#someonexsomeone

Not that you minded it. Though you had signed up for the project sound of mind, it was still a daunting thing, coming to accept that you weren’t ever going to return to Earth. That you were going to die in the cold emptiness of space, millions of miles from everything you knew. Dr. Ryland Grace, your fellow astronaut, reluctant as he was, was a comfort to you in way you never thought possible. He’d been a scientist, buried in the work to get you to space, not to be there with you. It was…easier to ignore him, to ignore everyone, and not leave with tearful goodbyes. 

It was why, once you woke up from your induced coma, with a near unfamiliar pair of frantic eyes and overgrown beard dangling in your face, you’d punched him. Accidentally, of course, and more like a swing of your whole arm rather than a skillful curled knuckles, but it was still a hit nonetheless. You’d apologized around garbled breath, still slightly numb, and he, dramatic and loose limbed, tried his best to reassure you.

Ever since, you’d developed a sort of rapport with goofy scientist.

The mission was still the same, even after you realized he had no memory of how he joined the team, and Rocky was a pleasant, if not worldaltering, addition. With your piloting skills, Rocky’s mind, and Dr.Grace’s abilities, there was a hope deep in your chest that you hadn’t realized was missing when you left Earth. 

Which is why the silence was concerning. Dr.Grace was supposed to be setting up the lab for the new specimen from Tau Ceti E, and Rocky still had chain to finish. You were supposed to be calibrating the ship to ensure that you wouldn’t blow to pieces entering the atmosphere. Supposed to be, being key. But once you noticed the silence, the lack of the xenonoite clinking and the whirling of lab equipment, it was all you could focus on.

“Mary?” you called, flipping a few buttons. The ship hummed, waiting for your question. “Where are Dr.Grace and Rocky?”

“Dr.Grace is currently--”

“Nothing! I’m nowhere. Thank you, Mary,” Dr.Grace hurried up the ladder into the cockpit, glasses pushed up into his hair. It made the golden strands stick up like a paper crown. You bit back a laugh. When you met eyes, he broke out into a goofy smile. “Hey.”

“Hey, yourself,” You said, flipping another button. The ship leveled as you returned controls to Mary. “I was just wondering what you were up to.”

“Up to?” Dr.Grace’s laugh was loud. Too loud. “What do you mean? I’ve been in the lab. Doing what I’m supposed to.”

You eyed him.

“Why don’t I believe that?”

“What could be more important than prepping the lab?” The words were honest, but the tone was wrong. He was hiding something, you just knew it. But what? What could be more important than saving literally all the planets in the galaxy?

“Dr.Grace--”

“Ryland.”

“Dr.Grace, I have a feeling you’re lying.”

“It’s Ryland, and I have a feeling you’re being paranoid.” You crossed your arms. He smiled. You couldn’t help your own as it spread across your lips.

“I’m serious.” When you went to stand, Dr.Grace scrambled up the last few steps, forcing you back into your seat. “Woah!”

“Sorry! I mean, you should stay here!” Again, too loud.

Below your feet, you could hear the telltale signs of Rocky’s feet against the xenonite glass, then quiet. You opened your mouth to speak, but Rocky was making noise again. Thunk, thunk, THUNK. His ball, bashing against the metal of the ship. You eyed Dr.Grace, and he winced.

“I--uh,” he stammered, still holding you against the chair. “I didn’t realize his ball was so loud.”

“Uh, huh.” You relaxed, letting Dr.Grace’s hands keep your arms pressed to the armrests. 

Before boarding the Hail Mary, you never would have allowed him to be so close. Now, you’d travelled light years together, weeks cohabitating, found alien life, and were about to risk your lives trying to enter an atmosphere on a ship designed for a suicide mission. Being so close felt…natural. Easy, even. Even Dr.Grace seemed to agree, practically leaning into you as he closed his eyes, muttering under his breath about unstealthy aliens.

“Dr.Grace--”

“Ryland.” That got him to look at you, noses practically brushing. Dr.Grace’s eyes widened as he finally realized how close he had gotten, and jumped back, nearly falling into the ship’s navigation panel. You grabbed him just before his butt could accidently recalculate for landing. “Oh, jeez. Thanks. I’m not…doing a very good job at this.”

“Doing a very good job at what? Acting normal? Because you’re being weird right now.”

“Me? Being weird?” His laugh was mechanical. You huffed, and gave him a look. He had the decency to look sheepish. “Okay, fine. But between me and Rocky, I was definitely the better choice right? He would have just spilled the beans immediately.”

“Spilled the beans?”

“You know he can’t say no to you.” You didn’t know where Dr.Grace had gotten that idea from, you’d seen how quickly and close their bond had formed, but if Rocky’s soft spot for you was as big as the one you had for him, whatever secret they were hiding wasn’t going to stay a secret for long. 

A few more thunk!s sounded from below, and then Mary announced, “Rocky is requesting your presence.”

“Perfect timing! Thank you, Mary.”

“You’re welcome, Dr.Grace.”

“Come on, this way.” His smile was blinding.

Dr.Grace grabbed your hand and led you back to the lab. You tried to walk towards the equipment, determined he was going to show you his and Rocky’s progress in technical terms you didn’t even have the slightest clue of, he tugged you forwards, towards the screen room. It was a place you had fond memories of. You and Dr.Grace had spent many of the days between waking up and meeting Rocky in there, grasping at the familiar pictures of Earth to make waking up in space somewhat bearable. Then, it became ritual for you and Dr.Grace to bring Rocky into the room to show him too. It made your heart ache, but Dr.Grace was always there, gripping your hand tightly, reminding you that home wasn’t as far away as you believed.

“[Y/N] come!” Rocky cried just as you entered. “Is day of birth! Celebrate birth!”

“What--?”

The dome’s screens were projecting a warm summer’s day, blue skies and clouds stretching into the ocean’s horizon. Dr.Grace’s blanket was spread across the narrow metal floor, an attempt at a feast spread out with the odd collection of food from Mary’s stores. Ramen and dehydrated fruits placed between cups hand scribbled with silly designs. Dr.Grace scurried by you, snatching some paper cones off the floor. With careful fingers, he taped one to the top of Rocky’s sphere, then placed the other on his head, elastic snapping against his chin painfully.

“Happy birthday!”

“Day of birth!” Dr.Grace and Rocky cried together. 

“What?” Your voice was breathless as you tried to take in the scene in front of you.

“Happy birthday,” Dr.Grace said, softer, handing you the paper cone. When you didn’t reach for it, his face went red.

“It’s my birthday?”

“Rocky Grace do math!” Rocky cried, sphere shaking with excitement. “Travel time from Earth. Give or take. Grace use information to calculate and now Grace Rocky do Earth celebration for [Y/N] in honor of birth!”

“You taught Rocky the word for birth?” you asked. It seemed to be the only thing that made it through your racing mind.

“Sort of.” Dr.Grace stepped forward, and when you didn’t back away, he took another step, until he was close enough to touch you. Quietly, he asked, “Is this okay?”

“You know my birthday?” He flushed.

“I read your file, back on Earth.” He was talking faster, speaking before the dread of recognizing that his memory was coming back could take over. “And the math might not be perfect. But, it should be. If you wanted to celebrate.”

“Grace say not all human like day of birth,” Rocky said. “But he also say birth big deal. Eridians celebrate only when egg hatch, but Grace say human tradition is party for every year human survive.”

“Okay, well I didn’t put it like that,” he said, embarrassed. “But, we don’t have to do anything. In fact, we can just forget all of this happened! Yeah, we can--”

“Dr.Grace.” He froze as you put a hand on his arm. Gently, you pulled the hat out of his hands, placing it on his head. Rocky let out a happy chirp. “Rocky. Thank you. This is…amazing.”

“Of course.” His smile was softer, quieter. He was pulling you into a hug and pulling away before you could reciprocate, turning back to Rocky. It didn’t hide the redness of his ears. “Let’s get this party started!”

It was the strangest party you’d ever had. Dr.Grace and Rocky hammered you with questions about your previous birthdays, your favorite ways to celebrate, favorite foods, everything. Although you may not have chosen a beach as your birthday setting, no doubt Dr.Grace’s idea, the idea of having one last birthday under the sunny sky filled you with a sort of sad happiness. It made you do silly things, like show Rocky party games. The blanket was covered in water by the end of your makeshift beer pong game. You danced. You sang. You ate more food than you probably should have considering you needed to think about rationing, but Dr.Grace was there the moment the thought entered your mind, pressing another bland cracker into your hand while sharing another embarrassing birthday story.

By the time you were practically bursting with food and half asleep, your favorite movie playing on the screens, the thought of your impending death was the farthest thing from your mind.

Your head rested comfortably against Dr.Grace’s shoulder, Rocky pressed against your other side. You would have fallen asleep, if Dr.Grace hadn’t whispered against your temple.

“Can I ask you a favor?”

“Aren’t my wishes supposed to come true today?” you teased.

“Humor me.” His mouth moved against your forehead once, then twice, like he was practicing before he dared to say anything aloud. Finally, he whispered, “Ryland.”

“Ryland?” He hummed. It tickled.

“No more Dr.Grace. I think we’re closer than formalities. Friends. Right?” You sat up. His ears were bright red, and his eyes kept flickering to the side, like he couldn’t quiet hold your gaze. A wave of fondness crashed over you.

“Of course we are.” You placed you hand over his, giving it a squeeze. “Ryland. Thank you.”

“[Y/N] happy, question?” Rocky asked. Your favorite movie played on. Ryland scooted closer, pulling you into his side. Rocky trilled, then readjusted, practically in your lap. His crab hand pressed against his sphere.

“Yeah, Rocky.” You placed your hand over his, eyes watering. Ryland’s soft laugh was everything. “I’m happy.”

______________________________________________________________

She’d done her best to avoid Potter as much as possible, not that Dumbledore made it any easier assigning them as Head Girl and Boy (despite her many protests), but he seemed adamant on sticking by her side. Or, as Marlene suggested, not that Lily believed it anyway, that Potter was simply going about his day to day life and they just happened to share a few classes together and of course he would sit near her in the Great Hall since it was practically commonplace to sit near your yearmates, and why was she paying so close attention to him anyway?

“Because he’s so annoying it's impossible to ignore. Like a moldy cheese, his stink of annoyance just fills a room.”

“You know, Lily,” Marlene teased, drawing out every word. “Some people think smelly cheese is irresistible.”

She stormed away before she could think that her red face was attributed to anything but anger.

So, imagine her surprise when, the very person she was trying to avoid, was acting more a fool than usual, his butt hanging out of a classroom door with none of the decorum required of a Head Boy. Though, she mused, why did she expect anything different from him, even if he’d been acting more mature this term.

His goofy shocked face caused her heart to flutter, another symptom of her annoyance.

“Lily!” Potter whisper-shouted, somehow being incapable of speaking quietly even when it was so obvious he was trying. Sirius Black, used to his antics, knocked a knobby elbow into his side from his position on the floor, playful glare on his face as he shushed his better half.

“Quiet!” Black hissed, voice just as loud. Potter didn’t seem to notice, sending him a sheeping smile.

“Sorry!” he said, though his voice was only lower in pitch, not volume. Lily rolled her eyes. “What are you doing here? I thought you were studying with Marlene?”

“Stalking me now, Potter?” She was shocked, however, when Potter flushed red instead of his flirty remark.

“I-I would never! You know that, don’t you?” And then, as if he realized how pathetic he sounded, his mouth twitched into a grimace. “Unless, you--…you want me to?”

“Oh Merlin,” Black sighed, shaking his head, voice exasperated. “Marlene told us in case Dorcas finished her meeting with Professor Gropmorph early.”

This time, it was Lily who flushed in embarrassment. Thankfully, Remus took the perfect moment to open the door to the classroom, unamusement clear, even as Potter and Black toppled like dominoes face first onto Remus’s shoes.

“What are you idiots doing now?” Lily felt her chest swell in kinship, even as Remus’s face dropped in shock at spotting her standing there. “Lily?”

“I promise,” she said quickly, “I have nothing to do with this!”

“What…what are you doing here? What are any of you doing here?”

“Well, you see--!” Black scrambled to his feet, knocking James over in his attempt to get up faster. “I was just--...we were just--...”

“Rounds!” James shouted, gracelessly, despite his usual athleticism, using the door frame to pull himself up. Once he was on his feet, he swung an arm around Lily. When she tried to sidestep away from him, he kept his arm firm, and she pretended to hate it. “We were just doing rounds, right, Evans?”

It was a miracle these marauders didn’t get into more trouble if this is what they were like when they were lying. James was staring down at her with his big brown eyes, twinkling with hope. Black was making a subtle motion to play along, though it was in clear view of Remus, who eyed them suspiciously.

Why me?, she thought, miserably.

“...Yeah,” she finally said, though the moment had stretched on for far too long to be convincing. Black face palmed.

“Rounds? But it’s not even dinner yet?”

James cursed under his breath. Lily rolled her eyes. How could he forget his best friend was a prefect?

“It’s those new Head rounds, right?” Black provided. James slumped in relief, immediately nodding along.

“Yep! Yeah, new rounds for Head Girl and Boy. Wouldn’t have taken the job if I knew there was so much to do!” James laughed too loud, then abruptly stopped, whipping his head down to look at Lily. “Not that I’m not responsible! I agreed, so I’ll follow through. Promise!”

“...okay,” Remus agreed, drawing out the sound to fill the sudden awkward silence. He eyes Black, almost looking like he was going to ask what he was doing there, then decided better and kept the question to himself. Lily didn’t blame him. “Well, have fun…?”

“Yes, yes! You as well, whatever mysterious thing you’re doing in there!” Black babbled, practically pushing Remus back into the room, throwing a glare over his shoulder. 

Just before the door shut, Lily swore she saw a familiar silhouette.

With the door now closed, and Black assured that Remus was far enough away, he whipped around, voice exasperated as he said, “Way to go, Prongs.”

“What?” Lily shrugged off Potter’s arm, and he had the decency to look embarrassed. “Oh, sorry. I panicked.”

“I could tell.” She made a show of whipping off her shoulder, but made no move to walk away. “What were you even doing?”

Potter opened his mouth to respond, but Black launched himself, covering his mouth with both hands. Potter's eyes widened, grabbing Black’s arms to push him away.

“Why are you curious? We’re not breaking any rules,” Black said suspiciously, voice trembling as he held his hands still. Lily eyed the two, Potter obviously not putting all his strength into the fight, then looked at the door.

“Remus is allowed to be in there,” she said instead of responding. She turned to Black, crossing her arms and standing her ground. “You, however, are being incredibly rude by spying on him.”

“He’s our friend,” Black argued, as if that justified his actions.

“Friends don’t spy on each other.”

“Friends don’t keep secret lovers.”

Immediately, the two looked at each other in equal shock, eyes widening in unison. Potter used the distraction to finally free his mouth, playfully spitting on the floor.

“Ugh, wash your hands, Pads.”

Lily blinked owlishly at Black, who looked horrified at what he revealed.

“Remus is dating--”

“We don’t know for sure,” James said before she could continue, warily glancing at the closed door. Deciding it would be best to move away, he nodded his head at Black, then gestured Lily down the hall, an illusion of privacy she found she appreciated. Once they were a good ways down, where the door all but disappeared into the lopsided cobbled wall, James continued, “It’s just a hunch we’ve had.”

“A hunch?” 

“Our Moony is very protective of his pack--” Potter coughed pointedly at Black, who just rolled his eyes, “--of friends.”

“What he means,” James cut in, “is that Moony is very selective of who he gets close to. Childhood trauma and all that. He just hasn’t gotten around to introducing us yet.”

Lily thought they were being very nonchalant for discussing childhood trauma, but she shrugged it off, reminding herself these were the boys who thought dungbombs were funny because they smelled like farts.

“And you were…what, trying to find a good time to introduce yourselves?” Potter turned sheepish while Black laughed.

“Not…not exactly.”

“Not that you would know, dear Evans, but our Moony is quite the romantic.”

“Remus? Remus Lupin?” Lily conjured the shy Remus she knew, the one who stuttered the first time they interacted, who she recalled being too quiet to stand up to his friends’ wrongdoings, but helped in every other instance. Remus, who she rarely saw with anyone but his roommates, despite the countless people throwing themselves at his feet for a date.

Black nodded, long hair swinging around his shoulders.

“The most. Would put Calyna Ollapianne to shame.” Although Lily was lost, no doubt one of many pop culture wizards she hadn’t had the time to discover, the way Potter was nodding his head made her inclined to believe it was a good thing. Maybe Mary would know, she wondered to herself, she’s always been into wizarding things.

“And, you see, he’s shy.” To this, Lily nodded. “So, when he does fancy someone, he doesn’t always have the courage to say something.”

“Except!” Black’s mischievous smile made her nervous. “Our dear Moony, who usually runs away tail between his legs when a pretty thing walks by, is currently locked in a room, far from other students or distractions, supposedly tutoring a very pretty thing.”

Lily stopped, her two companions falling in line to look at her, identical smiles on their faces. If she didn’t know Black had been staying with the Potter’s, she might have been weirded out. Instead, she only felt confusion, looking back over her shoulder to the hallway they just abandoned. Black was practically bouncing on his feet as he waited for her response.

“So…”

“Yes?”

“Remus is currently tutoring a fellow classmate and your…disrupting him?” Black sighed dramatically, obviously not what he was expecting to hear from her.

“Come on, Evans. You’re not the littlest bit curious?” He gestured down the hall. “We just let you in on one of our biggest secrets and you can’t even give me a dramatic gasp?”

“One of--?”

“We don’t bother them,” Potter reassured before she could continue, giving her a softer smile, one that relaxed her nerves, as much as she hated to admit it. “We just…want to make sure he’s doing alright. Provide emotional support, or whatever.”

Lily looked, really looked, at James as he stuttered over his words, pointedly avoiding her eyes. Even with his tanned skin, she could see the beginnings of a flush creeping up his neck, painting the tips of his ears rosy. The more she looked, the more he stammered, hands waving wildly, knocking into Black, though neither of them really acknowledged it, too busy studying her or too used to it, she didn’t know. She tucked away the knowledge that her stare made him stumble over her words.

By the time his voice was getting shrill, pathetically forming messy sentences that somehow implicated him and Black in a torrid affair with Remus, a familiar boy rounded the corner.

“Hey! Sorry, am I late?” Pettegrew called, face red and sweaty from no doubt running to meet up with his friends. “I got here as fast as I could.”

Though Remus was by far her favorite Seventh Year boy, Peter Pettigrew was high on her list, thanks to his inability to talk without his friends nearby. Lily hadn’t had many interactions with him, beyond the odd Gryffindor camaraderie at matches and being paired up in class, but there was something about the way he followed along behind his friends, as if he was completely spineless, set her on edge. Pathetic, she hated to admit, was one of the few words she associated with him, and she felt bad enough about it that she often went out of her way to be extra kind to him. Like now, as she gave him a small smile. Pettigrew gave her a toothy one in return when he spotted her.

“Oh, Evans! I didn’t know you liked watching Moony too!”

“Watching…?”

“Yeah!” He laughed, setting Black and Potter on edge. “These two are obsessed with watching Moony get all lovey--”

“You’re such a snitch!” Black yelped before he could continue, locking Pettigrew’s head in the crook of his arm, pushing his fist into the top of his head and rubbing until both of their hair was askew.

“I thought you were there to provide ‘moral support’?” Lily questioned, side eyeing Potter, who started to stutter again. 

It should have been obvious, she mused, that they were lying about being there for his friend. As long as she’s known them, they were always up to something. Niceties hiding deception, innocence hiding trickery. Even if he’d matured in the past term, actually being a good Head Boy despite her reluctance to admit it, old habits die hard.

“We really are! It’s just--...It’s just…” Potter’s stutter, despite usually making her want to roll her eyes, made her feel a little bad. After all, they were a collection of contradictions. Who's to say he couldn't be spying for good and bad reasons? She nearly pinched herself at the thought.

Black, noticing his friend's dilemma, loosened his hold to step closer. Pettigrew used the distraction to pull his head away, surprisingly knocking a leg out to trip Black, sending him tumbling into Potter, and both of them onto the floor.

“They're looney,” Pettegrew rushed out, a mischievous smile on his face. Potter and Black wiggled against each other on the floor, untangling limbs to stop their friend from saying more. “Obsessed with how Moony gets all soft. Did they tell you their favorite thing is when he stands behind to guide wand movement with his whole body? ‘Oh, Prongs, hold me like Moony does!’, ‘Pads, Pads! Do you think they’ll kiss later?’!”

“Snitch!” Potter shouted this time, launching himself across the floor towards Pettigrew’s knees, knocking them down. The two grappled on the floor, Pettigrew laughing while Potter stuttered apologies towards Lily, swearing they weren’t creeps, while Black rose beside her, cackling and cheering them on, an annoying ‘Fight! Fight! Fight!’ that brought on a migraine she did not need to deal with right now. 

“What are you doing?” All four of them froze, the unexpected stern voice rattling them to their bones. 

Lily was the first to turn, wince pulling her eyebrows to her nose as she watched Remus hurry down the hall, obvious exasperation on his face. She felt even worse as she spotted you trailing behind him. It was obvious they weren’t as quiet as they hoped, pulling you from the tutoring session Remus had gone through the trouble of renting a room for.

“Lily?” You called, evidently more confused to see her than the two locked in a wrestle on the floor. “What are you doing here?”

“I was--...I was just--…” She felt foolish stumbling over her words like that. It was a public hallway, she had every right to be here just as the others did, and she wasn’t one of the bubbling fools getting their uniforms dirty while they rolled on the floor. Well, she wasn’t one of the fools, but she had to admit she was very much bumbling.

“Why are you two always on the floor?” Remus said, exasperated. He reached down, hauling Pettigrew to his feet, much to Potter’s dismay, who had to rise on his own, Black still too busy eyeing you up. She could have sworn she saw Remus send a sharp glare in Black’s direction, but the harshness completely vanished as he looked at you again. Instead of the mean look he reserved for his friends, his eyebrows relaxed, face going rosy as he apologized. “I’m sorry, we’re meant to be studying.”

“Yeah, studying…” Black murmured under his breath, much too loud to be a private thought. Lily stomped on his foot not too discreetly in retaliation. “Merlin’s beard--!”

She turned to stick her tongue out at him, a very irresponsible thing to do as Head Girl but there was something about these troublemakers that made her feel like a little kid again, but before she could do more, Potter elbowed her harshly in the side. When she whipped toward him, he had an embarrassed flush on his face, evidently not meaning to hit her so hard, but he gestured quickly back to you. Only curiosity had her pulling her eyes away from him.

“It’s alright, Rem.” Lily watched as Remus all but melted at the nickname, easily dodging around the group to return to your side. His hand hovered over your shoulder, then dropped, either too nervous or too aware of the watching eyes to actually touch you. It didn’t stop his fingers, however, from twitching towards you as you gave him a smile. “It’s getting close to dinner anyway.”

“Sorry about them.” 

Black wiggled his eyebrows at Lily as Remus’s voice dropped to something sickly sweet, lower and smoother than she was used to hearing. However, as he flicked his eyes towards his friends, all in unison the boys whipped their heads away, whistling or otherwise pretending to not be paying attention. Lily flushed, then looked to her feet, disbelieving that she was following along. But, she hated to admit, this was much too good to walk away from.

“They're fun. And, we can always pick up where we left off tomorrow. No big deal.” You seemed to have no qualms touching him, your hand reaching out to squeeze one of his in reassurance. Lily lifted her eyes just in time to watch a scattering of goosebumps litter the back of his neck, just above the collar of his messy button up. “Same time?”

“Yeah, same time.” She could almost hear the sadness in his voice, easily picturing puppy ears sprouting from his head at how downtrodden he was at leaving you. You seemed to agree, laughing, and then reaching out to gently pat his face. “Have fun at dinner.”

“You could always join us, you know!” Black called out when you pulled away, surprising everyone by daring to speak out and break the gentle atmosphere that surrounded you two. Remus whipped his head around to glare, though he failed as his eyes widened in shock, motioning to cut it out. Potter hissed under his breath in tandem with Lily’s pinch to his side, but Black simply let a smooth smirk pull across his lips, ignoring everyone’s not so subtle hints. “Remus always talks about how much he misses you--”

In perfect unison, Lily stepped out of the way, latching onto your arm to pull you away, while James slapped one of his big hands across Black’s mouth, giving you a bright smile.

“--your tutoring lessons!” he gasped out, glancing at Remus quickly before returning his smile to you. “Loves--likes what a good student you are! Best one he’s ever had!”

“Potter was just telling me how good Remus was. Tell me about it?” Lily suggested, piggybacking off Potter’s obvious lie, tugging you down the hallway. You looked at her quizzically, obviously wondering why she suddenly was all buddy-buddy with you when you two hadn’t shared so much as a whole conversation before, but you didn’t press.

“Alright?” She felt giddy as a soft smile stretched across your lips, neck craned awkwardly so you could turn to look back at Remus, waving your hand. “Bye, Remus. Thanks again.”

“Yeah! Yes! Anytime!” Lily giggled to herself at the fumble, his hand waving a bit too frantically to be casual, but it seemed to only endear you more, nearly tripping over your feet so you could continue to look at him.

The two of you barely managed to round the corner before Black’s obnoxious voice rang out, “Way to go, Moony! You sly wolf!”

Yes, it seemed those marauding boys had a hobby of watching your interactions with Remus, somehow managing to do it in the creepiest, most intrusive way possible. But, she thought as you laughed, wistfully looking over your shoulder, she saw the appeal. 

And, if she found herself in this hallway again tomorrow, now, that was surely just a coincidence.

______________________________________________________________

When they first started Hogwarts, Sirius made it clear his stance on Slytherin families - keep as far away from them as possible, prank from a distance, target the ones he knew had evil in their hearts. James was more than pleased to go along with this. After all, a whole pool of targets just for the taking, and he didn’t have to feel guilty at all? It seemed so easy. 

Sirius was ruthless with his attacks, cackling with glee as he sent stinging hexes in their direction or watching with mirth as they got caught in a trap. But when James launched a dungbomb in your direction, singeing your hair into an uneven mess, Sirius dropped everything to rush over, apology already tumbling out of his mouth despite the fury on your face. He even escorted you to the Matron, and looked incredibly guilty as the two of you walked back into the Great Hall sporting a new hairdo and fear on your faces. You returned to not speaking to each other, just as you always had, but Sirius seemed to glance over at the Slytherin table a little more frequently. Since then, none of the Marauders dared to prank near you, but with the rest of the house being easy pickings, James didn’t spare you another thought.

Then, summer before Fifth year happened. It was going to be their year, full of new pranks, new status, and, even better, a new plan to help Moony with his…time of the month. Sirius, as usual, spent the beginning of summer at the Pottery, spending hours at a time trying to find their animagus form, and, eventually, trying to change species. His parents were good at giving them space to play to their heart's content, and it warmed James’s heart to see them dote on Sirius just as much as they did as him. Especially as June faded into July, and Sirius’ dread to return home increased with every passing day.

Halfway through their break, at the height of the Dark Wanker Gatherings, the very color name Sirius gave the period of summer when the Dark Pureblood’s season of parties came to a head (as the heir to the Noble House of Black, Sirius was expected to attend the biggest ones, meaning James hardly got to see him until the start of the school year), Sirius all but disappeared. The house was far too quiet without him, and his letters were sparse of details, worrying James despite the countless summers they had gone through this previously. Despite Peter and Remus’s best attempts, James just wasn’t the same without his best friend around. Their friendly games of Quidditch lacked the usual competitiveness, their conversations quickly devolved into pooling the little information Sirius gave each of them, and there were only so many Sugar Quills one could eat before their stomach turned in on itself in worry. It was why James was always the first to arrive at the Platform at the start of the year, determined to figure out what happened to his best friend, even though Sirius always managed to change the subject without giving any answers. 

So, color him surprised when, instead of rushing onto the train and locating his friends like usual, Sirius lingered after saying goodbye to his parents, the very people he never wanted to be near. When you and your family stepped through, Sirius’s eyes lit up. He made a beeline to you as soon as you finished your goodbye’s, pulling you to a secluded corner, only barely visible from where James was practically hanging out of the compartment window to see. The two of you whispered to one another before you hugged, then parted ways.

And ever since then, Sirius was always looking out for you. Instead of the tense silence you usually kept, James watched as your face lit up (no smile, that was far too obvious, but your eyes seemed to sparkle whenever they landed on him), stepping away from your usual posse of stuck up Purebloods to speak to Sirius. They seemed just as flabbergasted, until it started to happen so frequently they did nothing but offer a silent sneer, knowing better than to wait for you to finish your conversation. But James remained, always standing just close enough to catch snippets, but never the whole story. Instead of sulking in his room or yelling at whoever dared to disturb him on bad days, Sirius disappeared completely, only to be spotted with you within the hour, a more relaxed look on his face. He never missed a full moon, at least he kept that promise to his friends, but you were always one of the first visitors they had in the morning, leaving a get well soon treat for Sirius to eat as soon as he woke up. 

All this to say, it wasn’t as if you and Sirius were attached at the hip, but it was hard not to notice the seemingly new affection you had for one another, and the change of priority, leaving James to seek you out in order to find his friend on more than one occasion.

Neither Remus nor Peter knew anything about what caused this shift in your friendship, but all it took was a little comment from Peter (“Maybe…maybe they’re together together.” followed by a scandalized look from Remus), to send them into a spiral. 

“Sirius? Keeping a secret from us? Especially one as big as a…No! No way!” James refuted, pout evident on his face.

Because there was absolutely no way Sirius was going to keep something like this to himself. James was the first to know about Sirius’ first kiss, his first make out, his first shag! He was there when Sirius confessed to his first girlfriend, then his first boyfriend, then his first…partner? James forgot the name but either way! He was there! And now…what? Sirius was too ashamed to admit he was dating a Slytherin? Surely he knew there was no way. And, if he was dating, then there was no way he would pick a Slytherin unless they had something really special about them.

Despite Remus and Peter’s fervent arguments against it, James swore himself to a new goal - Mission Impossible: Figure Out Why Sirius Thinks a Slytherin Is Better Choice Than Literally Anyone Else in the School; I Mean Come On There Are Three Other Houses-- (“That’s far too long a name anyway!” Remus shouted indignantly).

He was already spending time lingering when you and Sirius chatted in the halls, so he tried to join in, actually listen instead of grumbling to himself about how long it was taking. You gave him an incredulous look the first time he did it, scampering away much too quickly for Sirius’s liking, if his saddened face was anything to go by. His second and third attempts were met with the same response, so James dropped his attempt, too soft to continue if Sirius was gonna keep giving him that kicked puppy look.

Then, he tried to join you and Sirius for your study sessions, figuring, what could go wrong? The library was a quiet place, and there wasn’t an easy escape if he positioned himself correctly, and you were very dedicated to keeping Sirius’s grades up (from what he’d been told anyway, this was, after all, the first time he ever willingly wanted to spend time with you). Sirius was hesitant to allow him to come when he asked, so he decided to drop by unannounced instead. Sirius’s welcoming smile was more than enough to override your glare, though it was clear this interruption was less than welcome, as no more work got done, and the boys were kicked out almost immediately. You were clear in your instruction to Sirius, whispered quietly but not quiet enough, that James was not welcome if he was going to be so noisy.

So, sneaking had become his last resort. It was hard, what with his friend group practically spending every minute together, but despite Remus’s warning, James scurried off whenever Sirius did. It took several weeks, and several pathetic attempts before James was finally able to catch you and Sirius alone. He didn’t think he was above snooping, especially with all the attempts recently, but there was a tiny bit of guilt that underlined his successful movements as he snuck down the hall, hidden from yours and Sirius’ watchful eyes, all thanks to his Invisibility Cloak. Sirius had that look about him, whipping his head back and forth, something he always did with James when he set up a prank without anyone noticing. 

Something big was happening, and it had to be discussed without any prying eyes.

“Sirius, it’s alright,” you spoke lowly, so much so that James had to get a little too close for comfort to hear you. Sirius’ head perked up at the somewhat loud swish of the cloak, but when he didn’t see anything, he turned back to you, pushing you into an alcove of the hallway.

“Alright?! Are you mad?” Though he still had a grip on your arm, James could tell it was gentle, so lightly that you easily could have pulled away at any time. And, to his surprise, you didn’t, instead laying your hand on his with a gentleness he’d never seen from you before.

“This was something we always knew was going to happen,” you squeezed his hand, face stoney, “it was only a matter of time--”

“They’re selling you off like cattle! They don’t care about your life!”

“I don’t have a choice.”

“You always have a choice!” To this, your face darkened.

“I am not like you, Sirius.” This was the Slytherin attitude James was used to. Poisonous words spouting from your mouth, eyes narrowed to a glare. You didn’t have to push Sirius’s hand away, your now icy stare was enough to have him pull away first. “You and your precious friends can galavant around and do whatever you please, no matter the consequences, but the moment I show weakness, or displeasure towards my family, I will have no one. My friends--”

“Are no real friends if all it takes is standing up for yourself to have them disappear!”

“They know better than anyone that we don’t have any other choice--”

“So, what? You’ll marry the old coot and be the perfect little house--”

“And what would you suggest I do?” Sirius opened and closed his mouth several times, fury on his face, unwilling to admit that maybe you were right. In a house where betraying those thought to be your friends is commonplace, what option did you have? If James was right in following along, though it was incredibly hard with how quickly the two of you whispered, if you rejected this marriage arrangement, your parents would undoubtedly kick you out. With the friends he’s seen you with, there was no chance any of them would reach out in good will, especially since you’d have lost all the power via your family name. 

There had never been a Slytherin in his life that he felt empathy towards, but this…this was something even he could not see a way out of.

“Surely leaving your family to be free is better than being locked in a gilded cage,” Sirius finally settled on.

“Freedom always comes with a cost, and this one is far too great.” Sirius’s eyes lowered to a glare.

“So that’s it.” 

Oh no. James could feel the anger radiating from his friend, the same anger that has landed him more than a few detentions over the years. This was the anger that led to the initial discovery of Moony’s condition, the screaming match that had Sirius follow Remus into the woods. This was the anger that almost broke their friendship in third year, and the anger that nearly got him expelled for attacking another student. 

This was the anger that made Sirius reckless. 

“You give everything up and stay that obedient Pureblood you’ve always been, and be miserable forever. Well, I can’t watch you do that. I can’t watch you stoop so low, so pathetic,” --James nearly reached out, desperate to stop Sirius from saying anything more to destroy what you two had-- “and try to kill yourself again.” 

Too late. The most emotion he had ever seen from you flicker across your face, hurt turned to anger turned to resentment in one fluid motion. Sirius, as angry as he was, seemed to notice as well, snapping his mouth shut as soon as the words left his mouth. Almost as if an invisible wall appeared between you, you both stepped back, as far as the small alcove allowed.

“Yes, you’re right. How pathetic of me.” You bowed lowly, despite Sirius’s efforts to stop you. “I’ll take my leave then, so your virtue won’t be sullied by the likes of me. Regards to the most Noble and Ancient House of Black.”

James turned on his heel, too embarrassed in his attempts to snoop to watch any further. Sirius chased you down in the opposite direction, calling your name until his echoes finally stopped. When James returned, it only took a look to stop any questions from his other dormmates. Sirius’s late return, the lethal combination of sadness and anger that had him lashing out at anything he could see, was answer enough.

James tried to keep the facade of innocence for the rest of the term, thanking Merlin that it was just a short month away. It was far easier than he hoped, with everyone immersed with their OWLs, but it didn’t do much to stop the guilt of having witnessed such a private and personal conversation. Sirius continued to look for you whenever he could, desperate to catch your eye, but you were just as stubborn as his friend was it seemed; even though James caught you several times watching Sirius when no one else was looking. 

Sirius spent the beginning of summer with him as normal, riding on their brooms and keeping their minds as far away from the drama waiting back at Hogwarts. James tried a couple times to ask about you, but Sirius would clam up immediately, snapping at him or immediately changing the subject. By the time the Dark Wanker Gatherings started up again, Sirius seemed to have calmed down some, resigning his anger into a facade of apathy, the kind James seriously disliked. He only hoped your absence wouldn’t make his disappearing act worse.

Then, in the middle of summer, you appeared. 

Or rather, you and Sirius appeared, Flooing into his home in the middle of dinner, fancy clothing covered in blood. Your face was panicked, strained against the weight of his friend, who seemed too out of it to stand properly. His Mother screamed at the intrusion, and both James and his father rushed over to take the weight off of you. It seemed all Pureblood customs flew out the window with the desperate need to help Sirius, as you immediately barked orders to take him to the nearest bathroom with a bathtub. Once situated, you started peeling away Sirius’s clothes, revealing the various cuts across his body.

“Hey! What are you--” But you simply silenced him with a wave of your hand, pushing him out of the room and slamming the door in his face. “What the fu--”

“James!” Euphemia’s glare was enough to have him shutting up. “Why don’t you two go back down and finish dinner. Polly spent a lot of time making it.”

“But Sirius--”

“Is obviously in capable hands.” His Father patted a heavy hand on his shoulder, leading him away without another word. Before they made it back down stairs, James caught the gentle knock she rapped on the bathroom door (of her own house!), quietly entering with a, “Is there anything I can get you, dear?”

“A house elf, the one you trust the most. And my apologies for…” your voice faded as they returned to the dining room.

Sirius was up by the time he woke the following morning. James tried several times to see Sirius throughout the night, but you were as strict as you were terrifying, guarding the room like a loyal watchdog until James was too tired to try again. And here you were again, dressed in borrowed clothes and carefully stroking Sirius’s long hair into a complicated braid, pulling strands away from his face so it wouldn’t fall into the bowl of soup he was nursing. Sirius’s face lit up when he saw James enter the room, clambering to get up. His own injuries stopping him from getting far, wincing and slumping back into his chair.

“You can’t move too quickly,” you chastised quietly, trying off the end of his hair. The easy way Sirius let you touch him, to have his guard down completely, caused a shift in James. A Slytherin providing comfort? It was unheard of to him. But here it was, right in front of him, an easy relationship that existed out of two people caring deeply for one another. 

Just like his parents. 

James felt a pang of jealousy go through him.

“Sorry, Prongs. Gotta listen to the Medi—,” Sirius stopped, grimaced as you pulled lightly on his hair. “What? I wouldn’t want anyone else helping me back to health.”

“And now that you are back to being your annoying self, I must be off.” Sirius tried to stand, but your gentle hand was enough to have him stop. “Rest. And thank you, for everything.” 

As Sirius was out of commission, James was the one to walk you to the Floo, taking his parent’s robe from you at your thanks. You straightened out your hair as best as possible, fixing small details of your outfit to hide what you had been up all night, as James wrung his hands, debating whether he should say anything at all. When you reached for the Floo powder, he finally spoke.

“Thank you,” he managed. Your hand paused midair, but it was the only indication you gave to show you were listening. “Thank you for bringing him here. We’ll take good care of him.”

“He’s too proud to ask for help,” you said in response. “But he’s lucky to have someone like you in his life.”

“And like you.” To this, you scoffed, finally turning to look at him.

“I seem to only bring him trouble.”

“He does that fine on his own.” The small uptick of your lips was easy confirmation to your agreement. “But seriously. I’ve never seen him so happy to talk to someone before, and he talks to a lot of people.” When you didn’t say anything, James flushed. “I mean--”

“I’m lucky to have whatever part he’s willing to give me.” And with a flourish, you disappeared into the fireplace.

James never did find out what happened that caused Sirius’s injuries that summer. After a lengthy conversation (the lengthy conversation in question - Sirius: “I pissed my family off and now I’ve been disowned.”, James: “Oh, perfect. I’ve always wanted you as a brother.”), Sirius was unofficially officially adopted into his family. His parents took Sirius to St.Mungos a couple times to make sure everything was okay, but otherwise, the rest of summer was spent just as blissfully enjoyable as the beginning. Only this time, James didn’t have to worry about Sirius having to return to his awful family every night. They stayed up until the sun began to rise, sneaking into each other's room to spend the night, terrorizing the neighborhood with their loud voices until the sun rose. 

And, you were there. Not directly, not with the new disgraced title Sirius proudly bore, but in letters and conversation. Sirius now spoke freely and openly about you, how you had always been there to help him with his horrible upbringing, the way you always seemed to know what to do to help. Sirius admitted to getting into that final fight for you, for your honor, but didn’t elaborate any further. He spent many mornings at James’s desk writing to you, updating you on the new freedom he had, and making sure you were alright. That he’d be there in the drop of a hat if you needed him. 

Now that James was included in the conversation, willingly and welcomed this time, he was able to see how witty you were, how you weren’t just the Pureblood Slytherin he thought you were, but a genuinely good person for Sirius to be influenced by. You easily scolded him when needed, and praised him without letting his ego inflate too largely. Though you were only there in writing, it was easy to see the easy affection Sirius had for you, and vice versa. And, with James being let in somewhat on the secret friendship you shared, how deep it actually was, almost all the tension released from between the three of you. He even got to apologize for butting in so often last year, to which you waved him off with a promise not to do it again.

So, when sixth year started, and he got to see you for the first time in person since that fateful morning, it was like he’d never seen you before. And, all the better, it seemed you were determined to talk to Sirius, even if it meant you got some nasty glares from your housemates. James liked that about you.

So, he made the effort. When you or Sirius walked up to one another, James stayed close, engaging in conversation. Though you looked shocked, Sirius always gave him a broad smile, the prospect of two special people in his life becoming friends made him giddier than James ever thought possible. And Sirius was very open about that fact, throwing his arms around you and James mid conversation to squish you into a group hug. It didn’t take much to get the rest of his friends involved.

Your study sessions now involved all the Marauders, Remus sending you a thankful smile whenever you managed to calm the rowdiest of them down, comparing notes for class. Peter trailed after you happily, using you as a type of shield from the rest of the Slytherins when you walked together to class. You joined them on Hogsmeade trips, a quiet companion as they carried you from place to place. You never questioned what got them in so much trouble they ended up in the hospital wing once a month, but you did start to bring all of them a little treat for them to wake up to. Sirius started joking about you replacing him in the Marauders, to which you answered with a smack to the back of the head.

And James? Well James seemed to seek you out more and more without realizing it. If Sirius sat on your right, he would take your left. When needing a partner for class, he and Sirius would fight for the honor of being your partner, despite the fact that you already began working with someone else. He looked for you in the Slytherin crowd during quidditch matches, easily spotting you as the only person not booing at their victories. You and he would walk to class together, then hang out alone before the others joined. Your one on one time only increased as you got closer. You stayed up late to help him with classwork he struggled with, patient as ever, even if you did take every opportunity to poke fun at him with that deviously dry wit. You even helped Sirius with a joint gift, a box the size of his hand that would fit anything inside it and could only be opened by him. It was the first time he hugged you without Sirius’s intervention.

“Woah, woah, woah! Back it up!” Sirius said in his best imitation of an angry tone, but his smile was too contagious.

Yes, you butt heads. James’ lackadaisical attitude got on your nerves, sometimes done on purpose because James just loved to get a rise out of you, and your uptight scholarly nature often rivaled Remus, but at the end of the day, it was clear that there was a deep respect for one another, something that blossomed without either of you knowing. James would steal food from your plate without asking, loudly teasing you when you reprimanded him, but he would always replace it with some of your favorites, an unspoken apology. You would call him names (dimwit, airhead, and bludger brain to name a few), but you were always there for him at the end of the day, quietly praising his ingenuity, genuinely asking his opinion on matters.

It was why the guilt of the knowledge of your arranged marriage was starting to eat at him, a secret you didn’t know he knew. It was especially bad on days when that dreaded silver envelope arrived, since you frequently sought out Sirius. He recognized the crest on the back, an old and very Pureblood house, that no doubt had to belong to your fiance. You would crush the letter in your grip after skimming it, catching Sirius’ eye from across the room. No words needed to be said for him to stand, meeting you at the entrance hall. It was rare to see either of you for several hours after that. It was routine at that point.

But today was different. Sirius was in an early morning detention, cleaning McGonagall’s classroom after a series of pranks rendered the board useless, and you were nearly hyperventilating as the silver envelope fell into your lap. James only noticed because you were out of your seat faster than he’d ever seen you move, eyes glistening. He was following behind you before he realized what he was doing.

“Wait!” Your head whipped around at his voice, wiping your wet cheeks in an attempt to hide any evidence of your sadness. “What’s wrong?”

“Where’s Sirius?”

“He’s in detention--what’s wrong?”

“It’s…” A group of giggling second years passed by, watching their interaction with interest. You instantly clammed up, face slacking into apathy. ”It’s nothing.”

James shook his head before tugging you down the hall. Despite your protests, he led you to one of the many secret passages, pulling you until you were in an unused hallway, rows and rows of empty classrooms creating the perfect hiding place. He didn’t speak until the two of you were in one, locking the door firmly behind him, and covering it with an anti-eavesdropping charm.

“What’s wrong?” Without a word, you held the letter out to him.

My Darling Angel, it read, handwriting barely legible with how shaky it was. Do not fret any longer, for your Father and I have finally come to an agreement. Though your price was a hefty one, I have been assured you are well worth it. In merely a years time---

“You’re getting married?” In a year's time, the summer of your Seventh Year, you were going to be a bride. James’s stomach twisted into knots. Tears piled up to the edges of your lash line.

“I spoke to my Father every summer, showing him my grades and my prospects, anything I could to have him increase his greed for more. I thought if I could keep going, just for a little longer, he would become so unreasonable, no one would want to pay my dowry. After all, why would they?” You sniffed, then furiously rubbed at your face, trying to stop the tears from falling. “I am no one special. Surely there are better prospects--”

“Woah, hey!” Your hands were moving too fast, too erratically, for his liking. As gently as he could, remembering the way Sirius acted, he pulled your hands away from your face. Rubbed raw with nail marks, you didn’t even seem to realize you were hurting yourself. 

“James,” his name was said in such sorrow, his very being rattled in sympathy, “what am I going to do?”

So he did the only thing he could think of. He pulled you close, cradling you to his body. You seemed to freeze at the contact. This wasn’t the friendly hug from his birthday, or the forced contact Sirius often made you do. This was something more.

“We’ll think of something,” he promised into your hair. With the gentle grip he had you in, it was easy to pull back and gaze upon the sincerity on his face. He gave you a small, crooked smile. “We won’t let anything happen to you. Promise.”

So, for the first time, you latched onto James, holding him tight enough to hurt, and wailed into his chest, mourning the life you tried so hard to protect.

For a moment, James allowed himself to be a little greedy, keeping you close enough to let your smell flood his senses. He allowed his hands to roam your back, feeling, as if for the first time, the way your clothes felt against your body, the heat of your being. He allowed himself to enjoy how you felt against him, how for once, instead of the proud Slytherin you always portrayed yourself to be, you allowed him to take care of you instead of the other way around. You seemed to fit perfectly in his arms, and, as ashamed as he was to think it, there was a part of him that loved how you trusted him to show this vulnerable part of yourself. You only ever show it to…

Then, with startling clarity, James realized he was holding you, Sirius’s person, in his arms, in a locked classroom, hidden away from the rest of the school. That same school who watched you run out of the hall with James following close behind. Those second years watched him pull you away! 

Before he could do something stupid, probably throw himself away from you, you pulled away first. Or, really, you yanked yourself away, wand raised with a Tempus spell showing the two of you were about to be very late to your first lesson.

“Thank you, James,” you whispered without looking at him, before you bolted to the door. His heart fluttered--

Oh, crap.

“I need to talk to you.” Sirius shouldn’t have been as surprised as he was at James’s sudden appearance, pulling him away from Marlene and Dorcas. The two, used to the strange way the Marauders always seemed to find one another, turned back to their conversation without another glance. James hauled Sirius up to their dorm by his collar. He had been looking all day for Sirius, with little success. It was just his luck that today, of all days, was filled with classes neither shared, and Sirius had to use his lunch hour to finish McGonagall’s room. And now, when Remus and Peter were meeting up with you to study for your Arithmancy exam, it was probably the best time he’d get. 

And there was just one thing Sirius needed to confess to, before James exploded.

“I know your secret. So please just admit it so I can tell you how bad of a friend I am.”

“Woah, woah woah. What?” When Sirius met James’s serious expression, his face turned from jovial to terrified. “...what?”

“I know, okay?” Sirius opened and closed his mouth, and if it was any other conversation, James would have poked fun at him for looking like a fish.

“You…know?” James nodded once firmly. Sirius swore, slumping down onto the nearest bed. “We were so careful!” At this, James raised a brow.

“You weren’t careful at all! Everyone knows!” Sirius paled.

“...everyone?”

“Well, everyone that knows you.” James eyed Sirius’ expression. With a shuddering breath, Sirius dragged a hand down his face. “You seem surprised.”

“Yeah, a little,” Sirius laughed, but it was far too breathy to be sincere. “I’ve only just convinced…Was I so obvious?”

“You always look for each other. And, even though it started off rough, you’ve gotten really close recently.” He clapped a hand on Sirius’s shoulder. The approval, how easy James gave it, had Sirius’ whole body relax, practically curling into himself. “You deserve each other.”

“Tell him for me, won’t you?” Sirius rolled his eyes, far more playful than he had been. “I’ve only been telling him every day for the last year. I mean, I know Moony’s dense, but I didn’t think it’d take this much convincing.”

“...what?”

“You know him as well as I do, mate. He doesn’t handle affection well. Especially mine.” Sirius laughed, this time much more heartily, his shoulders bouncing. James’ hand fell to his side, but Sirius hardly noticed, practically bouncing from giddiness. “Wow, it feels great to say it out loud.”

James continued to stare at him, mouth agape.

“Now that you know, this is perfect!” He jumped up, excess energy pushing him to his desk, rummaging through the pile of papers before pulling one out. “I’ve got so many plans! I’m thinking next full moon, I'll sneak into his hospital bed, bring some strawberries and chocolate, you know, romance stuff. I’ve been planning for months the best way to do it, but you know Moony. Be nice to him and he clams up, so I’ve been thinking--”

When Sirius turned around, James was slumped where Sirius had just been, the only difference being James’ shocked face to Sirius’ dread.

“What?” Sirius laughed. “Didn’t think I’d have a plan? I’m going all the way with this!”

“You--Moony? But I thought…--” Now it was Sirius’ turn to be confused.

“Why do you look like that?”

“You like Moony?!” Sirius dropped the piece of paper, his dread returning.

“You didn’t--” He coughed, like the words were strangling him. “You didn’t know?”

“No!!” James jumped up. “Since when have you liked…?”

“Oh,” SIrius scratched the back of his head, hair falling out of the messy braid that had your signature all over it. “When you said you knew my secret, I thought--” He suddenly narrowed his eyes, and James grew meek, chest and cheeks flushing red. “What secret did you think I had?”

So, what originally was a conversation James was severely dreading, turned into the most honest conversation they’d had in a while. James bared his heart to his best friend, explaining the guilt that had been eating at him since his birthday, worried he was a horrible friend. How he had only fallen for you harder as you hung out more, how he couldn’t stop thinking about you, but didn’t want to do anything to upset either you or Sirius by stepping over boundaries. How he was there for you when you heard confirmation of your upcoming marriage (Sirius looked angrier than he had in a while when James revealed that small development), and it only solidified what he already suspected, and how your tears felt like burning lava on his skin.

Sirius, in turn, explained how he and Moony had gotten closer now that Sirius knew you had other people looking after you, namely the other Marauders. His new free time was spent with Moony, who didn’t think anything of it, until their playful wrestling got out of hand and Sirius kissed him. James vaguely remembered Remus acting strange, but attributed it to the upcoming moon, one where he was much more affectionate towards Sirius than his usual transformations. He talked about the way he had been trying to convince Remus ever since that day that his feelings were real, that it wasn’t just a spur of the moment mistake, but a budding of affection ever since Sirius was freed of his family's clutches.

So, when they finally calmed themselves down, after a massive cry fest that ended in them hugging, promising not to ever keep secrets ever again, and a series of firing each other up, they rushed to the very object of their affections.

“Moony!” Sirius practically tackled Remus as he and Peter walked down the hall, hands stained in ink and stomachs rumbling. Remus stood no chance against the delighted dog, books flying from his hands as he landed on the floor, wind knocked out of him.

“Wh--” But Sirius had already crawled atop him, mouth pushed resolutely against his. Remus struggled only for a moment, before returning the kiss desperately, hands clutching anything he could reach, settling on Sirius’ back and hair.

“Great Merlin!” Peter exclaimed, nearly tripping over his feet to get away from the two heavily making out on the floor. James let out a laugh, rushing over to help his…unoccupied…friend. “But he-- and Sirius--”

“Well, there goes all those plans.” James joked. Sirius and Remus finally pulled away after another moment of kissing, both panting, but faces alight in pure happiness as they gazed at each other. “Okay, Loverboys, no public displays of affection while we’re around, okay? At least until we’re used to it.”

“Prongs…,” Remus whined miserably, face flushing a brilliant red, only disrupted by the white of his facial scars. Sirius grinned wolfishly, pressing a loud, wet kiss in the space between Remus’ shoulder and collar, doing nothing to help. “Padfoot!”

Peter was still staring at them, mouth agape, even as the two stood.

“Where’s—“ James started, looking around. It was strange to not see you with the other Marauders, especially since you should have been with them for the last hour or so to study.

“Huh??” Peter shook his head violently, finally having the decency to wipe away his shock. When he noticed James’ wandering eyes, he clarified. “Oh uh, Astronomy Tower, I think? Needed space to think or something?”

“But I thought you guys were studying--”

“Never showed.” Remus’ nonchalance was not eagerly received. James whipped his head to Sirius, who was already looking worried. You hadn’t shown up? But that’s hours where you’re unaccounted for!

“James!” Sirius’ panic was clear. In an instant, the day James eavesdropped came rushing back, a stone forming in his stomach. “It’s high enough—“

“I’m on it!” Later, James would deal with the consequences of the unneeded explanation. Later, he would address the confused looks on Remus and Peter’s faces, address the shock on Sirius’ for not needing an explanation. Later, he would beg and plead on his knees for Sirius to forgive him for spying on a private conversation, and staying long past knowing it was wrong. Later. It would happen later. Now, he needed to see you.

He’d never run faster in his life, using every shortcut he could think of to make it to the Astronomy Tower in record time. He took the stairs two at a time, practically launching himself onto the platform at the top, breath coming out in hot pants. 

“James?” There you were. His knees nearly gave out in relief (though climbing stairs that fast may have had something to do with it), especially since it didn’t look like you had a scratch on you.

“Oh, thank Merlin. You’re alright!” You only looked at him, rising slightly from where you were leaning over the railing to stare out into the horizon. The sun was going to set soon, causing the glow to illuminate your silhouette, your expression hard to see.

“Of course I’m alright.” James tried to catch his breath quickly, before walking over to you. As he got closer, your features slowly became clearer. There was no evidence of your earlier conversation (how had it only been that morning that you cried into his chest??), and it didn’t look like you had been crying again. He didn’t know whether to be relieved you seemed okay, or worried that you might be bottling your emotions.  “What are you talking about?”

“Sirius said…” The rest of the words died in his throat. You cocked your head. He guiltily looked at you, then the railing. When you didn’t react, he continued, ”He may have mentioned…”

“Oh.” In an instant, you understood, eyes falling into a glare, no doubt upset at having your privacy violated. “I’m not so fragile as to need a bodyguard to care for me all the time.”

“It’s okay if you do.” You rolled your eyes, turning back to look out over the trees. James copied you, resting his elbows on the bar, but angled his body so his sole attention was on the side of your face.

“That’s a sure fire way to get yourself killed in my world,” you grumbled.

“Well in mine,” he cut in, before you could add on, “if a friend is in trouble, you do whatever you can to help them.”

“Even if they don’t need it?”

“Everyone needs help.” He could see the tail end of your eye roll. “But you do it even if they don’t want it.”

With his breathing returning to normal, the space between you fell quiet. When it was clear you weren’t planning to speak anytime soon, he refocused his attention on the skyline, watching as the sky slowly became more and more orange, the sun nearly hiding behind the mountains. It was cooling down, but with summer nearly there, it created the perfect balmy weather to cause mischief late at night. In the distance, he could hear the faint hooting of an owl, from the forest or the school’s owlery, he wasn't sure, and the faint rustling of leaves. It was peaceful up here.

“Did he tell you?” Your voice startled him out of his thoughts, his body jerking.

“What?” If you felt him move, you didn’t show it.

“Sirius. Did he tell you what happened?”

“Not in so many words,” James said, purposefully vague. He felt bad being deceitful, but he had no idea how to explain his predicament, not when you were wringing your hands together like that, body hunching in on itself, like it was trying to hide how vulnerable you were. And, when you took a deep breath, James understood then that you were about to tell him something important, something life changing.

“He was always there. The Ancient and Noble House of Black always needed to be seen, especially at those parties, but I never really interacted with him. Too famous to be seen speaking to my family, or too busy playing the role of a Pureblood Heir to step away from his parents.” You sighed, crossing your arms, leaning your hip against the railing to look at James. His eyes were wide with innocent curiosity. “Sirius was the one who found me on the verge of jumping off the balcony that summer night.”

“Merlin--” He couldn’t believe how nonchalantly you were acting, as if you hadn’t just revealed your most vulnerable moment to him. You plowed on before he could do something embarrassing, like care for you.

“I had just met my soon to be fiance, all leering and wandering hands, and it was too much. The idea of being sold off like cattle, to be a possession instead of my own person, I always knew that’s where my life would end up but…”

It came as no surprise to you that when you started talking, the story seemed to tumble out without you wanting the full truth to be revealed. It came to him suddenly, the realization that this was probably the first time you ever said it out loud, the only person you probably ever felt close enough to tell, Sirius, being there that night meant he already knew everything from his perspective. The hurt in your voice, the emotion you usually kept locked away behind that Slytherin facade, on full display, made it impossible not to react, even though there was a very Sirius-like voice telling him to let you come to him. He couldn’t stop himself, though, when he reached out when you told him about how you screamed that night, brandishing your wand, even as the old coot laughed. He watched as you described the moment they left, your parents doing nothing but laughing along with your dear fiance, leaving you with nothing but the night air, you climbed up, the least graceful thing you had done in who knows however many years, and tipped forward. His hand latched onto yours, the same way he would have that night if he was there.

He tried not to react as you explained how Sirius’ hands clasped around your legs before you could fall, using his momentum to pull you back onto him and the solid ground. You told him how your arms scraped painfully against the stone balcony, but Sirius’ body took most of the brunt of your fall. You could barely hear what Sirius had said at the time over the ringing in your ears, too shocked at the fact that you were alive, that you didn’t fall, didn’t crash into the floor below like you so wanted, too overwhelmed to hear him yelling at you. 

James did the only thing he could and held your hand tighter, keeping you with him, instead of getting swept up in the memory.

He could hear how you tried to keep your voice as even as possible as you spoke, not daring to show any more emotion than you had to, but James could tell. He couldn’t stop his face from contorting in disgust as you described the way your fiance spoke. He felt his eyes widened as you spoke about standing on the edge of the balcony, staring at the sky and not daring to look down. He nearly wept as you described Sirius’ warm embrace, the only thing that kept you grounded at the time. And when you finished, telling him you had to return to normal the following day, hiding what almost happened, he pulled you into his warm hug before he could stop himself.

“James, it’s alright,” you reassured, patting his back as if he was the one who just bared his heart and past, soothing him as best you could.

“It’s not alright!” Though his words were firm, they were not unkind. He pulled away, bringing your hand to his chest, willing you to feel the way it was thumping wildly. “You--you…!”

“It’s all in the past now.”

“The thought that I might never have met you…” He felt you starting to shake, eye swimming with doubt and hesitance.

“...what?”

“You mean so much to me.” His words rattled you, he could tell, but it was nothing compared to the pure determination in his face, not a hint of regret or ulterior motive to be seen. He meant every word. He had to show you he meant every word.

“You hardly know me--”

“Don’t do that,” he begged, his voice coming out weaker than he intended, but there was no way he would be harsh to you now, not after you bared your soul, not while you try to return to that apathetic life you had adapted to for survival over the years. Not if he could help it. “I know you know I’m being sincere. And you know I know you far better than you wish.”

“...what do you want me to say?”

“Say you’ll marry me.”

“What?!” He pulled your hand closer, keeping you as close as you’d allow.

“Not now. Not in five years, not even in ten, not if you don’t want to. But be with me, in any way you’re willing.” Your eyebrows furrowed.

“If this is some cheap Gryffindor chivalry--”

“Not this. Not with you.” He pulled you closer, willing himself not to get his hopes up as you allowed yourself to be pulled a breath away. “I like you. I like you so much I feel my heart beat faster than any Quidditch game would ever make it feel, like it’ll pop out of my chest and flutter around telling everyone who’ll listen how much it feels for you.” You flush at his blatant confession. “I hate your fiance with every fiber of my being for ever making you feel like you don’t have a choice. For making you feel so trapped that you would rather…die,” —his tongue tripped over the word, too overcome with the implication to say it without flinching— “than go through with your marriage.”

“James…”

“It’s not the way I wanted to confess,” he joked sheepishly, before morphing his expression into the most earnest he could will it. “My heart is yours, in any way you want it.”

“I don’t…--”

“I’m offering myself to you,” he clarified earnestly, even as your expression faltered. He lowered his eyes to look at your clasped hands. “Use me however you like. I know Pureblood customs, and this is the way you can get out of it. Marry me, and do whatever you like. Move across the world, or stay by my side. Godric, we could even marry now and divorce immediately if you want!” He met your eyes again. “I just want you to be happy.” 

The silence continued to stretch and stretch. In the last few months of teasing, it was rare you didn’t have some sort of quip to put James back in his place, but now, it seems you didn’t have a single word to say.

He knew it was stupid, the way he said it. But, the words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. Asking you for something simple like puppy love wasn’t going to cut it, not when your very freedom was on the line. As much as James could see himself loving you (he wasn’t entirely convinced he wasn’t already), you didn’t have the luxury of time, not the kind that James wanted to worship you, to prove his earnest feelings the way he knew his parents had, the way Sirius planned to show Remus. But the one thing he could do was make a promise to himself that you would never have to feel stuck again. 

The longer the silence lasted, the more James felt his cheeks redden in embarrassment. 

“I’ve just made a fool of myself, haven't I? I’m sorry, I don’t know what I’m saying, and Sirius always said I needed to work on my impulse--”

His knees almost gave out from under him, your clasped hands the only thing keeping him from doing so.

Your lips were softer than he imagined.

______________________________________________________________

Sirius is one of your best friends. Well, maybe best friend wasn’t the best way to put it. Sirius was the light of your life, the reason you were able to hold out for as long as you did, a comfort in the dreary place you called home. He was the one who kept you company at stuffy Pureblood events, dressed in clothes that only fit if you stayed as still as possible. He was the one who gave you reassuring looks from across the room as your parents paraded you around the room, sickly fake smiles on their faces that would drop the moment you returned back home. He made those parties somewhat enjoyable as he mocked those around him with little to no tack behind their backs, easily slipping into rehearsed conversation when they looked towards him again. He was the one who would cut into your dances as much as he could, even if customs looked down on him for doing so, just to make sure you didn’t end up in the arms of a Pureblood twice your age, the type who would grab at your hips in a possessive way and allude to buying you from your parents (because, let’s be honest, being on the marriage market in your circle was nearly the same as being cattle put up for auction). 

He was the bane of your existence when you were younger. Your parents had always pursued the best course to elevate the family status, jumping from family to family, pledging their loyalty to the highest bidder until they found something better, turning their back without another word. It was obvious, to everyone else around, that your family’s loyalty was like holding water, but with their seemingly random ways of knowing exactly when to jump ship, you were able to keep your head above water with minimal problems. You’ve had more marriage arrangements than most, paraded around every party your parents could make their way into, forced into hundreds of different robes until you could barely remember what any of them looked like. 

The Ancient and Noble House of Black was one of the many families your parents tried to cozy up to. It was, to your relief, they were much too confident in themselves to stoop so low as to interact beyond pleasantries with your parents, but it happened frequently enough that you and Sirius came to know each other's faces. Two scared children, standing stiff as a board beside their parents, flicking eyes to judge the other silently. By the time Sirius had decided he wanted to distance himself from his parents, you had already spent too many years glaring at each other to have anything beyond acknowledgement of the others existence.

It was why, when you parents not so subtly berated you at a summer function, you were mortified it was Sirius who found you. The summer before your first year, before the only bit of freedom you ever dared to have, it was no wonder you got a little cocky. The scoff was nothing, easily passed up as a sneeze or a cough, but your parents were furious, hurling hate at you as soon as they got you alone. Your arm still stung from where they had dragged you, wanting to get as much distance from the party as possible to not embarrass them even more, and your eyes burned with unshed tears. You were eleven.

Sirius found you that night, curled up on the floor only minutes after your parents were done with you. They commanded you to remain in the room for the rest of the night, staying far away from any other potential allies, and to hide the disarray they left you in. He rushed into the room without a care to look around, out of breath as if he’d been running, closing the door with a soft click, obviously trying to get some privacy. He leaned against it for a moment, taking a deep lungful of air, before turning. He stopped still when he saw you on the floor.

Neither said a word. Sirius stayed frozen for far too long, eyes flickering between you and the rest of the room, obviously at a loss for what to do. You tried to scooch away from him, but the pain was too much to hide, and a whimper escaped your lips. It was then that Sirius noticed the small drip of blood from your nose, a sign of something he knew all too well. With a pitying look, one you met with a hateful glare, he approached, hand fumbling with the handkerchief from his pocket. You flinched when he reached down, but he only held your chin gently, whipping the blood from your upper lip. He left without another word.

It was a miracle you were able to make it home that night without any further incident. Your parents cooled down, none the wiser to Sirius’s intervention, and prepped you for the next party. The Black’s were there too, of course, but you were far too embarrassed to look Sirius in the eye. But he simply gave you a soft smile and tilt to his head, keeping his pleasantries boring and impersonal. You were surprised, and suspicious. 

That is, until Sirius showed up at the last party of the summer with a slight limp and the smallest bit of blood still on his nostril, that understanding overcame you, and you gave him the subtlest of nods, passing a napkin over with the twitch of your nose. From then on, an unspoken pact formed between the two of you.

No words were exchanged during the school year. With Sirius entering Gryffindor, a fact you were both pleased with - a true escape from the pureblood nonsense - and devastated by - you were hoping to have an ally -, it was hard to justify talking to him. Winter and Summers were the only times you were able to sneak a small conversation here and there, but, for someone who loved the sound of their own voice, Sirius was surprisingly good at having a whole conversation with you with just his eyes. It was ridiculous, but for whatever reason, you began to trust Sirius Black.

It was why, during one of the worst moments of  your life, you were glad it was him who found you.

Sirius was there when  you were on the verge jumping off the balcony that summer night, your parents just having informed you they promised you to a man who could have been your grandfather. The man had leered at you when they left you alone, forcing himself onto you, grabbing everything that would eventually, legally, be his to possess. When you screamed, brandishing your wand, even though it had been drilled into your mind never to pull your wand on a Pureblood of higher status, the man laughed, a vile laugh that made your bones shake, and told you to get all the attitude out of your body before you walked down the aisle; he would not tolerate anything after that. The moment he stepped out, leaving you with nothing but the night air, you unconsciously turned to look at the stars. It was something of comfort, to find a constant like the stars. You took a moment, memorizing them one last time, before climbing up, the least graceful thing you had done in who knows however many years. Your uneven heels rocked you back and forth, a melancholy waltz, before you tipped forward.

Sirius’ hands clasped around your legs before you could fall, using his momentum to pull you back onto him and the solid ground. Your arms scraped painfully against the stone balcony, tearing through the delicate gloves on your hands and shredding your fine clothes, but Sirius’ body took most of the brunt of your fall. You could barely hear him over the ringing in your ears, too shocked at the fact that you were alive, that you didn’t fall, didn’t crash into the floor below like you so wanted, too overwhelmed to hear him yelling at you, wondering what you were thinking by standing on the ledge like that. Yelling at you for almost taking your life. Your gloves slowly dotted red, then black, as your tears joined to create the most unusual canvas of dotted pain. Suddenly it was too hard to breathe, to let out anything but a wail of despair, enough to render even the great Sirius, the man who always had something to say, to say nothing at all.

He did the only thing he could think of, the only thing he ever wanted anyone to do for him. He grabbed you and held you tight as you sobbed into his arms, begging not to be the one to save your family from ruin, begging to just let everything burn to the ground, setting your body alight so there would be nothing left to touch. 

He held you there until the morning light started to peak over the horizon, letting you cry until there was nothing but dry heaves left, until you were too weak to do more than finally let yourself completely rely on him to keep you propped up. Quietly and gently, more than you had ever been afforded before, he helped you stand, flooing the two of you back to your house. Your parents were already fast asleep, too high on the success of setting you up with a match that would bring riches to your decaying family once more to really care where you went. They knew, just as you did, there was nowhere for you to go but the path they made just for you. Sirius shooed away the only remaining awake House Elf to draw you a bath.

“I find that it helps,” he whispered, voice low in order to not bring any unwanted attention. “Hot water does wonders for shaky nerves.” 

He moved with practiced ease, steps so quiet you could barely hear the squeak of shiny dragonhide shoes, voice clear was quiet. It was in that moment that you realized he was just like you, trapped in a home that weighed so heavily you could do nothing but let it mold you or crush you, where punishment was more common than gratitude. You noticed the telltale shake of his hands, the same ones you had, the same ones many of your fellow Slytherin’s had - the ones that came from prolonged and constant exposure to punishment curses. 

But the smile he gave you that night was nothing but warmth, a rarity in your inner circle. He helped you with your outer layer of clothes, mindful of the way all your strength seemed to have disappeared, turning his head away to give you the illusion of privacy. When he gave you a tight lipped smile, bowing the way so many Purebloods were taught to do on their departure, you panicked, grabbing onto his arm so tightly you nails dug into his skin.

“No, please,” you begged. Tomorrow, you would be proud. Tomorrow, you would hold yourself up once more as you always did, no sign of insecurity to be seen. But today? Today, you had already wasted your will and composure. What was one more unrealistic wish? “Don’t leave me. I…I can’t-”

“Woah! Okay, okay. I won’t leave. I’m right here.” He flushed when you disrobed in front of him, but didn’t let go of your hand, helping you into the steaming bath. The two of you stayed in silence, either too scared to speak or too ashamed, but never letting go. When it was clear you were too overwhelmed to clean yourself, he used his free hand to run a gentle lather over your exposed skin, too delicate to do anything but provide the smallest amount of additional comfort. You fell asleep that night, warmed to your core, at ease for the first time in years.

And when he appeared at the party the following day, his usual smirk gone, in too much pain to do anything but whisper the punishment his parents saw fit to give him after staying out past curfew, it was all too easy to offer the same comfort.

You were there to have an escape from the countless Mother’s trying for his hand, and he was there to deter any more conversations with your fiance. He jostled you jokingly if he caught you in the hallways in between classes, and you always made sure to swing by the Gryffindor table on the way to your own to pinch him in return. On bad days, you seeked each other out, thankfully not needing the bath as neither of your parents could touch you while safe within the walls of Hogwarts. Instead you snuck into the kitchen, snacking on sweet things and improper treats, the kind which you’d never find back home. 

Sirius spoke of his friends often, of the comfort they brought him, of the promises they’d kept to always make him feel wanted. Remus was his love, you were his heart, and James…James was his light. He always spoke of James with such awe, reaching his hands out like he was cupping the summer sun in his hands in the only way he could describe his best friend. James made him laugh, made him feel like the cruelty of the world was just a shadow rather than a looming cloud, and made every tomorrow feel joyous rather than dreadful. Even though he had to return him every summer, James was there to hold his hand until he got there, and was the reason Sirius wasn’t being crushed under the pressure of defying his family. Your heart stung when Sirius talked about James, wanting to be that person for him, but with your darkness, there was nothing so bright you could do. If James was Sirius’s sun, and Remus his moon, you were happy to be his stars. Always there, but never the focus.

And then you met James, and everything Sirius said made sense.

The night James confessed to you, it was as if your world was suddenly lit by beaming rays of light when all you ever had were torches. Once the story started, you couldn’t stop. It was the first time, the only time, when you felt you truly had someone who would listen when you spoke your horrible truth, to someone who would actually care what happened to you. Your dormmates knew, but their stories were too alike to your own to be needed to be said aloud. Sirius was there, he was always there, but James…James was new. James was unpredictable, and brash, and quick tempered, and an idiot, but he was also warm. So very warm, that it felt like being gazed upon by the sun when you met eyes. His touch did far more to help than laying outside on a summer day, and when you’re with him, it felt, for the first time, that not everything was tainted by darkness. Even Sirius, your most beloved friend, was no stranger to it. 

So, when James pulled you into his warm hug, the kind that promised things would be okay, even if you were sure it never would be, you latched on, and never let go.

______________________________________________________________

His mask was always on.

You knew better than anyone it was a physical reminder of his guarded heart, the years of trauma and suffering he endured, the hope for himself to take whatever broken parts of himself he could and piece together someone who could help the world. Only getting thicker with each year, the mask was his reminder to protect those who needed it. Including himself.

Hard to know what a person is thinking without seeing their face, right? Simon Riley was an enigma.

But there was something in the way his eyes moved, the way they would follow as you walked around the room, carefully putting away his gear into a neat pile as he disrobed. Sitting at the end of your shared bed, he was a hulking specimen of a man. You couldn’t help but notice how his shoulders slumped forward in exhaustion, flickering to them for a moment before returning to your task.

You couldn’t look him in the eyes, not yet. That didn’t stop you from being able to feel them burning into you though.

After years of practice, he didn’t need to look to be able to know what button to press in what order, what hook to pull, what buckle to unsnap to free himself of his gear. He was meticulous, as with everything else he did, but his eyes were the only thing to betray his stoic personality. He watched you with a deep gaze as you silently took care of him like it was no big deal. Like it wasn’t making his hands tremble the slightest bit. How long has he been gone? How many nights apart from you? And how long was he allowed to stay before his phone crackled to life and he was whisked away on another endless journey? You didn’t want to know.

Neither did he, to be honest.

His eyes were trying to catch every little detail into his memory so he could pretend your time apart didn’t feel as long as it did. Your hair was different, he noted, and your nails were painted a different color. He didn’t recognize the pajamas you were wearing, nor the new pair of shoes that were by the door. Changes, changes, changes. He couldn’t help but notice them. He faintly recalls a story he read long ago, about a painting that changed every day despite it being impossible. You were just as beautiful as he remembers, just…different.

Your mannerisms, however, were completely the same. You skillfully tucked straps away, folded his padded vest just so, and even carefully untied the laces on his boots so they could slide off with little effort. You were kneeling in front of him now, pushing the boots to the side, making sure to wind the laces together and place them inside so they wouldn’t go everywhere on the floor. Simon couldn’t take his eyes off of you, not for a second. How he had missed you. He felt like a schoolboy again, tilting his head softly to and fro in order to catch your eyes. To get you to look at him for a single second, to feel relieved that you were here and you were safe.

Your eyes trailed up from his feet to his knees and thighs, no doubt looking for any new or reopened injuries. Your fingers carefully skimmed behind them. Wary. His skin erupted in goosebumps wherever you touched. You moved up higher, gently moving over his stomach towards his side where his latest injury was. Without even looking at his face, you could see the flinch in his body as you grazed the stitches over his shirt, only recently been patched up. You leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to his side, a silent apology (for what, he didn’t know). He almost smiled to himself. No doubt you were looking for anything he might have “forgotten” to tell the medic. Wouldn’t be the first time he hurried his own examination along to get the nurses to his teammates faster. After all, why waste their time on tiny cuts and bruises when he could simply come home to you and be showered in love and care he spent every waking moment craving. His hands were clenching against the blankets.

You continued on. Your fingers gently ran along his knuckles, gentle kisses of your fingers against hands that were trained to kill. That has killed. You didn’t even flinch, moving both your hands to his arms, gracefully sliding them up and up and your kisses continued on their trail from his injury. To his ticklish side, his rib cage, a cheeky one to his peck, and up and up until they reached the edge of his mask. His breath hitched. Years, he’s known you, and for years he’s trusted you. You know this. Know that this man trusts you with his life, a testament to the fact that you were one of the rare people to see his face (and more than once at that). But you still feel a little hurt when he flinches at your cold fingers sliding underneath it to press on either side of his neck.

Afraid. Closed off.

You gently nose your way up, running it along his face until your finally, finally, eye to eye. He’s hunched over so your neck isn’t cramping as much as you continue to kneel on the floor, and despite his large stature and the sheer predatory aura he emits without thinking, you can see his vulnerable eyes as they bleed into yours. You can see his struggle, the silent argument he’s having in his head to fight the instinct he’s carried with him for years and let you strip him bare. You press a gentle kiss to his cloth-covered lips, a silent acceptance. You love him, and will love him, no matter what. His lips chase yours as you pull away, his eyes flickering desperately for a second before he registers your resolve.

Ah. You want to help him.

Slowly, you lean down again, pressing your lips to the space at the end of his mask. Between his shirt and the mask is a sliver of skin that you greedily nibble at. He sighs, a smile sneakily tugging at the corner of his mouth. Little by little your kisses and nibbles push the cloth up, revealing more and more for your gentle kisses to attack. They’re light and delicious and Simon can’t seem to get enough, moving his hands to grasp at anything he can reach in order to pull you toward him in a desperate attempt for you to do more. More kisses, more affection, more love. More, more, more.

Your nose tickles his jawline, and he tickles you in return with his unshaven shadow. His breath hitches as the mask slips past his lips. He nearly doesn’t realize your lips attached themselves to his to replace the scratchy material that had just pushed past them. You kiss like you’re in a rush, a gasp of heavenly air after being trapped underwater for a second longer than comfortable. He makes a sound at the back of his throat that, should he have been a lesser man, he would have blushed at. He tries to desperately pull you closer, despite your body already being pressed against his chest, his arms nearly encircling your like a snake around its prey.

Once again you pull away too soon for his liking, leaving him breathless and wanting more. Your lips continue upwards, kissing his nose and the rosy apples of his cheeks as they are revealed. The room feels sweltering, but he can’t let you go. Not now, not after remembering what it’s like to have you in his arms. He has to close his eyes as the mask pushes over them. Your lips kiss each one before he’s able to open them again. You continue even into his hairline, pressing affectionate kisses there until the mask has been pushed completely away. It falls onto the bed behind him. For something that controls his day to day life, Simon easily forgets it in lue of bringing you back to his lips once more. You giggle quietly against his mouth as he attacks you.

Kissing you is like a fantasy he never believed was possible, and desperately, desperately, he wants to memorize each and every detail. He nearly eats you whole, and you’re nearly tempted to let him. He doesn’t attempt to stop the soft sounds that escape him as you once again pull away from him. Your smile is an easy Simon forgiveness pass. He can’t find it in himself to stay upset, especially not as you press one more kiss to his lips before standing, tugging on his hand in order to get him to follow you to the bath.

With his mask completely gone, you finally get to appreciate the small smile that morphs across his face, his adoring eyes saying everything you needed to hear. I missed you. I love you. Your Simon.

There's a really cute guy on your bus ride. Like, not just a fleeting, ‘eyes skimmed and appreciated and moved on’, but more of a ‘eyes skimmed, couldn’t comprehend what it saw, near whiplash to make sure I’m seeing what I’m seeing’ cute. He wasn’t looking at anyone near him, but the way he fluidly moved with the bus and the people around him made it clear he was more observant than his relaxed stance appeared. He was looking out the window, the sun shining just right on his face so every sharp angle was highlighted, his eyes sparkling as they watched the passing scenery. Eyelashes long enough to question if they were real or not barely fluttered as things whipped by, and didn’t move in any way to indicate he knew you were staring (which was impressive because you had been staring at him for just a tad bit too long at this point, and oh god, why won’t you look away? This has to be getting weird right?). His hair was dorky in an endearing way, spiked up in all directions, though it didn’t look like he had to use any product to get it that way. Effortless, just like the rest of him. 

You were rather reluctant to come all the way out to the countryside for your summer vacation. To be completely honest, you nearly burst into tears when your parents decided you would go help out your grandparents for the summer, needing to ship you away while they went to whatever new conference they needed to attend. Plans that had been in the works for months suddenly went down the drain, and there was nothing you could do about it. You loved your grandparents, you really did, and their adorable farm on the outskirts was often a great place to get away and relive old memories. But, to be honest, there hasn’t been anything fun to do down there in years. You were older now, nearly the age where you would set out on your own adventure with all the freedoms and restrictions adulthood provided, which meant that you were much too old to be digging around in muddy creeks to look for frogs, or dressing up in ridiculous outfits to entertain your grandparents’ many friends. Both of those memories forced a shiver up your spine. If they made you reenact The Princess and the Frog again…

That was what most of the bus ride had consisted of, reliving old memories and having to physically stop your face from contorting by squeezing your hands together, until just as you were pulling into the town center, the cutest guy you had ever seen sat right across from you without warning. Your long stare was interrupted by his very being, and the way the sun haloed his head almost made you question if you were witnessing a real encounter with an angel on Earth. To be fair, you were sleep-deprived, barely managing to hop on this bus before it left the train station, bag being hastily shoved back together when it popped open from the force of your desperate attempt to get aboard. A complete mess, for lack of a better description. And here was some guy at… 5:30 am (?!?) looking like he was one wardrobe change away from walking down the runway. He definitely caught your eye, to which you hastily looked away, trying as hard as you could to will the universe into help you this one time in making the cutest guy you’ve ever seen not remember the person who made a fool of themselves by ogling at him with drool dried to the side of their face. 

Now you think the universe listened a little too hard. Of all the things to really pay attention to, it had to be your wish to be forgotten by Bus Boy (Vehicle Man? Beautiful Stranger? Hot Farmer? Angel Guy? You had yet to come up with a good enough name to describe him), and not any of the other countless wishes you made before getting onto that fateful bus. You’re a little embarrassed to admit, but ever since that original meeting, you’ve been trying to get a second chance at a first impression. Any errand your grandparents needed to do, you were the first to volunteer. Grocery shopping, delivering or picking up from friends, even going as far as going back to the train station to pick up an emergency order, all to get a glimpse at your cute Bus Boy. It was even expected at this point, no one asking before dumping something in your hands with the shared bus pass placed on top. It was mortifying the teasing that came with it now, most of your family, and their friends, figuring someone was the reason why you were too excited to head into town, despite the many, many excuses you came up with to justify your actions (you were pretty proud of yourself for some of them, but, alas, your family is too romantic to want to believe anything else). 

In the least creepy way possible, and with a lot of trial and error (which is also definitely not creepy), you were starting to notice a pattern in his daily routine. He rode the bus at an ungodly hour in the morning, seeming to head from the larger town to the farmland on the outskirts, getting on long before you would and a handful of stops before you, which made it difficult to see him then. In the afternoons, it seemed like he was the same type of errand boy you were, whether by choice or not you weren’t sure, but he rarely carried anything with him and it was a completely random chance that you would see him. At night, or, really, around sunset, he would be on the bus headed back towards the town, seemingly going home. 

This seemingly random schedule, and the complete opposite nature of your bus routes, made it nearly as hard to avoid him as it was to see him. It seemed almost karma in nature the way he would always show up on days you weren’t feeling your best, just trying to get in and out or not bothering to put any effort into your appearance, and those instances where you were feeling great, on top of the world in confidence, he was nowhere to be seen. 

Which is, of course, how you ended up here, staring (gawking) at him on the hottest day of the year. This had to be the ultimate punishment, all that complaining from the beginning of summer and the secret wish you had that something, anything, would prevent you from being forced to the outskirts of civilization topped with the fact that you’re kinda sorta stalking this guy who, let’s be real, has no clue you exist. 

It was the most brutal day of your stay so far, being sent to your grandfather's close friend to help them move some things around. Easy enough, right? Wrong. It was only after you got there that they dared to tell you that they needed the entirety of their old shack emptied so they could tear it down to build a new one. Very exciting for them, a very mud-covered day for you. There wasn’t much you could do to salvage your clothes from the brunt of it, completely stiff from the dirt and grass and just years of grime that thrived in that neglected shed. One tumble involving a rusted bucket of mystery liquid destroyed your pants and shoes, and an accidental bump into a support beam sent a rain of rotten wood to really add to the whole experience. The couple was nice enough to send you back in some spare clothes so you wouldn’t dirty the bus with the worst of it, but you must have been a sight anyway because not a single person on the entire ride back had the decency to look subtly. The pants fit, thankfully, but they were bright pink and fuzzy, and the shirt was an old button-up that was nearly as ratty as the ruined clothes in the plastic bag by your foam sandal-covered feet.

To be honest, you were near tears, feeling pathetic.

And to make matters worse, Bus Boy, naturally, had to make an appearance and kill any happiness you hoped to find at the end of a grueling day. Sitting prettily, taking a break from the newspaper spread across his lap to watch the passing landscape, like some artist's wet dream. What were the odds that he was going to be on this stupid bus, far later than he ever did, passing all his usual stops, prolonging this horrible moment? You wanted to curl up into a ball, but there was also something healing about staring at this beautiful man that made breathing simultaneously easier and harder. 

Now that you were looking closer, you could tell something was a little…off. What it was, you weren’t completely sure, but his usual relaxed stance was a little stiff, kind of like he was getting ready to bolt the moment the door opened. Honestly, you were surprised every time the doors opened and he remained where he was, just as tense, if not more, as the minutes passed. 

Not that you were looking that closely, of course.

The one mission you had currently was to make it off the bus before he could get a good look at you. Not that you had any idea if he noticed you, before today or even right now, but the idea that maybe this could be your second first impression made you nearly jumpy as he looked. After that initial gawking session, you would only let your eyes pass briefly over his, just to make sure he wasn’t looking at you, before returning to look towards the front of the bus, willing it to go just a little faster. Of all the days to have Bus Boy ride past his usual stop, it had to be today. Your hands couldn’t sit still in your lap, one too many passes over your face has made it impossible to figure out if you just added more dirt or you were just that gross, and you had to force your leg to top bouncing because it kept nudging the bag at your feet, the crinkle of plastic booming in the nearly empty bus.

Then finally, finally, it pulled up to your stop. You were on your feet before the bus came to a complete halt, a rookie mistake as the doors always took a second longer to fully open, and, of course, Bus Boy had to be sitting right next to the exit. You bounced on the balls of your feet, the longest 4 seconds of your life. You couldn’t help it, casting one last look at the boy you had tried so hard to ignore all ride. And, to your horror, he was looking right back at you, stunning you into near rigor mortis. 

Cute? What was I thinking? This guy is gorgeous!

“I-” his soft voice started (of course he had to have a nice voice too, are you freaking kidding me-), but you didn’t look up, forcing your way through the door the second they were wide enough, calling out a thank you to the driver over your shoulder, practically sprinting down the hill to your temporary residence. You were absolutely mortified.

Megumi watched you bolt with wide eyes, a blush creeping up his cheeks. He slapped a hand over his mouth, hiding his expression from anyone who dared to look over at him. It was the only thing he could do to stop them from shaking.

It was how Yuuji and Nobara found him three stops later, his legs nearly jelly as they pushed himself off the bus and into the darkening evening. His tight grip on the wad of newspapers he brought was nearly humorous.

“Woah! What’s up with you?” Yuuji called, jogging up to meet him. He was carrying a bag bursting with snacks under his arm, bounding up to him in anticipation of the star gazing the three were going to do tonight. Nobara leisurely strolled up beside him, arms gently carrying a blanket Megumi recognized as Yuuji’s. Megumi shook his head once, twice, trying to snap himself out of the spell you had cast on him, instead taking a second look at the now obvious women’s bag his friend was carrying.

“What’s with the bag?”

“Oh! Nobara was complaining about her shoulder acting up again, so I offered to carry it for her.” Megumi side-eyed his other friend, who was skillfully dodging his gaze in favor of examining her nails. It’s more than three months now since Nobara injured her shoulder helping our Yuuji and his older brother Sukuna reinforce a collapsing wall in their house (she was excellent with a toolbox, though it was rare for her to do any of the actual dirty work), a minor injury that didn’t even have her hospitalized, but every once in a while her shoulder will mysteriously ‘act up’ and Yuuji, who was horrified that his friend was injured in any capacity helping him, immediately is at her beck and call. “Gojo and the rest say hi, by the way. We passed each other on my way out, and he wanted me to bring you this.” Megumi rolled his eyes at the condom deposited in his hand.

“What an idiot.”

“He really is. Did he seriously think you’d have the courage to ask even though you’ve been creeping on them all summer without a word?” Megumi swung out his elbow, but Nobara simply sidestepped, putting Yuuji between the two of them.

“Shut up.”

“What, was your beautiful angel even more breathtaking today that you couldn’t ask them to come?” Nobara teased. Yuuji laughed, jostling Megumi to match the goofy atmosphere. After all, it wasn’t every day that their cool and collected friend looked as vulnerable as he felt. 

Megumi hesitated, recalling immediately the adorable shyness you displayed today, something he hadn’t seen since that first night he saw you. Your face was covered in dirt, obviously exhausted, and in clothes that were definitely not yours. He easily remembered your flushed face as you made eye contact, the longest he’d had the pleasure to hold. He felt a pleasant shiver run up his spine.

“Yeah. Something like that,” he mumbled, his cheeks flaming bright pink. His companions didn’t give him a moment of peace, hounding him immediately for his more than obvious crush. Megumi rolled his eyes at them, chucking the unneeded (but not unwanted) condom in the trash as he ushered them to start their climb up the hill.

Next time, he thought, falling into step with his laughing friends. Next time, he’ll pluck up the courage to finally ask you to hang out outside your near-daily bus rides. And, while he’s at it, tell you just how beautiful you are.

______________________________________________________________

Love him to death, but there was only so much Ronald Weasley Harry could put up with. His best friend, to be fair, was a teenage boy with about 8 times the usual amount of sibling jealousy coursing through his veins which made him act irrationally more times than not. And, no doubt being best friends with the Boy Who Lived, the Chosen One, the Savior of the World, the Boy With the Scar - you get the picture - made those jealous spikes just a tad worse, especially now that his Mum saw Harry as one of her own children. So, Harry being the good friend he was, something he said to himself to justify his action, tried his best to be on his good side, sometimes bending to his will more than a standard friend would. Hermione, for instance, never made him feel like he couldn’t spend his money on an expensive new pair of Quidditch gloves, or a Wireless to keep up with the news. A glare, maybe, if the purchase was a little reckless, but that was her just looking out for him. Ron on the other hand…

Harry knew it was selfish, to want to spend the money he had on anything he wanted, but having grown up with nothing to his name, objects found themselves being a nice, new addition to his wizarding life. He got into the habit of buying two of everything, just to make sure Ron felt included. Ron’s bashful smile was more often than not a nice reprieve from his unknowing jealous glare.

All this being said, there has been a lot Harry had learned to keep private. Yes, the big things are harder, he still remembers the outraged look on his face when Harry told him about making Seeker, but the smaller things, those have gotten easier to cover up. Spending more time with Hermione? Easy deflection towards Ron’s recent tutoring sessions. Got a high mark on an essay? Ron trusts his word enough that paper proof is not even needed. Getting along better with the twins? He volunteered to be their new test subject so Ron didn’t have to.

Harry does feel a little bad. Should it be this easy to lie to your friends?

If that wasn’t enough, Harry was starting to feel strangely proud about being able to navigate his way through Ron’s troubled attitude. After all, a year ago he couldn’t imagine being so cunning without the fear and shame of deceit. 

Peering across the Great Hall, he locked eyes with a certain green-tied classmate, blushing to the tips of his ears when he was met with a wink.

“Maybe if you followed the essay plan I made you, you wouldn’t be so far behind,” Hermione snarked, flicking her pen accusatorily at Ron across the table. Ron grumbled, waving the feathers away from his face.

“I can’t help it, ‘Mione! You have to admit that even you struggle to stay awake in History of Magic. It’s bloody awful,”

“Some of us actually like to learn, and any subject is interesting if you find something you like.” Harry could barely hear her, too preoccupied with the gentle smile he got in response to his goofy one.

“That’s not fair! You like to learn and you think everything is bloody interesting.” Ron huffed again, pushing away the heavily edited draft Hermione was passing over. “Let me get one minute of peace, at least while we eat. It’s nearly Christmas anyway, no one even cares about papers right now.” Harry subtly caught the flying kiss that was sent in his direction, mouthing ‘Seeker’ with a devilish  The responding giggle made his heart flutter.

“Yes, they do! There’s a reason we get work over the holiday, mind you, because they want us to learn as much as possible before exams.”

“You’re being ridiculous! Binns is just as excited for the break as we are, he’s not going to expect O level work.”

“He’s a ghost, Ronald! And he doesn’t even celebrate Christmas.”

“Harry!” This made Harry finally peel his eyes away, jumping out of his skin now that he realized that both of his friends were eyeing him. “...what are you doing?”

“What?”

“Were you looking at…the Slytherin table?” Ron’s face only looked so disgusted for two reasons - when he thinks about his time belching slugs, and when he thinks about Slytherins. Harry’s knee started to bounce involuntarily.

“Just trying to get a rise out of, uh, Malfoy, you know. Not important. What were you two saying?” Ron looked mildly skeptical, but there was a little twinkle in his look at the prospect of annoying Malfoy. He spared a single glance to the other table - crap! Malfoy wasn’t even looking in this direction, let alone pissed at all - before deciding it wasn’t worth the extra thought.

“Tell Hermione she’s crazy for wanting to work so close to Christmas.”

“No, tell Ronald that he is going to get a T if he continues to do work like this.” The two stared at him, both daring him to oppose them. Harry scratched the back of his neck, guilty pushing a breath between his teeth.

“Please don’t get me involved with this.” He was thankful that Ron’s betrayed look didn’t affect him as much as it used to, but Hermione’s glare still made his blood run cold. There was something, however, in his eyes that made him suspicious.

“Since you both insist on sacrificing your grades before the holidays, I’m going to the library alone. You can finish your paper on your own!” Ron’s eyes widened, scrambling to grab his things as Hermione stomped away.

“Bloody-” Harry narrowly dodged an elbow, though his lap did get a nice Yorkshire pudding companion in Ron’s haste, “I can’t believe you’re not coming with us to the Burrow. I’m going to be stuck with that all break!” Harry snickered, reaching across the table for a napkin.

“Just be thankful she always ends up helping you anyway.” Ron’s bag fell one more time before he was finally able to pull himself away from the bench, racing out the door to beg Hermione for her help. Merlin knows what will happen if he brings back another P to his Mother.

In the chaos, there were still distinctly Ron things scattered around the table and floor. A quill, for one, and his Transfiguration textbook that Harry knew Ron would need by this afternoon. Harry chuckled to himself, bending down to pick up a fallen piece of paper, pointedly ignoring the little doodle of Hermione’s name with a heart. When he righted himself, he nearly jumped out of his skin. Across from him, with equally devastating smirks, were the infamous Weasley twins. Harry gulped.

“Ah. What can I do for you gentlemen on his fine day?” Harry asked awkwardly, shufflings Ron’s stuff into a pile just to have something to do other than admit that he was just a little bit nervous. Especially when the twins have that look.

“It’s the strangest thing, you know?” Fred started, leaning towards Harry. They boy didn’t dare speak, but leaned forward too, not knowing if he wanted to hear what would be said next.

“What is, Forge?” George said, mirroring his twin. They all looked a little silly, butting heads over the great, big table, but Harry couldn’t find himself laughing at the moment.

“Well, Gred, I think my eyes are started to trick me.”

“Trick you?!” George said in mock surprise. “Whatever could you mean by that?”

“What else could it be, if not trickery? You see, I was just enjoying my breakfast-”

“What a lovely breakfast it was, too.”

“=when I looked over and saw our very own Harrykins with bright red cheeks!”

“Bright red, you say?”

“As red as a baby’s bum!”

“Oh, my!” Harry felt his face burning once again.

“So I looked over-”

“And what did you see?”

“-to see our very own hero fraternizing with the enemy!”

“Wait!” Harry whispered, yanking them in closer. The devil twins had equally large smiles on their faces. He thought of coming up with an excuse for a split moment, but, Harry realized with dread, that those smiles only meant one thing - the twins already knew the answer and were only waiting for confirmation. Whether that confirmation was verbal or not was of little issue for them. A rock formed in his stomach. Knowing the twins, if they didn’t get an answer now… “No one can know.” At this, their eyebrows raised.

“Am I hearing things correctly?” Fred mimed cleaning his ear, George staring at him with blazing eyes. Harry gulped, nodding his head, unable to meet their eyes. Dread for inevitable pranks turned into dread at rejection, a bubbling fear that the twins would do what he always feared Ron would do one day, turn their backs on him.

“Our little Harrykins is all grown up!” George whispered loudly, ruffling Harry’s already crazy hair. Harry’s head shot up, looking up to see equally smiling faces. Mischievous, as always, but there was a certain softness at the corners. Harry’s confusion quickly covered all his other bad feelings. “Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with us.”

“...what?”

“I knew you were the savior type, but I didn’t know you’d go as far as actively searching a snake pit.” Fred’s wiggling eyebrows made Harry smile sheepishly.

“It wasn’t on purpose…an accidental meeting, if you will, last Christmas.”

“Oh, ho! We finally have the real reason Mother’s beloved adopted child is not joining us this year.” Harry blushed again. “Now, do we have to go over all the safety procedures of a healthy relationship, Can’t have our special boy be defiled by evil, now can we.”

“No, we can’t, Gred.” Their smiles turned devious again. “Now, what was it Father-dearest said to us? Oh yes, the contraceptive charm is very useful in these types of situations-”

“And you can never be too safe, so remember to take a potion afterwards-”

“Okay!” Harry yelled, standing up. He hastily gathered his and Ron’s items, hurrying to the door. “Thank you very much!”

“We haven’t even told you about the dangers of teen pregnancy.” One of them, Harry couldn’t care anymore, yelled at his back, the other cackling loudly.

“Or the dangers of STDs-”

“That’s quite enough, you two! 10 points of Gryffindor for inappropriate language.”

Harry dared to look over his shoulder at the green table across the room as he exited the grand doors, blushing, something he seemed to be doing a lot recently, when he locked eyes with the one pair he desperately wished wouldn’t have noticed the frankly humiliating interaction. The mischievous twinkle in them made Harry dread the teasing that would come, once most of the school left for the holiday and they were finally able to do more than exchange glances across a sea of unsuspecting classmates. Sappy as it was, Harry thought, he couldn’t wait.

______________________________________________________________

It was a privilege to live a whole life, Edward mused, gently folding another starch-stiff shirt, the cloth miraculously clean despite its many years being hidden away in this dusty attic. 

To be born, to grow, to run freely, to be burdened, to fall in love, to die. It was a privilege to have and lose and find and long and all things that make the soul feel like a tangible thing rather than a concept, some far-off idea that has been written and studied for years but has no real definition. It’s something that’s easy to forget. Those integral parts of life that make it worth living, or even just existing, blend into the everyday. To have a body and be in the world and struggle to understand it; those are what constitute a life.

Some humans believe that their life is composed of the various parts that make up the whole, parts that feel so vastly different that it’s almost like they were a completely different person. And who says they weren’t? A parent was once a child, a worker once carefree, a body once a cell. All are composed as a whole, but unique on their own. The thoughts that once consumed your entire life suddenly mean nothing at all. A person, once your entire life, becomes nothing but a memory. A decision made 10 years apart is filled with the knowledge and wisdom collected in between that didn’t exist before, so the outcome will always be different. 

To a vampire, one moment changed everything. Unlike the common human experience, the change blends so seamlessly into every single moment, every day, every year, every decision that it goes unnoticed until one trigger that causes a moment of reflection. To a vampire, that change is a blip in its life, but the difference is night and day. To go from one day being so afraid of death it drives you every decision, to all at once becoming death itself…

It feels unexplainable, no matter how many words you learn.

That struggle of how many different lives a human leads, those multiple that make up the whole, suddenly takes on new meaning. You were not what you once were, and yet, you will always be the same. To live so many years, to know that eternity is waiting, to not have the innate fear of living that most people do. What is the point of working to get better at something if there is no pressure to get it done? What is the point of surviving if the days endlessly bleed into each other until it feels like one never-ending film, an onlooker to your own life that should fill you with all of those wonderful mishmash emotions that somehow make meaning that only end up feeling forced or faked? Life is a constant existence of opposition.

At least, that was the only way Edward was able to think about it,

It was easy to fill those endless days at the beginning. At first, it was learning to control his most basic instincts, feeling more animal than human by knowing nothing but hunger and how to satiate it. While difficult, it was easier with the help of a devoted Father, something he only remembers vaguely craving in his past life, but Carlisle was a kind and patient teacher. It took many years, but slowly he was able to trade his nightly forest walks for afternoon city strolls, basking in the pockets of silence between crowds. An introduction of Mother returned him to his early years, craving her endless attention and spending as much time with her as possible, practically glued to her hip. Both son and teacher, Edward remembers fondly the first time they were able to sit at the park, hiding under the shade of the tree to lounge like the normal families around them. Esme had never looked happier. 

A “teenage crisis”, as his Mother calls it, a dark period of his life, that changed the course of his existence into a neverending spiral of self-loathing. It was easy to ride the wave of dulled distance that his vampire life brought him, to hide behind those emotions to justify his own actions, despite their now glaringly obvious atrocities. Sometimes he wishes he had those feelings again, just for a little while, just to break up the new dull that replaced the old.

 Anything, he sometimes thought, anything was better than apathy. 

It was now in that aftermath that he lived his timeless life. Try as he might to fill his life with something other than dullness, it never lasted long. 

He had to admit to loving the opportunities presented to him with these new hours. He was able to go back to school, relearn the things that slowly disappeared from his memory, and feel the joy of learning something new. He was able to rejoin Carlisle at the hospital again, just like old times, and actually do something to help people. He got to learn new skills and try new hobbies. He even got to lay in the sun for a whole day and not worry about dehydrating or starving or having to get up to use the bathroom to distract from the quiet serenity of nature. 

He loved the new family that found him. Esme and Carlisle guided him with a gentle hand and endless love. Two new women in his life, opposite in every way, Alice and Rosalie were like the sisters he never had, always keeping him on his toes, and annoyed him to no end. His newest brother, Jasper, grounded him while Emmett, his not-so-newest brother, pulled the rug out from under his feet, and both laughed when he made a fool out of himself. He loved them more than life itself. They gave him those precious fleeting moments of happiness, of distraction that kept him out of his own mind. Jasper placed a book in his hand, one selected from Carlisle’s suggestion, while Esme sat beside him, Alice humming quietly across the room as she worked, Emmett obnoxiously whittling next to her, while Rosalie indulged him in a boisterous argument about the newest passage he read. The family he didn’t feel he deserved, so he held onto it with all his might. 

He would do anything for his family. Anything.

Which, unfortunately, led him to help Esme with her latest project, the only one to really be doing any work at the moment. 

She was a kind Mother, probably kinder than she ought to be, what with 5 inhuman young adults running around the house. She let them have minimal chores during the school year so they could focus on school despite everyone’s insistence that they didn’t need the extra time, in exchange for every couple summers being asked to help sort out the house she was working on. It was surprising that she was keeping the tradition going, what with the abrupt change they had to do earlier this year that brought them back to a place they had stayed in less than 100 years ago. Not completely out of the ordinary, but Emmett needed time to heal, and the house was the closest that was ready to live in.

“We need some normality,” Esme mused as she planned the trip. “Well, as normal as a family like ours can. And this place was too beautiful to pass up!”

This year’s project was the furthest from their settlement yet, all the way in this sleepy town on the East Coast. Despite their return to Forks for the school year on the year prior, and the trend they’ve had for staying on the West Coast, there was something about this house that called out to Esme, so here they all were for the next week. The downstairs needed the most work, with crumbling walls and ivy growing out of every nook and cranny. Originally, there was no indicator that there was an attic, not until Emmett got a little too rough and accidentally uncovered the furniture-covered door. Straight out of an old novel, the wardrobe would have been too heavy for any normal human to move without help. The door was completely hidden behind the massive wooden case, not a hint that it was there, with a dented doorknob that suggested whoever placed the wardrobe all those years ago couldn’t care less about the state of the place. 

Esme had stepped out to grab some more spackle from the store, Alice accompanying her (claiming it was so that Esme would know exactly what brand would yield the best results even though this wasn’t the first home Esme restored and she already had a list of products she trusted). Rosalie had respectfully declined this trip, instead going to the vintage car show with Carlisle for their yearly father-daughter trip. That only left the three boys to make decisions while the usual leaders of the house were gone. 

It was moments like these that Edward really got to muse about the hilarity of his family's hierarchy. The three looked at each other, each gesturing for the other to walk up first, to make the first decision in a place none of them felt comfortable in. People? Leave that to Edward. Planning? Leave that to Jasper. Attacking? All Emmett. But knowing whether to go up a dilapidated flight of stairs into a very old-smelling attic in a home that was being restored? Well, that was out of any of their depths. 

“Are you getting any feelings?” Emmet whispered conspiratorily, his burnt orange eyes wide with the closest a vampire could have to fear. Jasper and Edward gave him a funny look. “What?! It’s a justified question.”

“I’m an empath, not an Anthropomorphist.” Emmet furrowed his brows.

“A what-?”

“It’s someone who attributes human traits, emotions, or intentions to non-human entities,” Edward replied.

“Okay, Mr.Dictionary.” Edward rolled his eyes and Emmet turned back to the blonde. “We’re vampires. You have powers. Can’t you get a feeling if it’s dangerous or not?”

“That’s just instincts. You have those.” Emmet sighed at his brother’s response.

“Not what I meant and you know it. This is a secret door, behind an old wardrobe, in an abandoned house.” He gestured wildly up the dark steps. “Use your freaky feelings tingle and tell me if it’s haunted up there or not.” Jasper and Edward shared a glance, exchanging a small smile. Edward was happy to see his brother was feeling a bit better, enough to have some of that ridiculous superstition return to his regular vocabulary. He was sure Jasper was going to include this little conversation in his text to Rosalie later, one of the many update texts she asked him to send as she spent time away from her husband when he was still recovering.

Jasper was the first to move, carefully positioning himself in front of the other two to walk up first. He bickered quietly with Emmet that there was no way for him to tell if a house was haunted on ‘feelings alone’, and that if he could he would have felt it long ago. A simple platitude, if nothing else. There was no doubt in any of their minds that there was no person upstairs, they would have heard or smelt them long ago, but even Edward could admit there was something off about this attic. Caution was always better than carelessness. Edward had to stop himself from rolling his eyes at Emmett’s internal monologue about ghosts and ghouls that resided in old houses, stepping behind Jasper, readying himself should anything strange occur, just in case.

Once upstairs, it was easy enough to see the real price of hiding away from the outside world. The downstairs was filled with evidence of squatters over the years, rotting food, and left-over knick-knacks here and there that didn’t match the time period of the peeling wallpaper, but up here, despite the heavy layer of dust, everything looked frozen in time. Mannequins with dresses still draped with pins, a rack of winter coats that were drooping on their rusted hangers, an opulent mirror with a hairline fracture in it, hidden behind a lace sheet. There were chests and boxes filled to the brim with jewelry, decor, and housewares. Furniture, both big and small, were stacked neatly on the far wall, plush chairs that had sunk into one another after being stacked for so long. There was only one window high up on the wall, no doubt the one Edward saw as he approached the house earlier that day, too far to do much more than cast colorful shapes on the floor from the stained glass. There was a familiarity in the items around the room, clothing pieces he vaguely remembered as a human, though only the oldest women in his social group still wore them. 

“You lived through this era, little bro!” Emmett cried, immediately blowing past both people in front of him to beeline to the rack of clothes. Edward wasn’t allowed a correction before Emmett’s newly returned childlike control grabbed a corset by its hook, snapping the fragile bonning of the piece into brittle sections. His sheepish look made the other two roll their eyes, though Edward did notice the wince on Jasper’s face from destroying precious history. “Uh…oops?”

“It’s like a time capsule,” Jasper commented, mimicking Emmett’s movements, though with much more care, and gently pulling a dress from the rack. The lace and beading made it look far too heavy to do any dancing in, though Edward knew from the bodice that a young woman, probably around his age, would have worn it for a ball or social gathering to impress the gentlemen in the room. Jasper’s thoughts mimicked the look of familiarity in his thoughts. “How long do you think this had been hidden away?”

“I think we’re the first creatures up here in decades,” Edward replied, following their lead to carefully open one of the many chests to reveal a stack of papers. “Take a look at this.”

The papers, though nearly crumbling apart at the edges from age, were legible enough to read. Letters, most of them, all addressed to the same man, one Mr. Dorsey Carnall. The top of the pile all seem to be from the same woman, one Mrs. Theodora Whitney, who frequently wrote about the elder man’s will, the last one being dated 1887. Both Edward and Jasper exchanged glances at the crass way the woman spoke about the man’s diseased family, demanding his will all be given to her and not some other gentleman, no other identifier other than his name, ‘Tommy’. The more they moved into the pile, the more the letters mixed with other lost names, most wondering about the man’s health and lamenting the loss of his direct family. 

“Letters that catalog this man’s last years alive, and they’re all about his sadness and his money. What a lonely life.” Jasper patted Edward’s shoulder comfortingly. Try as he might, he couldn’t stop the barrage of their thoughts from entering his mind, both equally concerned that his mood dropped so quickly.

“You know better than anyone that this box wasn’t everything.” He lived a whole life outside of these letters.

“Yeah!” Emmett, as always, was just a touch too loud for the enclosed space, echoing words around them. Come on, Eddy, don’t depress yourself. “Maybe whoever cleaned after he died just chucked everything into a box. I bet if you look around some more, you’ll find this guy lived a sweet life up until his death. No need to get all depressed for a guy you haven’t met.” Edward ignored the heavy elbow Jasper dug into his brother’s side at the comment, choosing to glare despite the relief he felt at Emmett’s continuous ability to say whatever he was thinking out loud. Makes it much easier on Edward, who spends most of his time trying to differentiate the difference between thoughts and spoken words.

“Emmett.” You’re an idiot. Edward didn’t need his mindreading to know the unspoken language of Jasper’s tone. “Didn’t Esme want you to take apart those cabinets downstairs? What are you still doing here?”

“Oh sh-” Emmett turned, nearly crashing into the door in his haste to get back downstairs. Although Esme was always a saint of patience, Emmett had already filled his quota of mess-ups for the day. If Esme returned before he managed to clear the kitchen, he knew there would be her patient little sigh of disapproval, and that hurt more to him than getting his arm ripped off. It was silent only for a moment before the two heard a crash downstairs.

“I’ll go check on him,” Jasper sighed, returning the dress carefully back onto the rack. “Are you coming?”

“If it’s alright with you, I might stay up here. These things’ll have to get organized eventually.” Edward barely spared him a glance. “Don’t think that. I’ll be fine. You’ll know before I do if things get too intense for me.” Jasper gave him a once over, asking one more time in his mind if he would truly be okay alone, before heading downstairs.

It took some effort, but Edward dislodged himself from the letters, conceding that if he continued to read them it would only hinder his mood even more. He instead moved to the other side of the room, boxes seemingly filled with more household items that lost their purpose over the years. He sorted things quietly for several hours, wrapping the precious pieces that could be donated, and setting anything else aside to be thrown away later. Esme checked in on him as soon as she returned, marveling at the pile of things that surrounded him, before leaving him to his own devices (not without a little prodding). Alice also popped by to say hello, but, as a girl who only valued old things as long as Jasper enjoyed them, she didn’t care much for the goblets Edward was sorting through and returned downstairs to help Esme finish peeling up the old wooden floor to reveal the original tile below it. 

He was both relieved and lonely. There was something peaceful in the work he was doing, taking several extra seconds to gently clean an old vase or reminisce fondly on the ceramic ashtray, but he was also starting to feel extremely isolated from the others the longer he was up there. Edward could hear the pairs as they worked, two doing genuine work while the other two changed from genuine demolition work to a game of karate chopping wall debris. 

It took a long time to get adjusted to the playful side that Emmett brought out in Jasper, but Edward always indulged them when it happened. He noticed the way he became comfier with the Cullens, noticed the way he allowed his gift to guide him more than before. No surprise he liked being around Alice the most, her infectious happy attitude must be a nice change for him, but more often than not Jasper let his leading emotion seek out the others in the house that matched him. Almost a reassurance of his own feelings, Edward mused, a confirmation that what he was feeling was correct. Emmett was open and inviting, even when he didn’t want to be, so it was easy for Jasper to get overtaken by his emotions, which, more often than not, was some form of goofiness. The life that Jasper led, both human and vampire, made plenty of patience for some tomfoolery, a chance to act like the stupid 19-year-old he should have been. And, with the guilt that has been eating Emmett up recently, it was nice to have a break, to feel a little normal, as normal as he could, at least for a little while. 

He let the thoughts of the two on the floor below him play like a song in his head, broken up only by the childlike giggle they would let out when a piece of debris exploded into fine dust. He knew Esme wouldn’t be too upset if he joined them, in fact, she would probably be overjoyed just like she always was when her kids got along. There was so little she asked for, after all. 

But he was far too comfortable to move now, and there was something…therapeutic about sorting the old pieces of jewelry, carefully tucking them into spare pieces of fabric or their appropriate boxes. This one was too rusted, barely hanging together, so he dumped it into the trash, but the one next to it only needed a good wash before it was as good as new. This one had a beautiful gem, so he ripped it out of the crumbling metal to deposit it into a small box he found, before carefully wrapping the intricate necklace that was hidden underneath. The methodic movements had him in a nice rhythm, similar to the trance he entered when he organized his music back at the house or the books in his Father’s library. Pick up, examine, wrap, toss, pack, repeat.

He moved slowly, or as slowly as a vampire did when no one was looking, tracing his hand over each piece with sharp eyes, using the little he knew about history and its many ages to see if anything was worth salvaging. He knew Jasper would throttle him if there was any historical value in any of the pieces that he tossed, so he paid extra attention to those that looked well-loved or unworn. Every new item in his hand gave him a little more space for mindless thinking, a perk of being a vampire if he was being honest, trying hard to ignore the stray thought here and there of the sadness of the old owner’s last few years. 

He stood, reaching for another jewelry box that was shoved just as carelessly as the other things, this one half hanging off an armoire. This box was similar to the others, covered in dust that swept away to reveal the complicated gold flower design. The dark blue outside still held a brilliant shine, the gold siding still looking good despite the time it’s been hiding. The inside was velvet lined, sparse save for a few earrings and a necklace that miraculously looked in good condition despite the relatively cheap material it was made out of. Silver, he knew, would have tarnished left in this musty attic for as long as the other items up there, but this was perfectly new, the pendant in an intricate frame surrounding the painting of a Victorian couple that almost looked freshly done. Edward’s finger hesitated over it, tracing the air around it. For some reason, this piece in particular caused him pause, some strange feeling surrounding it, almost like it was thrumming with life. The design was similar to something he recalled seeing only a moment ago…

His eyes raised sharply, suddenly, scanning across the room towards the painting propped up on the far wall. Though draped with a piece of velvet, a curtain of some kind, it was tossed haphazardly enough that he could make out the bottom half of a portrait. A woman, though he couldn’t tell the age from there, poised and delicate in her stiff posture. Her dress was beautiful, no doubt even more so in real life, deep blue and covered in layers of ruffles and lace. The large sleeves hung low on her shoulders, exposing her collar bones and the beautiful, ornate necklace hung around her neck. Near identical to the one that he had in his hand, but this painted woman wore it attached to a velvet collar, glimmering gold instead of the dull silver in his hand. 

A replica? He thought to himself. But why make a replica out of different materials?

His eyes slowly drifted back over to the stack of letters across the room. Though he didn’t have a single letter from the man himself, no doubt lost to time and recycled a hundred times into modern things, there were very clear indicators of the life he led, both in the words of others and the items around him. A loving wife, though not a hint of her things despite the portrait and a replica necklace, a daughter he adored more than life itself, an accident or accidents that took them both away from him. The countless different acquaintances and friends that wrote to him in his time of grief and well after. Edward tried to wrack his mind for notable events of the time, things that maybe could be the reason for those who obviously loved the man to be so far away in his time of need, and felt the hole in his being ache in sympathy. 

All alone for the last years of his life without anyone to mourn with him, to take care of him. No one to take care of his things after he passed, beyond shoving all of his possessions into the attic, never to be seen again.

He couldn’t help his eyes from focusing, eyeing the writing on pile of papers he barely made halfway through, his keen vision drifted over the words he could see. 

“Condolences…our hearts…happier place…” he murmured to himself, feeling both annoyed and emotional. He knew logically that the people in the letter were just trying to offer some comfort, a scrap of empathy for a man who presumably lost everything dear to him, but just as he felt, the words read as nothing short of empty. He knew from experience that human families were greedy (so far he had been very lucky in his second existence that his family wasn’t), he’s faux inherited to himself more than once with complications from long-distance relatives trying to get a scrap of the fortune he possessed, so the flutter of kinship deep within him wasn’t surprising to feel. He barely registered the brush of cool metal under his hand as he thought through the various ways he could organize the delicate letters to unravel the man’s life. A week they had been there, a week pulling apart the floorboards of a place this man may have been born and died in with no regard at all for who he was. And now, presented with the opportunity to learn, how could he pass that up? It was the closest thing to getting to know the man outside of a supernatural force, and as far as he was aware, there was no such thing as-

“--despite the many chances you’ve had, you continue to drift away! How is your hand close and yet so far from its surface? Lower your finger a touch and…”

There was so little that could startle a creature like him. 

Children of the Moon? Sure. Shapeshifters? Probably, but he’d never openly admit it. He hadn’t had any experiences with witches or spellcasters, though Carlisle insists they’re out there somewhere. Honestly, it was hard for even another vampire to surprise them, let alone anything remotely close to human. But here he was, startled in a way he had never experienced before, the closest he could fathom a human heart attack would feel like.

With a yelp, he stumbled back from the voice. If he were any less a creature, he would have been on the floor in shock, tripping over the mess under him in a humiliating manner.

“Oh!” His head whipped up at the delicate voice. And, there, before him, was a ghost.

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