew the attention of a couple of people from nearby tables, and you could feel the heat rushing up into your face.

James shifted into his seat, he ended up resting his chin on one hand, leaning toward you again as he watched you carefully. "Did it really bother you?" The question came in a completely different tone, quieter, more sincere.

And that change, that sudden tenderness, made all your irritation and defensiveness melt away. You stared at your drink for a few seconds to avoid his eyes. "A little," you finally admitted in a small voice.

James wasn't laughing anymore, his expression turned serious, touched with genuine concern. "Why?"

Your fingers absently traced the edge of the glass, following the droplets of condensation sliding down its surface. "Because sometimes I feel like anyone could like you," you confessed in barely more than a whisper, finally giving voice to your deepest insecurity.

James's smile disappeared completely. Until that very moment, he had clearly been amused by the situation, unable to take seriously the idea that you could be jealous over a thirty-second conversation with a cashier who was simply doing her job. But the instant he heard those words, something in his expression changed, the amusement vanished from his eyes, replaced by understanding.

"Do you really think that?" he asked quietly. His voice was much softer now, filled with genuine concern.

You immediately lowered your gaze to the drink you had barely touched, feeling the weight of his attention. The foam design the barista had made on top had long since dissolved into an unrecognizable blur, but you continued staring at it anyway.

"Not all the time," you admitted, swallowing hard against the knot forming in your throat.

James didn't interrupt. He waited patiently, giving you the space you needed to speak at your own pace.

"...just sometimes," you finished in a fragile voice. "Sometimes I see the way people look at you," your fingers tightened around the glass. "And I know it's stupid. I know it doesn't make sense. But I start thinking things."

James remained completely silent, his eyes fixed on the way your knuckles had turned white from gripping the glass so tightly.

"I don't know," you said with a small nervous laugh, a dry sound that unsuccessfully tried to lessen the weight of the moment.

James watched you for several long seconds, absorbing the impact of your words. "Come here," he finally said, breaking the silence.

You frowned in confusion and looked at him for the first time in minutes. "What?"

"Come here," he repeated, patting the cushioned chair beside him.

"What for?"

A small smile, gentle and slightly tired, appeared at the corner of his lips.

"Just because. Move."

You huffed but eventually gave in and stood from your chair. You walked slowly around the table until you reached his side. Before you could ask what he was doing, James reached out, gently took hold of your wrist, and with a firm but careful tug, pulled you down beside him.

"James..." you protested, though your body was already settling comfortably against his.

"Shh," he murmured, tilting his head.

You elbowed him lightly in the ribs. James let out a muffled laugh before wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you closer against his side.

"Finished making up scenarios yet?" he asked in a teasing singing voice, resting his cheek lightly against the top of your head while breathing in the scent of your hair.

"I'm not making anything up," you grumbled against his chest.

James turned slightly so he could see your face. The exaggeratedly skeptical expression he gave you was so ridiculous that you had to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling.

"Of course you're not," he replied dryly.

"I'm not."

"You just got upset and created an entire drama because I was nice to someone who was literally doing her job."

You elbowed him again, a little harder this time.

Far from complaining, James let out a short, warm, genuine laugh that made a couple of people at a nearby table glance over. And, to your absolute misfortune, that subtle movement of heads around you instantly reminded you exactly what this conversation was about. You tense beneath his arm.

James must have noticed the shift immediately. He always caught your smallest expressions, no matter how hard you tried to hide them. His smile faded slightly as he studied you. Then he lifted his free hand and, with extreme gentleness, tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

The brush of his fingers against your skin was such a simple gesture, yet so intimate, that something inside your chest tightened painfully.

"Listen to me," he said. His voice dropped again into that soft, serious register that demanded your full attention. "I don't care about the people who look at me. "His dark eyes never left yours, forcing you to hold his gaze. "I don't care about the cashier." A hint of amusement returned to his lips. "And I don't care about any of those people in your imagination that you seem to be competing with."

Heat rushed immediately to your face. "I'm not competing with anyone."

"Yes, you are," he insisted, his smile widening.

You rolled your eyes and let out an annoyed sigh.

James smiled again, but this time there was something deeper in it. "But the problem with that competition, sweetheart, is that you're the only one participating."

His voice softened.

You tried to hold his gaze. You really did, but there was something so sincere in the way he was looking at you that it became impossible.

He looked at you as though the answer to all your worries was so ridiculously obvious to him that he couldn't understand why you spent so much energy being afraid.

"I already chose."

The words were spoken so casually that it took your brain an entire second to process them, James gave a small shrug, downplaying the drama but not the meaning.

"I made that choice months ago," he continued, his thumb absentmindedly tracing small comforting circles over your arm through your sleeve. "And I keep choosing you every day."

And all the nights I spent

Fighting bad thoughts in my room

Feeling so alone, might as well be on the moon

I thought I found the antidote with you

I thought I found the antidote with you

For a few days, you felt better; calmer. James's words managed to temporarily quiet some of the insecurities you had been carrying for so long, and for a brief time, you believed that was all you needed to move on, the doubts were still there, though, hidden away somewhere in the corners of your mind, waiting for the right moment to resurface. And inevitably, they did, not all at once, they simply returned to the background from time to time. A girl from one of his classes who seemed a little too interested in getting his attention during a group project at the library; a student from another year who stopped him in the hallway to ask for notes and ended up spending half an hour talking and laughing with him; a stranger who gave him a flirtatious smile while waiting in line. Small, ordinary, insignificant moments that anyone else would have completely overlooked, but to you, they became perfect fuel for every self-destructive thought.

And then came the arguments, they were never huge fights, they were simply uncomfortable, heavy conversations.

James always tried to reassure you, at first, he did it patiently, with clever jokes, warm hugs, and detailed explanations that, if you were being honest, he should never have had to give, but as the months passed, something in him began to change, he started looking visibly more tired, not because he had stopped loving you for even a second but because he seemed frustrated, unable to convince you of something that, to him, felt like an obvious truth.

One afternoon, after the third or fourth argument that week, you found yourself watching him in complete silence as the two of you walked through the green areas of campus. James was beside you, his backpack hanging from one shoulder, he was talking about something related to his classes, an exam, a project deadline, but you weren't really listening. For the first time in a long while, you noticed something you had been deliberately ignoring, James looked exhausted, not physically tired or sleep-deprived, emotionally exhausted and guilt hit you like a punch to the stomach because you knew perfectly well that he hadn't done anything wrong. Not a single thing. He had never given you a real reason to doubt his loyalty, never hidden his phone or acted suspiciously, never pushed you aside.

That night, you barely slept, the nights that followed weren't any better. The more you thought about it, the more convinced you became that you were ruining something good, because you loved him so much and it was precisely because you loved him so deeply that the idea of continuing to wear him down and hurt him terrified you.

Eventually, you reached a conclusion that, in that state of self-sabotage, seemed like the only logical solution, if you were the problem, then maybe he would be much better off without you. The idea settled inside your mind like a parasite and slowly grew, at first, it seemed absurd; then painfully reasonable and finally, inevitable if you truly wanted to save him from yourself.

So, several days later, you asked him to meet you in one of the quietest, most secluded areas of campus late in the afternoon. James arrived at a brisk pace, smiling the moment he spotted you in the distance as always. His hands were tucked into the pockets of his jacket, and he wore that familiar relaxed expression but the smile vanished completely the second he stopped a few feet away from you, he must have immediately noticed from your rigid posture that something was terribly wrong.

"What happened?" he asked, taking a cautious step forward.

Your throat felt as dry as sand, you had rehearsed those awful words for days in front of your bathroom mirror, repeating them until you knew them by heart and yet, in that moment, they felt impossible to say.

James took another step closer, shortening the distance between you, his eyes searched for yours. "Are you okay?"

You dropped your gaze immediately to your shoes, unable to look him in the face, your hands, hidden inside your pockets, trembled subtly but uncontrollably. "I'm sorry, James," you whispered, your voice breaking.

The concern in his eyes transformed into silent alarm, he stepped even closer until only inches separated you. "Why are you apologizing?"

A painful knot tightened in the center of your chest, part of you, the selfish part wanted to take it all back and run straight into his arms, but you forced the words out anyway, pushing them through with a false firmness that tore you apart from the inside.

'Cause, baby, I'm unraveled (I'm unraveled)

I'm unraveled (I'm unraveled)

"I don't think we can keep doing this anymore."

Why can't you come stitch me up? (I'm unraveled)

Why can't it ever be enough? (I'm unraveled)

The silence that settled between the two of you was immediate, even the distant hum of city traffic and the muted voices of students scattered around campus seemed to disappear completely.

James stood perfectly still, as though his brain refused to process or understand what you had just said. "What?" he finally managed.

The word left his mouth as little more than a breath, a broken whisper. He didn't sound angry, only deeply confused, lost.

You turned your face away completely because, suddenly, holding his gaze felt like a punishment. "I think we should break up."

For the first time since the day you met him, you watched the color slowly drain from his face, leaving him pale beneath the fading evening light. For several long seconds, he didn't speak; he didn't move; he barely seemed to breathe, he simply stared at you with wide eyes, as though waiting for you to laugh, to tell him it was some horrible joke, that none of this was real and everything would return to normal at any moment. But that relief never came and the longer that deathly silence stretched between you, the more obvious it became that the distance you had just created was breaking his heart into pieces.

James continued staring at you without looking away for even a second, as if trying to find some logical explanation hidden somewhere inside your words, he looked convinced that he had missed part of the story because to him, none of this made any sense.

A week ago, the two of you had been laughing yourselves breathlessly on the sofa in the common room of the residence hall, sharing a pair of headphones, James had been lying sideways, his back resting against the armrest, stretching out his long legs so you could sit between them with your back pressed against his chest, at some point, an eighties song had started playing, James had begun singing into your ear, using a pen as a pretend microphone. You laughed so hard that you'd buried your face in your hands, he laughed with you, pulling you closer against him and covering the top of your head with kisses.

Two days ago, you'd spent the entire afternoon studying at a secluded table in the central library. The table had been buried beneath mountains of notes and textbooks. You had been sitting across from each other, James was writing something in his notebook, his brow slightly furrowed in concentration, a lock of hair falling over his forehead, suddenly, without interrupting his writing or taking his eyes off the page, he had stretched his left hand beneath the table, searching blindly for yours, when your fingers intertwined, you felt his thumb tracing slow circles across your skin in a steady rhythm. Every so often, he would pause his reading just long enough to glance at you with a smile and give your hand a gentle squeeze before returning to his books.

And that very morning, before each of you had gone to your respective classes, he had kissed you outside the Science building, James had stopped before crossing the entrance to his lecture hall, he turned toward you, wrapping both hands around your waist to pull you closer, looked into your eyes for a long moment before leaning down to give you a deep, lingering kiss, when he pulled away, he had adjusted your scarf around your neck and winked. "Good luck today. I'll see you later, sweetheart." Then he'd walked backward for several steps, smiling at you until he disappeared through the glass doors.

And now you were standing here, telling him that you wanted to end things.

"Why?" His voice sounded strangely calm.

That calm was so much worse, it would have been easier if he had shouted, if he had gotten angry but he didn't, he simply stood there, looking at you with eyes that were unmistakably hurt.

You swallowed hard. "Because this isn't fair."

James frowned and took half a step closer. "Fair to who?"

"For you," you whispered.

A small, bitter, disbelieving laugh escaped him, the kind of sound someone makes when confronted with an absurd argument. "Are you breaking up with me for my sake?" he asked, tilting his head.

"You don't understand, James."

"Then explain it to me," he demanded. Frustration was beginning to creep into his voice, just enough tension to make it clear how hard he was trying to stay calm.

"You haven't done anything wrong," you explained, feeling tears gathering behind your eyes. "And I keep finding stupid reasons to get upset, to doubt you, to make your days harder."

"That doesn't mean we have to break up," he replied immediately, crossing his arms while ran a hand through his hair, leaving it messier than before, a nervous gesture you rarely saw from him. "All the couple argues."

"Not like we do." The words escaped before you could stop them. Suddenly, you felt exhausted from thinking twenty-four hours a day; from constantly sabotaging something that should have made you the happiest person in the world. "You deserve someone better."

The moment the words left your lips, you saw James's entire expression harden with disappointment, deep, heavy disappointment that sank straight into your bones.

"You don't get to decide that," he said firmly.

You blinked in surprise, that was not remotely the response you had rehearsed in your room.

James took a long, deliberate step toward you, invading your personal space and forcing you to look up.

"James..."

"No." He shook his head. "Listen to me once." His voice remained low, but there was an intensity behind it that kept you rooted in place. "I've spent months listening to you say things like this, months.” He stretched his fingers in frustration, his dark eyes never left yours. "Months listening to you compare yourself to complete strangers at this university whose names I don't even know, watching you act as though I'm searching for the first opportunity, the smallest excuse, to leave you and run off with somebody else, and I'm still here," he continued, his voice softening as vulnerability slipped into his words.

Your breathing unconsciously slowed to match his.

James pointed urgently to the tiny space separating the two of you. "Here." Then he gestured around at the campus and the buildings where you shared your lives.  "And here." Finally, he pressed his palm firmly against his own chest. “Because I want to be with you."

Emotion tightened around your throat until it became difficult to breathe.

"But it shouldn't be this hard," he admitted quietly, the confession seemed to surprise even him.

For a brief second, James squeezed his eyes shut, as though he had just revealed a secret he'd been carrying for far too long, when he opened them again, he looked more tired than you had ever seen him. "I'm exhausted from trying to convince you every day of something I've been absolutely sure about since the beginning."

James released a slow breath and glanced toward the cars moving along the avenue in the distance. "Do you know what the worst part is?"

You didn't answer.

"That doesn't matter how many times I choose you over everyone else." His voice cracked ever so slightly. "It doesn't matter how many times I tell you I love you. Or show you." He looked back at you, the sadness in his eyes shattered whatever was left inside you. "It always feels like you're waiting for the moment I change my mind."

There was no way to defend yourself, no excuses left, nor logical arguments. Only the truth and the truth was that he was right.

You had spent so much time fearing the moment you might lose him, so obsessed with the possibility of an end, that you had never allowed yourself to truly believe that he had already chosen you.

"I don't want to break up with you." The confession finally escaped between sobs; it sounded less like a statement and more like a plea for help.

James's lips parted slightly, softening the hard line of his jaw, he closed the remaining distance and gently cupped your face in his hands. "Then don't." The words were spoken softly, warmly.

You felt hot tears spill over your cheeks. "But I keep hurting you, James."

"Yeah." His answer was immediate; he made no attempt to soften the truth.

And somehow, that brutal honesty only made you cry harder, he wasn't expecting you to be perfect, he wasn't expecting your insecurities to magically disappear overnight, he was simply waiting for you to stop fighting him as though he were the enemy when all he had been trying to do from the very beginning was stay by your side.

It was a deeply frustrating situation, you had come to this corner of campus convinced that you were doing the right thing, you had spent countless nights telling yourself that this was best for both of you that walking away would be some selfless act of love, that James deserved someone who didn't constantly doubt herself but now, listening to him speak, all of that false certainty was crumbling before your eyes, a painful suspicion was beginning to form in your mind, maybe, beneath the disguise of sacrifice, ending the relationship had simply been your way of running away before the rejection you feared so much could ever become real.

James remained standing in front of you without speaking, he seemed to understand that you needed space to sort through everything happening inside your head, yet he didn't take a single step backward, he didn't even make a move to leave and that hurt in a strange way because even after you had just broken his heart, he was still there. Waiting.

Your hands were trembling so badly that you had to clasp them together. "I never wanted this to happen," your voice sounded completely broken.

James released a long, heavy sigh, his shoulders sagging slightly. "I know." There wasn't a trace of resentment in his voice, only sadness and melancholy.

"I'm trying." The words came out in a rush, as though you needed him to understand. "I really am trying, James."

He nodded once, never taking his eyes off you. "I know."

"I try not to think those things all the time." You wiped your tears away with the sleeve of your hoodie, feeling the rough fabric drag against your skin. "I try not to compare myself to other people; I try not to pay attention to the way people talk to you; I try to trust you."

James lowered his gaze for a moment, you could see the effort he was making to choose his next words carefully, fully aware of how much weight they carried.

"I see that." He looked up again.

You blinked through blurred vision.

"I do." His voice was completely sincere. "I don't think you do this because you want to fight with me every week; I don't think you enjoy making scenes; I know that's not it."

The guilt sank even deeper into your stomach at the sound of his understanding.

"I don't think you're trying to hurt me on purpose." James looked away for a moment, toward the lights that were beginning to flicker on in the windows of the laboratory building before continuing. "And I don't think you enjoy feeling like this either."

Silence settled between the two of you again, wrapping around you as night gradually descended over the campus.

James ran a hand over his face, rubbing his eyes with obvious exhaustion, he looked just as frightened and lost as you felt. "What I don't know," he confessed quietly, "is how to help you."

"I don't know how to fix it either," you admitted, the words barely audible.

James let out a small, sad laugh, a shadow of a smile touched his lips but never reached his eyes. "Yeah," he said softly. "I'd already noticed that."

For the first time since the argument had begun, the faintest smile appeared at the corner of your mouth, a reflex born from the familiarity and understanding the two of you shared, it lasted only a second before disappearing but he saw it and that tiny glimpse seemed to soften the tension in his posture and ease some of the strain in his expression.

Eventually, James broke the silence again. "Do you know what actually bothers me about all of this?"

You looked up, holding your breath. "It doesn't bother me that you're jealous sometimes," he began, meeting your gaze steadily.

You frowned slightly in confusion.

"It doesn't bother me that you compare yourself to everyone else, even though it hurts to watch you do it." He paused. "It doesn't even bother me that we argue about these things."

You blinked, completely thrown off by the direction his words were taking.

"Then... what does?"

James fell silent for several seconds, swallowing hard and when he finally answered, his voice sounded more exposed than ever. "What bothers me is that you think I'd give up that easily." His eyes remained locked on yours, shining beneath the glow of the streetlamps that had just come to life around campus. "Do you really think that little of me?"

The question left you speechless because not once during all those months had you looked at it from that perspective. Every time you silently assumed he would find someone prettier or smarter in one of his classes; every time you imagined he would eventually get tired of your flaws; every time you behaved as though his love came with an expiration date, you had also been doubting something else. His integrity, his ability to choose. And suddenly, realizing that you had been implicitly treating him like someone shallow and fickle felt awful.

James swallowed again, maintaining his composure through sheer effort. "I've been choosing you every single day since we started dating." His gaze softened. "Every day. No exceptions."

The ache in your chest became unbearable physical pressure, fresh tears blurred your vision.

James closed his eyes briefly and drew in a slow breath through his nose. "I want to stay with you, but..." He stopped for a fraction of a second, carefully searching for the right words so they wouldn't sound cruel. "This has to change."

His voice was quiet. "Because I love you."

The pain behind that confession was impossible to ignore.

"God knows I love you."

For a moment, his gaze dropped before returning to yours. "But I need you to start believing me someday."

And in that exact moment, standing beneath the cold glow of the lamp, you understood that the real problem was that a deep part of you had never truly believed you deserved to be loved by someone who chose to stay.

And until you found the courage to face that emptiness inside yourself, no amount of love, no matter how patient, how loyal, or how genuine, would ever be enough to convince you otherwise.

All because my head is full of poison

And my heart is full of doubt

I got toxins in my bloodstream

You tried so hard to suck out

And it feels like medication

And it's good for me, I'm sure

But it don't matter how your love feels anymore

It'll never be the cure

“You’re taking too long.”

The familiar voice came from behind you just as you secured one of the buckles. You rolled your eyes before even turning around because there was only one person capable of sounding that calm at this hour in the morning.

There stood James Potter, flawless as always, the green Scout Regiment cloak draped over his shoulders, and he didn’t even seem affected by the cold or the tension hanging over the place.

“Good morning to you too, Captain,” you replied dryly, turning your attention back to the leather straps.

James completely ignored your tone. He crossed his arms as he watched you work, and a small arrogant smile appeared on his face. “If you take any longer getting ready, maybe the Titans will get bored and disappear from the face of the earth.”

You let out an empty, tired laugh. “What a relief. That way I wouldn’t have to put up with you every day of my life.”

That only seemed to amuse him more. James let out a low chuckle. Sometimes it felt like these arguments were the best part of his day. He had a talent for constantly provoking you, always finding a way to tease you or correct you. It was exhausting.

The worst part was that you couldn’t deny how absurdly talented he was. One of the best soldiers you have ever seen, fast, precise, intelligent even under pressure. He looked like he had been born to move among Titans. The newer recruits practically looked at him like he was a living legend, and James knew it.

“Are you going to keep staring at me all day or are you planning on finishing getting ready?” he asked, arching a brow, clearly entertained.

You blinked several times before realizing, far too late, that you actually had been looking at him longer than necessary.

You frowned immediately. “I’d rather let a Titan devour me.”

“How dramatic.”

James let out another soft laugh before stepping closer. Too close. The space between you disappeared, and your shoulders tense instantly when he lifted a hand toward your waist. His fingers easily grabbed one of the straps of your gear.

“It’s loose,” he said calmly, focused on tightening it.

For a moment, the noise around you seemed to fade away. Your eyes drifted involuntarily to his hands moving across the leather straps. There were small cuts across his knuckles and thin scars marking some of his fingers.

When you looked up again, you discovered James was already watching you closely enough to notice the exhaustion beneath his eyes, the subtle rise and fall of his breathing. Your heart gave a small jump, and you stepped back immediately.

“I can do it myself,” you said quickly.

“I know,” he replied, not bothering to move away right away. His voice had lost some of its usual teasing tone. “But if you go out there with your gear adjusted wrong, a Titan might eat you… and you’d probably give it a stomachache.”

That made you let out a small laugh, and James smiled faintly at the sound of it.

“Don’t get excited, Potter.”

“Hard not to,” he answered, tilting his head slightly. “It’s rare to see you in a good mood.”

You stared at him for a long second before letting out a heavy sigh and looking away toward the courtyard outside.

The dining hall was as crowded as ever at that hour of the morning. Conversations blended into one another, and the smell of burnt coffee mixed with freshly baked bread. Normally, you could tolerate it, but that morning the mere idea of sitting in there, pretending everything was normal while everyone discussed strategies, made your stomach twist. So instead, you grabbed a protein bar from the nearest table, an apple forgotten inside a basket, and slipped out of the dining hall before someone could stop you to insist that you needed to “eat something real.”

The freezing air hit your face the moment you crossed the main courtyard of headquarters. It was still early; the sky remained dark, though thin orange streaks had begun to slowly appear behind the walls. Soldiers moved everywhere around you, some finishing preparations on the horses, others adjusting their ODM gear.

The stables, in contrast, were quiet, you had always liked them because of that.

You pushed open the heavy wooden door, and the scent of hay, leather, and damp earth immediately surrounded you. A few horses barely lifted their heads at the sound of your entrance, letting out soft snorts.

Your mare recognized your footsteps almost instantly. “Hey there, pretty girl,” you murmured softly as you approached, reaching out to stroke her neck. The mare answered with a pleased huff, nudging your shoulder in search of attention. You smiled a little at that, setting the protein bar on a nearby crate before pulling the apple from your pocket. “Yeah, yeah, I know you only care because of this,” you added with a quiet laugh, holding the fruit up in front of her.mThe mare practically snatched the apple from your hands, making you let out a soft laugh as she began chewing. You took the opportunity to start preparing the gear, adjusting straps and checking the saddle with practiced movements. Your hands moved purely out of habit; you had been in the Scouts long enough to do it half-asleep.

Though lately, you slept terribly, the expeditions kept getting worse. More casualties. More blood.

“Knew I’d find you here.”

Your back tense immediately. You didn’t even need to turn around to recognize that voice.

“Do you ever get tired of appearing behind me like a stalker, Potter?” you asked without looking at him.

You heard a quiet laugh approaching slowly. “And miss out on these lovely conversations with you? Never,” James replied, obvious amusement coloring his voice.

When he finally stepped beside you, he had a cup of coffee in his hands and his hair was slightly messy, as if he had rushed there. He leaned casually against the stable door and watched you with a relaxed expression.

“Remus said you skipped breakfast,” he commented after taking a small sip of coffee.

“Remus needs to stop speaking for me,” you answered immediately, sighing as you tightened one of the straps harder than necessary.

“He’s just worried you’re going to pass out halfway through the expedition,” James added, raising a brow slightly as his gaze dropped to the abandoned protein bar on the crate.

“I’m not going to pass out,” you said quickly.

James stared at the bar for a few seconds before looking back at you. “That doesn’t count as breakfast,” he pointed out calmly, lifting the coffee cup slightly.

“Thanks, Mom,” you muttered sarcastically, throwing him a look over your shoulder.

“You’re welcome,” he replied immediately, smiling faintly against the rim of the cup before taking another sip.

You kept adjusting the saddle, trying to ignore him, but James stayed silent, watching you for several long seconds. You could feel his gaze even without looking directly at him.

“You didn’t sleep again, did you?” he finally asked.

Your hand paused for just a moment over one of the straps. “I’m fine.”

James tilted his head slightly, studying you with obvious suspicion. “That’s not what I asked,” he said calmly.

You sighed quietly, running a tired hand across one of the buckles just to keep yourself occupied.

“I slept enough,” you insisted.

James let out a small hum, clearly unconvinced. “You’re a terrible liar,” he muttered, crossing his arms over his chest.

When you finally looked up, you realized he was still staring at you, though this time his expression was far more serious than usual. There was no teasing in his eyes, no arrogance, only concern, and somehow, that was much worse.

Something uncomfortable settled between the two of you. The silence only lasted a few seconds before your horse gently nudged your shoulder with her nose, clearly searching for more food.

James let out a quiet laugh and took another sip of coffee while steam slowly curled into the cold morning air. “I don’t think she believes you had breakfast either.”

You rolled your eyes, though a smile threatened to appear.

“Shouldn’t you be doing something important as captain?” you asked, trying to change the subject. “You know, giving inspiring speeches and pretending we’re not all going to die out there.”

James let out a tired little laugh and raised one hand in mock dramatics. “Already gave one,” he replied with apparent pride. “It was pretty good, actually.”

“Let me guess,” you said while adjusting another strap. “‘Don’t die.’”

“Something like that,” he admitted naturally, shrugging one shoulder.

That pulled another involuntary smile from you.

“There it is again,” James said quietly, watching you with far too much satisfaction.

You frowned immediately. “What?”

“Your smile,” he answered without looking away.

Heat rushed to your face far too quickly.

“I wasn’t smiling,” you said at once, looking away.

“Mhm,” James murmured, clearly entertained.

“Potter.”

“What?” he asked, lifting both eyebrows with fake innocence. “It’s rare to see you relaxed.”

“I am perfectly relaxed.”

James glanced around the empty stable before looking back at you.

“You’re literally hiding from everyone in a stable at six in the morning,” he pointed out slowly.

You didn’t answer. You had to focus far too hard on checking one of the straps just to avoid looking at him directly, outside, movement around headquarters was beginning to increase more. You could hear soldiers crossing the courtyard and horses being prepared to leave. The expedition was getting closer.

“Hey.” His voice was softer this time, and you barely lifted your gaze toward him. “You’re coming back,” he sounded completely serious.

You blinked. “What?” you asked with a small, disbelieving laugh.

“From the expedition,” he clarified. “You’re coming back.”

You let out a dry little laugh, shaking your head faintly. “How comforting.”

“I mean it,” he insisted, and this time he even stepped a little closer, lowering his voice slightly.

You looked away first. “You can’t promise that.”

“No,” he admitted after a few seconds, tightening his grip slightly around the coffee cup in his hands. “But I can promise I won’t let anything happen to you while I’m around.”

That made you look up immediately, James held your gaze without looking away for even a second, and suddenly the stable felt far too small and before you could answer, hurried footsteps echoed outside against the damp stable floor, and Sirius’s voice cut through the silence at once, completely shattering the tension that had settled between you.

“Potter! McGonagall’s looking for her favorite child again.”

James closed his eyes the moment he heard his friend’s voice, letting out a long sigh.

Seconds later, Sirius appeared in the stable doorway. His dark hair was slightly messy, his cloak hanging crookedly off one shoulder, and an amused expression spread across his face the instant he spotted the two of you together inside. His eyes moved first to James, then to you, then back to James again.

“Oh,” he said slowly, dragging the word out as a dangerous grin began forming on his face. “Am I interrupting something?”

“No,” you answered instantly.

“No,” James replied at the exact same time.

Sirius opened his mouth, clearly delighted by that. “Oh, I’m definitely interrupting something,” he concluded, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Shut up, Sirius,” James growled immediately.

That only made things worse.

Sirius’s grin widened as he leaned against the stable doorframe, watching the two of you like he had just uncovered the secret of the century. “Well, well,” he commented with fake innocence. “Potter disappears twenty minutes before an expedition and turns out to be hiding in here with you. What an interesting coincidence.”

“We’re not hiding,” you said quickly while grabbing one of the saddle straps just to keep your hands occupied.

Sirius raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Right.”

“I was just getting my horse ready,” you insisted, avoiding looking at him directly.

“Mhm,” he replied, nodding exaggeratedly slowly.

“And Potter showed up because he’s unbearable and doesn’t understand personal space.”

“I believe that, actually,” Sirius admitted immediately, pointing at James without hesitation.

James shot him an offended look. “Thanks for the support.”

“Always, Captain,” Sirius replied, pressing a hand dramatically against his chest.

You could clearly see him trying not to laugh. Somehow, that only made your mood worse.

“What do you want?” you finally asked tiredly.

Sirius finally looked away from the two of you and gestured toward the outside of the stable. “McGonagall wants James in the main courtyard before Remus loses patience trying to organize the recruits,” he explained with an amused little grimace.

James sighed and ran a hand through his messy hair. “Perfect,” he muttered in resignation.

Sirius let out a quiet laugh, but then he looked back at you and narrowed his eyes slightly. “Wait…” he said slowly. “Did you just laugh?”

You froze instantly. Beside you, James made a choked sound suspiciously similar to a laugh.

“Don’t start,” you warned, shooting Sirius a murderous glare.

“No, no, hold on.” Sirius raised both hands dramatically as he stepped closer. “Did James Potter actually make you laugh? This is historic.”

“I’m going to kill you.”

“See?” Sirius pointed at you immediately. “She’s back to normal already.”

James was enjoying this far too much. He looked entirely too pleased with himself as he took another sip of coffee. You wanted to throw the cup at him.

“Potter,” you said slowly, narrowing your eyes at him. “Control your friend.”

James let out a small laugh before shaking his head. “Impossible,” he replied calmly. “We tried locking him up once and he escaped through a window.”

“It was a very specific situation,” Sirius defended immediately, lifting one finger as though that explained anything.

“You jumped from the second floor,” James added with obvious exhaustion.

“And I survived,” Sirius replied proudly.

Against your will, another small smile appeared, and Sirius noticed it instantly.

“Oh, this is worse than I thought,” he announced, looking between the two of you with fascinated horror. “You’re already doing the little looks and everything.”

“What little looks?” you asked, turning toward him while your heart sped up.

“Those little looks,” Sirius answered, gesturing vaguely between you and James as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“We have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“James literally looks at you like you’re the last bottle of alcohol left inside the walls.”

The silence afterward was brutal, your eyes widened slightly as heat rushed to your face.

“Can you stop talking?” James asked after coughing lightly.

Sirius smiled slowly. “Oh,” he said with absolute satisfaction. “So you didn’t deny it.”

“Sirius.”

“Interesting.”

“Black.”

“Very interesting.”

You genuinely wanted to disappear right there on the spot, and James didn’t seem particularly calm either. His jaw was slightly tense as he avoided looking at you directly, and somehow that made you even more nervous, because Sirius joked constantly, yes, but sometimes he said truthful things without even realizing it.

“I think I’m going to go help Remus,” you said suddenly as you grabbed your horse’s reins.

Sirius smiled faintly as you walked past him. “Coward,” he muttered, amused.

You ignored him and walked past both of them, trying to keep your expression neutral even though your heart was beating far too hard, when you reached the stable exit, James’s voice stopped you before you could escape.

You turned your head slightly over your shoulder. James was still standing near the stable door, watching you now with a much more serious expression.

“Be careful out there, alright?” he finally said, and his voice sounded more genuine this time.

You swallowed before looking away. “You too,” you replied, trying to sound calm, you weren’t, though, that was why you left the stable before either of them could notice.

The main courtyard was completely packed by the time you arrived. Soldiers hurried back and forth, restless horses struck the stone ground with their hooves, and the constant sound of ODM gear clattering together filled the air with tension. The voices of the other captains organizing formations, recruits desperately trying to remember instructions, it was the kind of chaos everyone in the Scout Regiment eventually became used to, that didn’t make the anxiety disappear, the tension before an expedition was always the same. You could feel it everywhere: trembling hands readjusting straps repeatedly, recruits speaking only to fill the silence and avoid thinking about what was beyond the walls.

It didn’t matter how many times you crossed those massive gates, the fear never truly disappeared, you had simply learned how to keep moving despite it.

You held the reins firmly as your horse moved slowly between the other Scouts. Some soldiers gave you small nods as you passed; others didn’t even bother looking up. Tense expressions were everywhere.

“Captain!”

You turned slightly at the sound of the voice and saw Nora approaching on horseback until she settled beside you. Her hair was poorly tied beneath the green cloak, and a tired little smile curved her lips.

“I thought you were going to skip the expedition just to avoid Potter,” she commented quietly while adjusting the reins in her hands.

You shot her with a dry look. “I considered it,” you admitted with complete seriousness as your horse moved a few more steps forward.

Nora let out a quiet laugh. “And?”

“Unfortunately, I still have responsibilities,” you replied, though the slight movement at the corner of your mouth revealed you were at least a little more relaxed around her.

Nora watched you for several seconds. “What?” you asked suspiciously.

“Nothing,” she answered while looking ahead, clearly pretending innocence.

“Nora.”

She looked back at you, and a slow smile appeared on her face. “I’m just saying you look weird. Something happened.”

You sighed deeply; your friends were a nightmare.

“Nothing happened,” you replied, trying to sound convincing, though honestly, even you didn’t fully believe yourself.

“Mhm,” Nora murmured with an expression full of distrust. “Just remember that if you end up falling in love with Captain Potter,” she began, tilting her head toward you with an entertained smile, “I want to be the first person allowed to say, ‘I told you so.’”

You nearly pulled the reins too hard. “Excuse me?” you asked, turning toward her so quickly your horse reacted slightly to the sudden movement.

Nora looked completely calm. “Oh, come on,” she said with a shrug. “You two literally argue like an old married couple.”

“I’m going to push you off your horse.”

“That wasn’t a no,” she replied immediately.

You opened your mouth to answer, but the sound of a flare shooting through the air stopped you, the entire courtyard fell silent almost instantly, the expedition was about to begin.

Your expression changed automatically as you straightened your back atop your horse and adjusted the reins between your fingers. The atmosphere grew even heavier within seconds. Even the recruits fell completely silent while the distant sound of the walls beginning to open echoed in the background.

James moved to the front of the formation atop his black horse, riding forward with steady confidence. The green cloak billowed behind him in the cold morning wind, and the relaxed, teasing expression he had worn inside the stable had vanished completely. Now he looked exactly like what he was, the best captain in the Scout Regiment, dangerously competent.

You deeply hated how much that version of him managed to command everyone’s attention. Soldiers began straightening automatically as he rode past the rows, and some of the recruits watched him with open admiration. James quickly scanned the formation before speaking, and when he did, his voice carried firmly across the courtyard.

“Long-range scouting formation. Maintain your assigned positions and do not separate from the group under any circumstances,” he ordered while his horse moved slowly along the lines. His gaze paused on different soldiers, making sure every single one was paying attention. “Squad leaders will move ahead as soon as we cross the walls. You should already know this, but I’m repeating it one more time in case any of you are too nervous to remember.”

He tightened his grip on the reins slightly while letting his gaze move slowly across the rows of soldiers in front of him.

“Red flare means Titan sighted. Avoid the area and maintain formation. Black means an abnormal Titan.” He paused barely a second enough for the tension among the recruits to rise noticeably. “Purple means immediate emergency. Someone trapped, injured, or any situation requiring urgent support. Blue means retreat.”

The distant sound of a horse snorting was the only thing that interrupted the silence while James continued speaking calmly. “Green means a change in formation direction. If you see one, repeat it immediately until the signal reaches the rest of the rows.”

His eyes moved across the soldiers once again, making sure everyone was still listening. “Yellow means the mission is over. Doesn’t matter whether it was a success or a failure. The moment you see it, we return.”

Some recruits swallowed nervously. Others simply nodded in silence.

“I trust all of you,” he said finally, and even though he kept the same firm captain’s tone, something in his voice sounded more human this time. “So come back alive.”

James then raised one hand, signaling the advance. “Move out!”

The sound of dozens of horses moving at once shook the ground as the enormous gates slowly began opening in front of you. You took a deep breath while adjusting your grip on the reins and forcing your body to relax, if only a little.

“Alright,” you finally said, turning toward your squad and trying to sound calmer than you felt. “Stay close to me and don’t do anything stupid. If any of you die, I’m going to be really annoyed.”

A few nervous laughs broke out at that, good, that helped a little.

You straightened your back once more just as your horse began moving forward with the rest of the formation, the sound of hooves echoing loudly around you. Before passing through the gates, you searched for James among the soldiers only once.

Then the gates closed behind you, the moment you left the walls, everything changed, the air felt different.

The wind hit harder away from the protection of the walls while the horses galloped across the open fields at full speed. The sound of hooves pounding against damp earth mixed with the metallic clinking of ODM gear and the constant creaking of tightened leather with every movement. Around you, the formation began to spread outward. You tightened your hold on the reins as your horse kept pace beside the rest of the squad.

Behind you, low voices started murmuring between two of the younger recruits in your group, nervous whispers attempting to disappear beneath the endless sound of horses racing across the open land.

“I’m telling you, I saw a Titan smiling once,” one recruit whispered with complete seriousness.

“The problem isn’t that it smiled,” the other replied immediately. “The problem is that you’re saying it like they don’t normally smile.”

“No, idiot, it smiled weird.”

“They all smile weird. They look like giant psychopaths.”

“This one smiled worse.”

You let out a tired sigh before turning your head toward them.

“Would you two like to stay quiet, or would you prefer I use you as bait so you can compare Titan smiles up close?” you asked, raising a brow slightly.

Both straightened instantly in their saddles.

“Silence is good,” one of them answered quickly.

“Definitely silence,” the other added while avoiding your gaze.

Nora and a few nearby soldiers let out quiet laughs under their breath, as long as they kept talking, as long as they could still joke around, the fear wouldn’t consume them completely.

The wind swept across the fields again, kicking up clouds of dry dirt along the ground. Far ahead, you could make out other sections of the formation advancing between the hills, small green figures moving across the open terrain then a red flare shot across the sky in the distance.

“Titan sighted to the east!” Nora shouted from beside you as she looked up at the reddish signal disappearing among the clouds.

Almost immediately, another red flare appeared farther away, repeating the warning through the formation, tension spread instantly among the soldiers.

“Maintain speed,” you ordered immediately while one hand moved toward the hilt of one of your blades out of pure instinct. “Do not break formation.”

The recruits obeyed, though you could already see fear appearing in their expressions. Some started glancing around nervously while others tightened their reins hard enough to nearly hurt their horses. From your position, you could see movement far off between the hills. Massive, slow-moving figures.

Your horse let out an uneasy snort while the formation began shifting slightly to avoid the area where the Titans had been spotted. Everything seemed to be working exactly as planned until another flare crossed the sky.

Black.

“An abnormal?” Nora muttered immediately, frowning as she followed the signal with her eyes.

Another flare appeared.

Purple.

“Damn it,” you muttered under your breath while pulling lightly on the reins.

The atmosphere changed instantly.

“Stay calm!” you ordered firmly before panic could spread further. “Nobody breaks formation until we receive orders!”

Even while trying not to think about it, part of you was already desperately searching for James among the distant movement, because no matter how hard you tried not to think about him, part of you was already searching frantically through the chaos of green cloaks and galloping horses.

What had been a perfectly organized formation only minutes ago was beginning to collapse into disorder, soldiers moving in different directions while signals crossed the sky one after another. In the distance, you could make out figures darting across the uneven terrain, everything was happening too fast, your horse grew restless beneath you at the rising tension, and you had to tighten the reins to steady it while scanning the horizon, trying to find anything useful within the chaos.

Another red flare shot into the sky and another.

“Captain…” Nora murmured from beside you, and you didn’t even need to look at her to hear the concern in her voice. “It’s too close.”

A figure suddenly appeared sprinting at terrifying speed toward one edge of the formation, and for a second your brain failed to process what exactly you were seeing. Abnormal.

“Shit!” one of the recruits behind you blurted as panic began spreading through the group.

The Titan came barreling down the hill, practically throwing itself toward the horses. Its legs bent at disturbing angles as it ran, and a grotesque grin stretched across its face.

“Hold the formation!” you shouted immediately while drawing your blades in one swift movement. “Do not panic!”

Easy to say.

One of the recruits yanked too hard on the reins when the Titan suddenly changed direction toward your group, and the horse practically reared onto its back legs, the boy let out a choked scream as he struggled not to fall.

“Control your horse!” you shouted at him while forcing your own to turn violently to the side to avoid a collision.

Fear slammed into your entire body like a punch, trying to freeze you from the inside.

“Nora, take the recruits west and keep the formation stable!” you ordered quickly as you secured your gear around your waist. “I’ll handle this!”

“What? We don’t even know how many there are!” she immediately replied, clearly horrified by the idea.

You ignored her and fired your ODM gear toward the nearest tree, gas blasting out violently as your body left the horse in an instant. The wind cut against your face the moment you shot through the air. The Titan lifted its head toward you; it smiled wider.

You swung sideways just as it tried to grab you with a massive hand. The strike misses by inches, you twisted between the trees, trying to gain enough height to aim for the nape, but the abnormal changed direction too fast. It dropped its body forward and started running again, straight toward the soldiers still trying to reorganize the formation.

“Shit.”

You fired another cable immediately, changing direction mid-air as the brutal pull of your gear yanked at your waist. In the distance, you heard more screams and then you saw another black flare rise into the sky. It wasn’t just one. The freezing wind slammed into your face as you propelled yourself between the trees, following the Titan’s erratic movement, trying to predict where it would go before it reached the formation, then it changed direction again. Suddenly, it lunged toward a recruit who had fallen too far behind the others, the boy barely had time to react before the creature extended a massive hand toward him, you fired instantly, gas exploded behind, launching you forward with brutal force. You crossed the air just in time to slice through the Titan’s fingers before they could reach the recruit, the creature let out an unnatural screech as hot blood splattered across the ground.

“Move, idiot!” you shouted as you landed for barely a second before launching yourself again. You didn’t have time to check if he made it.

Another roar echoed ahead, James was several meters in front of you, moving between the trees at incredible speed while keeping two Titans at bay. His blades flashed through the constant motion of his ODM gear, and one of the Titans fell. James twisted mid-air, cutting through its nape in a clean motion before immediately launching toward the second without hesitation, the second Titan ignored the other soldiers completely and went straight for him.

“Potter!” you shouted the moment you realized what was about to happen.

The Titan lunged unnaturally fast, faster than James had clearly calculated. You saw him twist mid-air just as a massive hand closed in dangerously close, your body moved before you could think and fired both cables into the nearest tree trunk, blades drawn in the same instant. You shot forward and cut through the Titan’s arm just before it could grab him, the creature screamed as James dropped several meters before stabilizing himself with his gear.

“Are you insane?” you shouted, still breathless from the speed.

James looked up at you, clearly surprised to see you there. “Me?” he replied between sharp breaths as he launched forward again. “You’re the one who just threw yourself at an abnormal!”

“Because you were about to die!”

“I had it under control.”

The Titan roared again before he could finish, forcing both of you to move at the same time. James veered right while you gained height between the trees, watching as the creature began regenerating its arm.

“Perfect,” you muttered through your teeth.

James appeared beside you a second later, breathing heavier now, though clearly trying to hide it. “Thanks,” he said finally without taking his eyes off the Titan.

You blinked. “What?”

The Titan lunged again, and the conversation died instantly, James dropped lower to draw its attention while you circled through the trees looking for a clean angle toward its nape. The abnormal twisted violently after him, smashing massive branches as it tried to grab him, but James was too fast, forcing it to follow exactly where you needed it to go, and then you understood the plan.

“Potter!” you shouted as you launched between the trees. “If this goes wrong”

“It won’t.”

You rolled your eyes even as you descended at full speed.

James waited until the last possible second before shooting upward sharply. The Titan raised both arms to grab him, you fired forward with everything you had left, your blades cut through the Titan’s nape in one clean strike, the massive body collapsed almost instantly, the ground shook violently as it fell between the trees, sending dirt and broken branches flying everywhere.

For a few seconds, all you could hear was your own breathing. James was still suspended among the trees, one hand gripping his blades while the other rested on his ODM cable. Titan blood was splattered across part of his face, his hair completely disheveled by the wind but he was smiling.

“We just had our first teamwork moment,” he said, still catching his breath.

You stared at him for a few seconds before shaking your head. “You almost died.”

“But I didn’t.”

“That’s exactly the problem with you.”

The formation was still advancing. If they continued moving, it meant the attack had been contained. James seemed to notice that too. His expression shifted slightly as he squeezed one blade and quickly checked his remaining gas.

“That’s a good sign,” he murmured.

He dropped to the ground shortly after, and both of you found the rest of the group regrouping among the trees. There was too much adrenaline in the air for anyone to be truly calm. Two soldiers were being treated near a rock, one with a dislocated arm after falling from his horse, the other with a deep leg wound from a Titan. But they were alive and considering how it had started that almost felt like a victory.

Nora appeared the moment she saw you approaching and practically pulled her horse to a stop in front of you, her expression a mix of relief and fury.

“Are you completely insane?” she snapped before she had even fully stopped. “You disappeared after an abnormal Titan!”

“I survived,” you replied, adjusting your gear with a tired grimace.

“That doesn’t make it better.”

“Technically, it does.”

Nora opened her mouth in clear outrage, but James let out a quiet laugh behind you before stepping in.

“She was definitely particularly suicidal today,” he commented while wiping Titan blood off one of his blades.

You turned instantly toward him. “Suicidal?”

James shrugged slightly. “You threw yourself at a Titan to save me. That must count as at least a questionable decision.”

Nora blinked slowly, then turned her head toward you with a curious expression. “Oh,” she said slowly. “So, you saved Captain Potter?”

“Shut up, or I’ll personally push both of you toward the next Titan I see.”

James only smiled faintly as he finished sheathing his blades. “How aggressive.”

“I’m still considering letting the next one eat you.”

“Yeah, yeah, sure.”

Before you could respond, the sound of approaching hooves cut through the conversation. Several heads turned instantly as Commander McGonagall emerged from between the trees on her dark horse, her expression as rigid and imposing as ever, though you caught the quick assessment in her eyes the moment she arrived.

“Report,” she ordered without wasting time.

James stepped forward immediately, “two abnormal intercepted the right flank of the formation,” he explained firmly. “Both were eliminated before reaching the main line. Two minor injuries, no casualties.”

McGonagall’s eyes shifted toward the wounded soldiers being treated a few meters away before returning to him. “Gas remaining?”

“Above seventy percent in most units,” James replied.

She gave a small nod, a few seconds of silence followed, the wind moving through the branches overhead while restless horses shifted in place, finally, McGonagall straightened in her saddle. “The expedition continues,” she announced with the same unwavering authority. “Reorganize formation and maintain maximum vigilance.”

No one protested, no one was foolish enough to, the soldiers began moving again immediately, readjusting gear, checking horses, helping the injured remount. The tension still lingered heavily in everyone’s chest, but now it was mixed with something closer to relief.

You let out a slow breath while checking the straps around your waist again, making sure your blades were secure. Fatigue was beginning to settle into your muscles after the adrenaline spike.

“Hey!”

You turned slightly. James was beside you again, holding his horse’s reins, watching you with a calmer expression now that everything had settled.

“What?” you asked as you climbed back onto your mare.

He hesitated for a moment before speaking. “Seriously,” he said finally, his voice much lower than before. “Thank you.”

You blinked slightly. James was looking at you with complete sincerity, as if he needed to make sure you understood exactly what it meant to him to still be alive after that.

“Don’t make a big deal out of it,” you muttered, trying to sound indifferent. “I would’ve been extremely annoyed having to explain to McGonagall how I let you die right in front of me.”

James let out a small laugh. “Sure,” he replied, nodding slightly. “I’m sure that’s the only reason.”

You ignored him, but as the formation reorganized and began moving forward again, you could still feel the weight of his gaze at you.

The expedition continued for hours, the sun slowly rose higher into the gray sky, and after the morning attack, the tension remained constant, but the pace gradually stabilized again. There were other Titan encounters along the way, though none as severe as the first.

Two small Titans appeared near the left flank around midday and were eliminated quickly before reaching the horses. Later, a scouting group had to detour after detecting movement in the northern hills, though they managed to avoid the confrontation entirely thanks to red flares spreading quickly through the formation.

Evening slowly fell over the landscape, painting the sky in muted orange and deep blue tones. By the time they reached the final marked point of the route, the wind had turned cold again, and the long shadows of the trees stretched across the open fields as the formation slowed slightly.

Then a yellow flare cut through the sky, and for a second, no one reacted.

The mission was over.

Nora adjusted her position beside you as you moved forward. “Well,” she said after a moment of silence. “We didn’t die.”

“The bar for success is incredibly low,” you replied tiredly.

A wave of relief moved through the entire formation. Soldiers let out breath they had apparently been holding for hours. Shoulders dropped. A few even let out nervous laughter, as if their bodies were only now realizing they were still alive.

Commander McGonagall appeared at the front shortly after, observing the formation as the last light of day faded behind the hills. Her expression remained strict as always, though even she seemed slightly less tense now. “Well done,” she announced firmly enough for the entire formation to hear. “You maintained formation, responded correctly to signals, and completed reconnaissance without casualties.”

She paused briefly. “We’ll return to the walls immediately. Remain alert until the gates are crossed.”

Nora appeared at your side again as you rode forward with the rest of the formation, letting her weight drop slightly against the saddle with obvious exhaustion. “If I survive long enough to get back to my bed,” she muttered while adjusting her cloak, “I’m sleeping for three straight days.”

“Optimistic of you to assume they’re even going to let us rest.”

“Let me have hope.”

You let out a small tired laugh before lifting your gaze toward the front and as if he had felt it again, James turned his head slightly from several meters ahead, you both held eye contact for a brief moment before he looked forward again.

You moved almost on autopilot now. You didn’t have much energy left either; the adrenaline was finally fading, leaving only aching muscles, slightly numb hands from gripping the reins for hours, and that strange feeling that always came after surviving an expedition. The walls finally appeared in the distance like massive shadows of stone rising against the night sky, and the atmosphere in the formation shifted the moment everyone saw them, not exactly happiness. Relief.

“Every time we come back, I remember how much I love those horrible walls,” Nora murmured beside you, lifting her gaze toward them.

“That’s because you almost got eaten three times out there and one of those times was because you were too busy yelling insults at a Titan.”

Nora smiled faintly. “And it worked. It got really angry.”

“I don’t think Titans have that level of emotional complexity.”

“That one did. I saw it on its face.”

You let out a small laugh and shook your head.

Recruits, captains, veterans, you were pretty sure everyone in the Corps developed some level of irreversible mental damage after enough expeditions.

The massive gates began to open slowly as the first line of soldiers approached the walls, the heavy mechanism echoing through the valley, several soldiers straightened slightly in their saddles at the sound; others simply exhaled. When you finally passed through the gates, the change was immediate, light spilled from distant windows, guards waited for the expedition’s return, and civilians watched from higher areas, trying to count how many soldiers were coming back this time. All of them, for once, everyone.

Murmurs spread quickly near the gates as the formation moved into the city, some people even looking surprised not to see carts carrying bodies.

Your horse finally slowed as you entered the headquarters courtyard, and the moment it stopped completely, exhaustion hit you all at once. Dismounting took more effort than you wanted to admit, and for a moment you just stood there with one hand on the saddle, breathing deeply.

Nora practically fell off her horse the moment she dismounted. “If anyone asks me to move a single muscle today,” she announced while taking off her gloves, “I’m going to pretend I’m dead.”

“You’re not that good of an actress.”

“Trust me, I can look very dead right now.”

A small laugh sounded nearby, and you turned slightly to find James approaching while partially removing his gear. He looked just as exhausted as everyone else now. Titan blood was still dried on parts of his boots, and his hair was a complete mess after the day outside.

“McGonagall wants a full report within an hour,” he said as he stopped near you. “After that, you’re officially allowed to disappear until tomorrow.”

Nora threw her hands up like it was divine salvation. “Thank God.”

“We haven’t even eaten yet,” you reminded her.

“Then I’ll disappear after food.”

James let out a small laugh before looking at you. “Are you injured?”

The question caught you slightly off guard, you shook your head. “No. Just tired.”

His eyes quickly scanned your face. “Good,” he said finally.

The relief in his voice was obvious enough that Nora looked between you both with an amused expression. “I can’t believe we survived a full expedition and you two are still doing this unbearable tension thing,” she commented as she started walking toward the main building.

“What tension?” you asked.

Nora pointed at you without even turning around.

“That.” Then she pointed at James. “And that.”

“Traitor,” you muttered.

“Good night,” she called cheerfully, disappearing inside.

James was still standing there in front of you, and now that the chaos of the expedition was over, you could clearly see the exhaustion on his face, the slight stiffness in his left shoulder from overusing his ODM gear, and yet he was still barely smiling.

“I think your friend hates me,” he commented.

“She hates me too,” you replied, letting out a small laugh as you began slowly removing your gloves.

The courtyard around you was still full of movement, but somehow the space between you and him felt quieter than everything else.

James was the first to break the silence. “Do you know what’s the worst part?” he asked, crossing his arms slowly.

“What?”

“Now I have to live knowing you saved my life.”

You looked at him in disbelief. “That’s the worst part?”

“Absolutely. You’re never going to let me forget it.”

A smile tugged at your lips before you could stop it. “No,” you admitted. “Probably not.”

James let out a low, resigned laugh, already accepting that you would be using it against him for the rest of his life. “Excellent,” he murmured tiredly as he started walking beside you toward the main building. “Just what I needed to end the day, humiliation.”

“You threw yourself straight at an abnormal Titan thinking you could handle it alone,” you replied as you finally pulled off one of your gloves and absentmindedly tucked it into your belt. “Honestly, you deserve a little humiliation.”

James turned his head slightly toward you as you walked through the courtyard. “I had a plan.”

“Your plan almost ended with you becoming lunch.”

“But it didn’t.”

“Because I was there.”

That earned you another one of his smiles.

“You know,” James commented after a few seconds of silence while pushing the main door open for you so you could go in first, “I think this is the exact moment where you should admit you actually like me a little.”

You let out an incredulous laugh as you stepped inside the headquarters. “After saving your life? I like you even less now.”

“How cruel.”

“The Titan clearly didn’t hit you hard enough.”

James laughed as he walked beside you down the hallway. The smell of freshly made food was already drifting from the dining hall, and the moment you noticed it, your stomach immediately protested, reminding you that you had barely eaten all day.

You reached the dining hall a few minutes later, and the moment you pushed the doors open, the noise inside dropped slightly. Too many people were staring. The hall was still full of soldiers eating, laughing, and talking after the expedition, but several conversations seemed to die the second you both walked in together.

“I don’t like that faces,” you muttered immediately.

James looked around before letting out a resigned sigh. “Yeah,” he replied tiredly. “I think I already know what happened.”

And then you heard a very familiar voice cut across the room. “Look who decided to show up alive and accompanied!”

You closed your eyes instantly, of course Sirius was practically sprawled across one of the benches with a mug in hand and a grin on his face. Remus sat beside him looking exhausted, Peter was still eating but now watching the scene with growing interest, and Nora, the traitor, barely looked up before smiling faintly.

“James, you look way too happy for someone who almost became Titan food,” Nora said cheerfully from the table, leaning back casually.

Peter nearly choked on his bread. “What?” he blurted, coughing slightly as he set his cup down. His eyes flicked between Sirius and James, then to you with increasing alarm. “Potter almost died?”

“I didn’t die.”

“Because she saved you,” Sirius added immediately.

You had the sudden, overwhelming urge to turn around and leave. “Nothing happened,” you replied while taking a seat at the far end of the table.

Peter made an “uh-huh” sound full of suspicion.

James dropped his head back before sitting down beside you. “Can we eat first before everyone starts inventing things?” he asked, rubbing his temples.

“We’re not inventing anything,” Nora replied immediately, resting her chin on her hand as she watched both of you.

Remus finally looked up from his tea, glancing at Sirius to James to you. His usual calm expression barely shifted, though there was an obvious spark of amusement in his eyes. “Well,” he said evenly after a moment, “considering James came back with all his limbs attached, I think we should be grateful.”

Peter was still staring between you both, confused. “Wait, wait, how exactly did this happen?” he asked, leaning forward. “Was Potter really about to die?”

“I was perfectly fine,” James answered instantly.

“Sure,” you muttered. “That’s why you almost got crushed.”

Remus let out a quiet laugh through his nose.

“I’m leaving,” you announced immediately as you started to stand again.

“You can’t leave,” Nora said before you even took a step. “This just got interesting.”

You shot her a murderous look. She smiled innocently and took another sip of her drink.

James sighed deeply, dropping both elbows onto the table. “You know what? I think surviving Titans is less exhausting than all of you.”

“That didn’t answer the question,” Peter insisted.

Sirius straightened up again instantly. “I can answer that!” he announced far too excitedly. “Turns out our dear captain here saw Potter doing something stupid and decided to save his life by throwing herself at an abnormal Titan.”

Heat rushed to your face immediately while Nora hid her laugh behind her cup. James, meanwhile, was smiling.

“Potter,” you said slowly, pointing at him. “Do something.”

“What do you want me to do?” he asked, clearly amused. “They’ve already built the entire story in their heads.”

“Because you’re suspicious,” Peter replied honestly.

Both you and James turned to him at the same time. “What does that mean?” you both asked.

Peter opened his mouth, then immediately regretted it. “Well,” he started, shrinking slightly under everyone’s gaze, “you argue a lot.”

“That doesn’t mean anything,” you said.

“And James literally disappears every time you disappear,” Sirius added while counting on his fingers.

“That still doesn’t…”

“And a few weeks ago, you literally said,” Remus added calmly without looking up from his tea, “‘I find it disrespectful how good Potter looks during training.’”

Silence fell instantly; you felt your entire body freeze for a full second.

James turned his head slowly toward you. “What?”

You turned toward Remus in absolute horror. “WHY would you share that?”

“What?” he replied with complete innocence. “I’m providing context.”

Sirius looked like he was about to explode with joy. “Oh, this is so much worse than I thought.” He slammed the table dramatically. “I KNEW IT! I KNEW IT WEEKS AGO!”

“Weeks?” Remus repeated, raising a brow. “Sirius, you’ve been saying they’re in love for months.”

“And I’ve been right.”

“We are not in love,” you said immediately.

“Yet,” Sirius added.

“Black.”

“I’m just saying the romantic tension here could kill a man.”

That earned a wave of laughter around the table, even from nearby soldiers who had clearly been eavesdropping.

You buried your face in your hands for a second. “I’m transferring to the Military Police. Maybe people there are less unbearable.”

“Lie,” James said immediately beside you. “You’d last exactly two days before punching someone.”

“Two days is generous,” Sirius added.

James only smiled slightly before leaning a little closer to you. “Besides,” he continued casually, “you can’t leave now.”

You frowned. “And why not?”

“Because now I owe you,” he said like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

You stared at him in pure disbelief. “That is, without a doubt, one of the dumbest things you’ve said today.”

“Just saying it would be incredibly selfish of you to abandon me after preventing my death.”

You pointed at him. “This is exactly why I should leave the Corps.”

Sirius made an overly dramatic sound of delight while Peter started laughing loudly.

“Remus,” you said slowly without taking your eyes off James, “if I kill him right here, do you think I’ll go to jail?”

“Depends,” Remus replied calmly. “Are you planning to hide the body?”

James let out a loud laugh at that and before you could respond, the massive dining hall doors opened again, silence fell instantly, Commander McGonagall had just entered, conversation died at every table.

She strode through the hall with firm steps as soldiers straightened instinctively in her presence. Her eyes swept the room and landed directly on your table. “Potter.”

James let out a tired sigh. “I knew this moment was going too well.”

“My office. Now.”

Sirius grinned instantly. “Oh, he’s getting scolded.”

“Thanks for the support,” James muttered as he stood up slowly.

McGonagall didn’t look away from him. “And you as well,” she added.

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

“You,” she clarified firmly. “Also coming.”

The table went silent, James shot you a quick look, just as confused as you were, but neither of you argued.

The walk to the office was quiet. The noise of the dining hall faded behind you as you moved through dimly lit corridors. Exhaustion settled deeper into your bones, and a faint tension began building in your chest. When you finally arrived, McGonagall was already inside, reviewing documents at her desk. She didn’t even look up as you entered.

“Close the door.”

The office fell into stillness, broken only by the wind pressing against the windows. McGonagall finished writing something, set her pen aside, and finally looked at both of you. “Today you acted outside protocol on multiple occasions.”

James crossed his arms slowly. “With all due respect, Commander, the abnormal Titan was directly on the formation.”

“I am aware,” McGonagall said, standing and beginning to circle her desk. “The captain abandoned the main formation to intercept an abnormal, and Potter followed the same Titan while ignoring regrouping orders.”

James made a small face. “Technically…”

“Do not attempt to defend yourself. It worsens your case.” She stopped in front of you both. “Still,” she continued after a pause, “you prevented multiple casualties.” A tired sigh left her. “You were reckless,” she concluded. “But effective.”

James dipped his head slightly. “Thank you, Commander.”

She ignored him completely, turning her gaze to you. Her expression softened barely. “Your reaction saved lives today,” she said calmly. She studied both of you for a moment. “That does not mean I will tolerate it again.”

“Yes, ma’am,” you both answered at the same time.

James exhaled quietly, and out of the corner of your eye you saw his left shoulder twitch again, McGonagall noticed immediately.

“You’re injured.” Not a question.

James hesitated. “Just muscle strain.”

“Potter.”

“I’m fine.”

Her patience was visibly thinned. “Your left arm has been trembling since you entered this office.”

You turned toward him instinctively and now that you were actually looking, she was right, very slight but there it was. James noticed your expression immediately and let out a defeated sigh.

“It’s not serious,” he muttered.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” you asked, frowning.

“Because I didn’t want to spend two hours with the medical unit.”

McGonagall closed her eyes in clear exhaustion. “You are both going to see Madame Pomfrey immediately.”

“Commander, honestly, it’s not necessary.”

“That was not a suggestion, Potter.”

James finally raised both hands in surrender. “Fine.”

McGonagall turned back to her desk. “You’re dismissed.”

Then, without looking up from her documents, she added, “and if either of you pulls another stunt like today, I will permanently assign you to training recruits for a month.”

Pure horror crossed James’s face, and you had to hold back a laugh. The moment you left her office; the silence lasted exactly three seconds before he dropped his head back.

“Training recruits for a month,” he muttered in disgust as you started walking down the corridor. “I’d rather fight a hundred Titans alone.”

“Honestly,” you admitted, crossing your arms, “me too.”

You walked in silence for a few seconds after that, that’s when you noticed again, the slight, uncomfortable movement in his shoulder.

“Move it.”

James tilted his head toward you. “What?”

“Your shoulder.”

“I’m fine.”

“Potter.”

He let out a resigned sigh and shifted his left arm slightly and immediately tense.

You frowned. “That is not ‘fine.’”

“At least it’s not broken.”

“Wow,” you said flatly.

James gave a faint smile. “You worry about me a lot.”

You rolled your eyes as you kept walking toward the infirmary, still, when he tried to subtly adjust his shoulder again and winced slightly, you slowed your pace without realizing it, falling into step closer to him.

His sudden presence startled you, not only because you hadn’t invited him, but because after a week of constant arguments, the logical thing would have been to keep your distance. Yet there he was, silently watching you for a few seconds, as if deciding whether to speak or leave. The air felt instantly heavier, charged with all the unresolved tension between you, while you lifted your gaze from your notes, unsure whether to feel relief or irritation.

Then, a small, subtle smile appeared on his face, enough to throw you off completely. Without a word, he stepped closer with a calmness that seemed almost impossible after days of friction. Every step was deliberate, as if he knew exactly what he was about to do.

You furrowed your brow, ready to scold him, ready to ask what he was doing there, to tell him this wasn’t the time, that you had to study, that you couldn’t handle another argument. The words were already forming in your mind.

But he didn’t give you the chance. Before you could say anything, he leaned in and kissed you.

It was unexpected, almost disorienting. Your mind went blank, caught somewhere between surprise and confusion, while his closeness shattered the distance you’d both maintained all week.

“I have a surprise,” James whispered, barely pulling away.

You blinked, caught off guard. Just moments ago, you had been ready to throw him out, and now he was talking about surprises, as if the past week’s fights had never happened.

“A surprise?” you repeated, raising an eyebrow, not stepping back. “Really, James? This isn’t exactly the best time…”

Your voice sounded firmer than you felt. Yet there was something in his eyes, something in the way he looked at you, that made it impossible to stay angry.

He didn’t respond immediately. He just held your gaze a little longer, waiting for your guard to drop. Then, gently, he took your hand in his.

“Trust me,” he said, his voice a mix of nerves and determination. “Just… give me a few minutes.”

Your notes were still there, reminding you of the exam, but for the first time in hours, they weren’t the only thing on your mind.

He held out his hand with a blend of confidence and shyness. Without overthinking it, you took it. His grip was firm but gentle, conveying trust without overstepping. Slowly, he led you out of the building, leaving your scattered notes behind.

The clock read 5:30 p.m., and the sun was dipping low, painting the sky with warm oranges and pinks that reflected off the science campus windows. Golden light brushed the buildings and the trees, casting a soft, almost magical glow.

As you walked together, your steps falling in rhythm with his, the week’s tension began to melt away. You didn’t know what awaited you, but suddenly, nothing seemed urgent.

Finally, you arrived at the greenhouse, a quiet corner of the campus that always felt special. The stained-glass windows filtered the setting sun, spilling hues of red, orange, blue, and green across the space. Light danced on the leaves and flowers, creating a scene that felt almost enchanted.

The earthy scent of soil and plants mingled with the gentle breeze from the open windows. James paused, looking at you, as if making sure you felt the magic of the place too. The whisper of leaves and the distant chirp of a bird barely disturbed the stillness, making it feel as if time itself had paused for this moment.

He gestured for you to enter, and as you stepped inside, you realized his “surprise” wasn’t a small thing it was the setting itself, carefully chosen to impress you, to bridge the gap left by days of tension.

“Peter told me about this place,” he said softly. “I thought you’d like it.”

His voice was gentle, almost reverent, as if sharing the greenhouse was more than just revealing a secret, it was an invitation to reconnect, to set aside conflict, and simply enjoy the moment. As you wandered the paths lined with plants and flowers, the colored light reflected in your eyes and across your face, wrapping you both in warmth.

James stopped in front of one plant, turning toward you, waiting for your reaction. After so many arguments, it felt like he was saying, quietly, "I can still surprise you, still make you smile."

“I love it,” you said, unable to hide the smile spreading across your face as you took in the glowing windows and lush greenery.

Your words lit him up. James grinned from ear to ear, clearly delighted by your reaction. For a moment, nothing else mattered but this little world of color and light where you were together.

You moved a little deeper inside, brushing leaves with your fingers and feeling the cool, calming air. He followed closely.

“I’m glad you like it.” Suddenly, he reached into his pocket and pulled something out a joint. Before you could react, he added, “I know you’ve been stressed, and I thought this might help.”

There was care in his tone, thoughtfulness in every detail. Even something so unexpected felt like an act of attention toward you.

You took it carefully and brought it to your lips, a tingle of anticipation running through you. James lit it gently, the flame close but careful. Though you’d tried it before, this moment felt different, intimate, calm, relaxed.

The smoke mingled with the scent of the greenhouse, and for a moment, the week’s stress seemed to melt away. Your eyes met his, and without words, you understood, this was a moment to leave fights, exams, and everything heavy behind, to just be here, together. The greenhouse seemed to transform as the effect settled in. Colors became more vivid, shadows moved slowly, as if time itself had slowed for you.

James leaned beside you, resting an arm lightly on the railing. His presence was warm and reassuring.

You laughed softly at small, silly things, the sound freeing. The breeze through the open windows seemed to join in, rustling leaves in rhythm. For the first time all week, you could breathe, fully, leaving everything complicated outside the greenhouse.

The moment became almost magical, a sanctuary where nothing could reach you, where you and James could simply exist, letting calm and connection replace tension.

You took another hit, then gently offered the joint to him. He took it carefully, fingers brushing yours for a moment, and brought it to his lips. As he exhaled, smoke mingled with the warm, fragrant air.

You laughed quietly as each inhale seemed to ease more of the week’s stress. Sharing it felt like a silent gesture of trust and intimacy, a way of saying: we’re okay, here, together.

Hands brushed as you passed it back and forth, window colors reflecting in your eyes, time slowing with every shared moment.

Then, slowly, James leaned in toward you, giving you a chance to respond. Your eyes met, and in that instant, words were unnecessary.

With a natural, inevitable movement, your lips met. The kiss was warm and gentle at first, shy and careful, then quickly grew more intense as the closeness and trust you’d shared over the week became tangible. Every shared inhale drew you closer, mixing calm with a spark of excitement that grew with each second.

Pulling back just enough to breathe, James rested his forehead against yours and murmured with a smile, “I’ve been waiting all week for this.”