Hits Different

James has always had a remarkable pain tolerance. He thinks he gets it from his dad, who nearly lost his leg in a hiking incident and didn’t so much as make a noise as he limped miles to the closest emergency room, blood streaming down his shin. 

His parents have a photo of that framed in their bedroom, actually.

Thanks to a life full of surfing and swimming, James has endured his fair share of scrapes and injuries, perhaps a few too many broken bones, and one gnarly concussion. He takes them all in stride, as at ease as his father, though he’s always enjoyed his mom’s fussing. 

All that indifference to pain, the physical sort, is perhaps his body’s way of apologizing. Atonement, perhaps. Because while James can handle anything from a bee sting to a tidal wave, he can’t handle heartbreak. In fact, he’s rather shit at it. 

So maybe for some people three years would be an embarrassing amount of time, maybe for some people breakups don’t warrant months upon months of agony, but James likes to look on the bright side, embrace his peculiarities. 

Nearly three years since Ravyn broke his heart and James is finally, finally doing okay. 

He’s a recent graduate, employed at one of his favorite surf shops as an instructor, has an entire city full of friends, mammal and marine, and last but certainly not least, can think of Ravyn without having a minor heart attack. 

James doesn’t tense when he thinks he hears her key in the door. He doesn’t even get up to look through the peephole and see if she’s there. He just hears the noise and dismisses the hope floating him to the star Ravyn was once named for, and lets reality, rationality, slam him back to the ground. 

Of course, it’s still not necessarily pleasant to think about the love of his life who is no longer in his life, hasn’t been for three years, but James can honestly say that he’s managing, he’s enduring, and for once, he isn’t pretending to be fine. 

There’s a lot of relief in that, James finds. Not forcing his smiles. 

Indeed, when he goes into Verve for his morning coffee, his smile is wide and genuine—he’s happy to be alive, happy to see the sunrise reflect across the ocean, happy to greet his favorite baristas, happy to occupy a space that she once loved. He’s happy. 

Maybe not as happy as he once was, but still—happy.

So as he chats up Lucky as she makes up his cappuccino, his laugh is loud and roaring, causing all the customers to turn in his direction. He basks in the attention, nodding to all the curious eyes, then freezes. 

“Lily?” He gasps at the familiar redhead staring back at him. She’s sitting in the corner by the window, a mug full of matcha beside a paperback. 

“Thanks, Lucky,” James says, accepting the cappuccino with a wink, then heads straight for her. 

“James,” Lily greets him, green eyes wide. “It’s been…wow, it’s been almost a decade, huh?”

“Just about. I’m so glad to see you, Lily, how have you been?” James quickly gestures to the chair across from her. “Can I join you?”

Lily blinks, shaking her head. “Right. Uhm. Yes—yeah sure.”

He smiles amiably at her stuttering, trying his best to keep his body language and expression open, unimposing. The last time they saw each other was in middle school when James notoriously annoyed Lily with his professions of love. He hopes that she remembers their last conversation when James apologized profusely for his idiocy. When they promised to try to be friends. 

That was before she ended up going to the other high school in their district, of course. He’d like to think that wasn’t her getting as far away from him as possible.   

“You look good,” Lily’s voice sounds almost surprised. 

“Not half as good as you,” James says without thinking, then stiffens. “I’m not—I’m not trying to—”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. You’re just a natural flirt.”

James nods, laughing at himself. “I promise you that I remember very well what you thought of me.”

“Ah, you weren’t so bad. Besides, you didn’t know that you had no chance.” Lily smirks and adds, “Actually, you’re half the reason I figured out I’m aroace.”

James slaps a hand over his chest. “I’m honored. Really.”

Lily chuckles, a few strands of hair cascading over her face. She really is beautiful, and nostalgia swirls inside James, his mind taking him back to the years he was so certain she would be his wife. Little did he know someone else would steal his heart. 

James pushes away the thought of Ravyn, determined to enjoy Lily’s company. “So tell me what’s happened since I last saw you? Wait—-let me guess. You were Valedictorian and got into an Ivy, and now you’re home on vacation before you fly to Europe and play with some famous symphony.”

“You remembered that I play the cello?” Lily says softly.

“Course, god, you loved that. Do you still play?”

Lily lifts her mug up, wrapping both hands around the bottom with a secret smile. “Yes, in fact, I’ve been accepted into the San Francisco Symphony.”

James’ hands slap the table, his legs lifting him up as he shouts, “Lily fucking Evans, congratulations!”

Once again, the entire coffee shop turns to look at him, Lucky rolling her eyes by the coffee bar. James ignores them and shakes his head at Lily. “I knew you would do incredible things, Evans.”

“That’s—that’s really nice of you to say, James.”

“I’m very certain I said it all the time back in the day.”

Lily laughs. “Yes, but I thought you were just trying to date me then.”

“Fair,” James says with a wince. “So have you been focusing on your music these past years?”

“That’s an understatement,” Lily blows out a breath. “But I managed to double major and study some English.”

James peeks at the Austen book tucked beneath Lily’s arm. “Nice,” he teases. “Where did you go?”

For such an innocent question, James doesn’t expect Lily to stiffen, her hands tightening around the mug. She swallows. “Stanford.”

“That’s a great school,” James says quickly before his face betrays what that school reminds him of. Apparently, he isn’t successful.

“You know someone who went there,” Lily says, and it should be a question, but it sounds more like a statement. James shivers from how knowing Lily’s gaze is, those green eyes seeing straight to his soul. 

“Yes. Or I used to. My ex just graduated from there, maybe you know her. Ravyn Black.”

Lily’s face doesn’t change, her shoulders still tight with tension, eyes unblinking. “I’m so sorry, James.”

“What?” 

“I—I do know Ravyn. Really well.”

James’ stomach churns with surprise, a mix of excitement and dread fizzling his blood, making his voice unsteady. “Oh. So she said some bad things about me or…”

“Until just about a month ago, I was her roommate.”

And that pierces James’ armor, ripping off his smile to reveal the envious, heartbroken monster he thought he put to rest. “You—you were her roommate her freshman year?”

Lily winces. “Yes.”

A wave crashes over him, forcing his body below the surface, a victim of the tide, until the water finds its way into his lungs, sweeping him all the way back—three years ago—to the last time he saw Ravyn. 

The takeout boxes were scattered over their coffee table, full of half-eaten chow-mein and Ravyn’s favorite soup dumplings, which James had vowed to only order when Ravyn was home for the weekend. Stanford really wasn’t that far away, a mere forty-five minutes, but James missed his girlfriend desperately during the week, counting the seconds until he got to drive over the mountains in Ruby and whisk her away from the stuffy academics and back to the beach, to their apartment, to James. Paradise. 

James watched Ravyn devour the food fondly, then came to join her on the couch, a mug of Effie’s famous tea blend in hand. “Alright.” He set it in front of Ravyn. “Start talking.”

Slowly, Ravyn set down her chopsticks in the take-out box. “Hm?”

“You’ve been stressed about something all day.” James snuggled up beside her, brushing some of her hair behind her ear. 

Ravyn gave him a blank look. 

“For starters, you haven’t read anything, and I know how excited you are about that new French lesbian author.” 

“Monique Wittig and the book’s not new, technically, but the translation is,” Ravyn said in that cute know-it-all tone. 

“Right, and while I’m not complaining, you’ve gotten me out of my pants five times today. That’s a new record.”

Ravyn smirked. “I know.”

“And lastly, Sirius told me you turned down dinner with them and Remus.”

“Fucking snitch,” Ravyn mumbled, glaring at her dumplings. 

“Hey—” James took the box out of her hands and replaced it with the tea. “Is it something about your classes? I know how hard freshman year is, hell, you watched me go through it last year—”

“I’ve never had trouble in any class. Ever.” Ravyn sipped her tea primly and James threw his head back laughing. 

“Yes. Sorry, I shouldn’t have implied anything less than academic perfection.” He took her hand and squeezed. “So what is it?”

Ravyn focused on her tea, on the couch cushion, on their hands—her gaze anywhere but on James. 

“We don’t have to talk about it, Ravyn, we can talk about anything, you know, I’d love to listen to whatever you have to say. Literally anything.” James leaned forward. “Whatever you want, love.”

At the cheesy, soppy term of endearment, Ravyn’s lips twitched up, her gaze following the motion. “Yeah, fine. I do have to talk to you.”

James straightened. 

“I got a dorm room at Stanford so I could…” Ravyn winced as she said, “Have the college experience.”

“I know, and I 1000% support you!” James smiled widely, tugging Ravyn closer to him on the couch. 

“But it’s been a month and besides my roommate, I barely know anyone.”

James nodded thoughtfully. “Yeah, it’s fucking hard to make friends. I was lucky I had Sirius and then later, Remus—”

“James you’ve never once had trouble making friends,” Ravyn interjected. “I on the other hand…do not always see the point in people.”

James bit back a smile and hummed in agreement. God, he loved her. 

“And my sibling is adamant that I try harder, that I, you know, make friends.”

“Sirius is so wise.”

“Shut up.”

James mimed zipping his lips, then came forward and gave her a quick kiss.

Ravyn’s lashes fluttered and she sighed. 

And though James had known something was up, he hadn’t been expecting anything drastic, anything tragic; all he knew was that Ravyn needed to talk and James would forever and ever be there to listen. 

This time, however, he didn’t. 

“What did you just say?” his voice sounded strange to his own ears. 

Ravyn flinched and looked back into her tea. “I said I think we should take a break.”

“You—you—you want to break up? With me? Wh—why?” James stuttered, his heart clenching and squeezing and throwing a hissy fit inside his ribs. 

“I can’t just run away to Santa Cruz and throw away all the opportunities I have at Stanford, I mean tonight I missed this huge party the Classics department was throwing that my roommate begged me to go to but I couldn’t because I promised you I would be here.”

James couldn’t believe Ravyn’s words. He couldn’t believe how easily she discussed breaking up, as if she didn’t care, as if the past year of their relationship meant nothing. He forced his tongue to move, and rasped dumbly, “You hate parties.”

“Yes, but according to Sirius, that’s how you meet people.”

“Meet people?” James choked. 

“Friends!” Ravyn rushed to say. She set down her tea and took both of James’ hands. “I don’t want to stop seeing you, fuck, you’re all I think about but I think that’s the problem. I think I need some space….” Her sentence trailed off, James’ heart going with it. 

“I can’t—am I dreaming? Is this a nightmare?”

Finally, Ravyn’s face fell, a glimpse of pain finding its way through her mask. “No, Jamie. I think this is for the best.”

James lurched from the couch at the nickname, putting space between himself and Ravyn, space to breathe, space to think, space he actually didn’t want at all. 

But Ravyn did. She wanted space from James. 

James had always feared that he would love Ravyn more than she could love him but before today, she hadn’t ever made him feel anything less than cherished. The ice and emptiness marring her words now, however, betrayed the truth. 

“So just because your roommate and Sirius told you it was the right way to do college, you’re going to break up with me,” James restated the facts numbly. 

“No—I just want a break. I don’t want to break up, Jamie—”

“Don’t. Don’t call me that right now.”

That seemed to hit Ravyn, to bruise her as deeply as James’ bleeding heart. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry?” James repeated, the first tear finding its way down his cheek. “For what, Ravyn? For fucking me all day just to break up with me when the sun came down?”

“I—I just. I already miss you,” Ravyn said hoarsely. “And I didn’t want our last day to be…horrible,” she choked on the last word and pressed her hands into her eyes, holding back tears. 

Once James would have cracked in two at the sight, but now all he could feel was his own thick, slimy tears jumping off his chin, splattering onto their apartment floor.

“We’re supposed to be partners and you—you decided this without me. Like it’s easy for you to—to leave me.”

“It’s not easy!” Ravyn threw her hands down, looking up at James with red-rimmed eyes. “And it’s not fucking forever, can you please understand that I’m trying to build a life for myself? I can’t just revolve around you, James, I have to be my own person. I have to at least try.”

“You are your own person,” James said bitterly. “That’s a poor fucking excuse.” 

Something with teeth opened its eyes deep in James’ stomach, a snake writing around his lungs and slinking up his throat, hissing horrible thoughts into his mind—what was the real reason Ravyn wanted to walk away? Was she asking for a break because she pitied him? Wanted to let him down gently, give him hope of a reunion, when in reality she was desperate to leave?

Ravyn’s hands jerked in her lap, and she tucked them underneath her legs, setting her jaw. 

Maybe later James would understand her rationale, empathize with her reasons, but James was brimming with anger, the boiling rage leaking over the edge and filling his insides with bitterness. She didn’t want him. She didn’t love him. 

At least not the way James loved her. 

“I don’t want a break.”

Ravyn sucked in a breath, squeezing her eyes shut, but before she could say anything, James finished: “I want to break up.”

“You what?!” Ravyn stood up slowly, eyes narrowing. 

“It’s easier this way,” James lied. Because whether or not he had the hope of Ravyn returning, this would fucking ruin him, this would tear him into goddamn pieces, making a mess of the man he was proud to be with her. 

But the martyr within preferred total destruction, immediate ruination, rather than a purgatory of optimism, waiting for Ravyn to come back when she wouldn’t. 

She wouldn’t. 

So James would do what she wouldn’t and end it all entirely, slice straight to the bone. 

Ravyn held herself from saying more, and James knew it, he recognized the twitch of her jaw and the glaze in her eyes. She hadn’t ever held herself back with him before. 

This was it then. This was the end of something James had been certain was eternal. 

The realization punched him in the stomach, stealing more than just his breath, but his goddamn soul, that flat expression crawling over Ravyn’s face sucking James’ soul dry.

“If that’s what you want,” Ravyn’s voice was quiet. 

“It is.”

Ravyn nodded, believing the lie. 

“James?” Lily says, likely repeating herself. She squeezes his arm, chewing on her bottom lip in worry. 

“Sorry.” He shakes out his head. “I’m just trying to wrap my head around this. Ravyn never told me that you—I mean I told her about you—but I guess we broke up before you both got really close,” he finishes, hating himself for rambling. 

He wants nothing more than to leave, to fling his chair back and sprint home, or rather, sprint into Sirius’ arms and hide from Lily, from the world, from anything that reminds him of Ravyn. 

“Maybe I shouldn’t have told you.” Lily looks at him guilty. 

If James were able to play nice, to give his charming smile, to pretend, then he would lie and tell her he was fine. But the memory of Ravyn’s empty expression has stained his skin again, and he knows it will take several showers to wash himself clean. “Yeah, maybe.”

Lily groans, rubbing her temples. “I need to explain.”

“That would be nice,” James says shortly, his imagination taking him to dark places. Because Lily had been part of the reason Ravyn and James broke up. ‘The roommate’ had given Ravyn the idea in the first place.

“The first month Ravyn and I lived together…god, she was a recluse. I mean, she’s generally an introvert, but I could tell she wasn’t even trying to make friends. Especially not with me.”

“That might have been my fault, I did tell her about my first crush.”

Lily looks at her hands. “Trust me, we’ve talked about that extensively. Talked about you extensively.”

James could take that as a positive thing, Ravyn rambling to her roommate and best friend about James; but the cynic he’s become thinks it’s more likely she was talking shit.

“Anyways, I knew Ravyn was obsessed with her boyfriend, which I admittedly knew from the photos that was you…and after the third weekend she spent in Santa Cruz, I sat her down and—”

“And what?” James pushes.

Lily breathes, her eyes swimming with feeling. “I told Ravyn that taking a little break wouldn’t be a bad idea for both of you. Long-distance relationships, even just an hour away, are hard during college, but I thought that with a little space, you two would figure out how to balance things and get back together.” Lily sighs. “James, please believe me, I didn’t know she was going to break up with you completely.”

“She didn’t,” James says simply. “I did.”

Lily leans back in her chair, expression taken aback. “She never—well, she implied that she was the one to…” Lily looks at her matcha, brow scrunched. “Can I ask why you broke up with her?”

“No.” The word surprises even James, but it feels right, not only because it gives Lily a taste of the rejection that James had harbored all these years, but because Ravyn and Lily are likely still close and…well, James doesn’t want them talking any more shit. 

“I’m really really sorry, James.”

“You regret telling her all that?” James’ voice is more sour than it should be, but he wants Lily to regret it, he wants someone to feel fucking bad for tearing apart his life, and if can’t be Ravyn, well, at least Lily can sympathize. 

“Yes and no. I mean, after you two broke up she was able to find her place at Stanford, she joined a bunch of clubs and enrolled in double the classes, and sure, part of that was to cope with missing you, but I think she really grew as a person because of it. Found her people, found herself.”

James’ hands unclench, his shoulders slumping. With time, a part of him accepted Ravyn’s reasons for breaking up—he could understand that she needed the space to find a community in Stanford, just like he found one in Santa Cruz. 

“So what are you apologizing for?” James asks. 

“I think a part of me has always felt bad that I encouraged her, that I did it because I was tired of seeing people privilege their partners over their friends, if not themselves. And Ravyn, god, she’s my best friend now. I don’t know if that would have been possible if she had been wrapped up in you all throughout college.”

“I’m—” James clears his throat. “I’m glad you have each other.”

Lily’s smile is a little lopsided, as if she isn’t sure whether it's appropriate. James feels his skin crawl from the awkwardness settling between them, the knowledge that one of them gets to love Ravyn Black and the other doesn’t. 

And really, James should leave it there. Should walk away now. 

But instead, he finds himself asking: “Is she—where is she now?”

Lily purses her lips. “I can’t, James. It’s not fair to say unless she wants you to know.”

“Right, of course.” James chuckles darkly. “Of course she doesn’t want me to know.” Doesn’t want him at all, actually. 

It’s not necessarily a surprise, but James still finds himself winded for it, choking on his own spit as he tries to breathe. 

Ravyn hadn’t come to Sirius’ graduation, and James was too much of a coward to ask his best friend why, too much of a coward to admit that he had been looking forward to seeing her, even if just for a few seconds. 

He didn’t want to bring down the mood at the ceremony, but his heart felt rotten when he walked across the stage and didn’t find Ravyn smiling at him from the crowd. Rotten and bruised and aching. 

But he’s happy, James reminds himself. 

He’s doing alright, and yes, the scar will always throb, but he’s managing without her. He’ll be fine. 

It’s what he tells Lily, at least. “I’ll be just fine, Lily.”

Lily nods and returns her gaze to her matcha. 

“I’m genuinely so glad to hear that you’re doing well, Evans,” James adds, standing up. “And I wish you nothing but the best.”

He moves to leave, but Lily’s voice stops him. “James?” 

“Yeah?”

“The way you two ended things was awful but—” Lily smiles. “What you two had was real. She loved you.”

Lily’s trying to be kind, trying to offer him something nice after a conversation of confessions and revelations and hurt—-but hearing that word, loved, rips open the wound all over. 

Because Ravyn loved James. 

And James still loves Ravyn. 

“Yeah, Lily. I think so too.”

******

Ravyn doesn’t participate in the underworld of drug-using. Just the thought of putting something so volatile and, frankly, grossly understudied into her system makes her want to throw up and scream, so she has always denied offers of weed, molly, and once or twice, coke. 

Stanford students are quite the bunch. 

So Ravyn can’t say with absolute certainty what a true high feels like—she lacks the empirical evidence on a personal level, though she has been forced to babysit a stoned Sirius many a time—and thus, the metaphor that pops into her head as she finds herself walking into the Leaky Cauldron is perhaps unjustified. 

But, fuck, if she doesn’t feel high right now. 

Her vision spins with colors and sounds, and not only from the strange lighting in the club that has always mesmerized Ravyn, but from a total bliss at finally returning home. 

Santa Cruz. 

She had been lying to herself, for just about three years, that she didn’t miss the beach town full of hipsters and tourists and the leftist locals, but standing on the edge of her favorite club, literally one foot in the doorway, it’s hard to deny the buzz that rages through her, from head to toe, dancing with the rhythm of the bass on the floor. 

Ravyn exhales, her lips finding their way up as she takes in the crowd of people dancing, some grinding on each other, but most waving their arms up and laughing with their friends, a mosh pit of joy. 

It’s not often that Ravyn finds herself wanting to duck into a crowd of sweaty people, but here and now, she had to hold herself back from being swallowed up, submerged entirely. 

“Ravyn!” Remus spots her first as he’s loitering by the bar, beer in hand. “We didn’t think you could make it.”

Ravyn rolls her eyes at the pronoun ‘we’—these days Remus and Sirius talked as if they were one person, something even worse than an old married couple, but like a chimera of limbs and brains, Remus the only part with anything clever. 

“I’m a fast unpacker.” 

Remus smiles, though Ravyn notes a touch of worry in his usually open expression. “Can I get you a drink?”

Her answer is instinct, “Sure, club soda.”

He turns back to the bar, waving down the tanned, tatted bartender with green hair, and Ravyn shakes her head. She could start drinking again, let loose a little, because the likelihood of her drunk dialing James is slim to none now that she isn’t a mountain range away from him. 

Or maybe it’s that proximity, that promise of nearness, that will convince Ravyn’s fingers to ring him up. 

But that’s not how she wants to see him again. A three year build up demands a face-to-face conversation, and a sober one at that—she will see James Potter, she will talk to him and look at him and breathe the same air as him. Maybe even tomorrow. 

As for tonight, Ravyn plans to third-wheel Remus and Sirius and embrace the Santa Cruz spirit of a Friday night. 

After all, this is her home. 

“Here you are.” Remus passes the drink to Ravyn, eyes darting around the club. “Want a smoke?”

Ravyn cocks her head. “No. Where’s Sirius?”

“I mean, I could really use a smoke so want to keep me company,” Remus tries again.

It’s obvious, Ravyn quickly surmises, that Remus is stressed, but the bibliophile urban planner is typically the epitome of calm, a balm to Sirius’ chaos. His fingers twitch on the sleeve of his sweater, because of course that’s his club attire, and Ravyn makes a game of counting every time his left eye twitches. 

“Please?” Remus says, and he sounds so desperate that Ravyn is about to give in and leave to watch him have a goddamn smoke when she hears her sibling shout over the bass:

“I DON’T KNOW, PRONGS, YOU’RE LOOKING A LITTLE PALE WHY DON’T WE CALL IT A NIGHT AND GO HOME—” Sirius freezes at the entrance. 

“I told you to wait five minutes,” Remus hisses. 

Sirius glares back. “It has been five minutes!” 

They continue to bicker and bitch but Ravyn doesn’t hear a word, doesn’t see a thing, even her peripheral vision shuttering closed as if her body is demanding that all she sense is him him, yours. Jamie. 

His hair is a little longer, a little wilder; glasses the same frame; skin tanned the same shade; jaw in need of a shave; a surf shop shirt with scuffed up Converse; tattoos on his arms, some new, some old. Ravyn memorizes the changes, editing the image she’s kept framed in her mind so that it is as accurate as possible in case—in case she doesn’t get to look again. 

Ravyn sees Sirius nudging James, trying to pull him away, and perhaps Remus is doing the same, but Ravyn and James are cemented to the ground. Statues posed at one another, eternal effigies made of marble and memory, determined to stay rooted, to ignore the onlookers and the curators—they are the crux of the art museum and yet indifferent to all the grandeur, save for the glory in the other’s eyes, forever looking. 

For years Ravyn has imagined this moment—what she would say if she ran into James unexpectedly, how they would behave with both the chasm of time and pain, the pull of love and history. Would James speak first or Ravyn? Would they walk away without another glance? Would they hug? Kiss? Cry? 

Ravyn wanted to plan this methodically, to practice sitting in a coffee shop or on the beach, waiting for James to show up at an appointed time, then saying something clever but kind, endearing him, comforting him, but not assuming anything more than a hello and a catch-up. She had hoped that she could calculate every step of their reunion.

She had hoped that with the right scene, she would find his forgiveness. 

Now she has to improvise. 

“Hi—Hi, James.”

Is it better that she didn’t say the nickname? Or is it worse? She can’t tell by the look on his face. In fact, she can’t read him at all. 

That’s not right, that’s absolutely improbable, because despite all the time that’s passed, Ravyn’s never forgotten the map of his face, the lines that mean worry, the dips that means love, the lopsided crinkles and dimples—she could make a bust of each and every one of his expressions because he was once her favorite subject, model, ideal. He was once hers to know, inside out. 

But now, James’ face seems scrubbed free of everything, paralyzed from shock. Revulsion, perhaps. 

“I’m sorry!” Sirius steps between them, head whipping back and forth like a child caught in a divorce. “I invited you, Ravyn because James, you said you were going on a—” Sirius cuts themself off. “And then James said he was coming and Ravyn said she wasn’t but obviously that’s not the case.”

Ravyn looks from her sibling to James, Sirius to James, Sirius to James. “A date?” she guesses. “You went on a date tonight?”

Still, the ice in James’ expression does not break. 

Sirius steps closer, speaking as low as they can despite the music. “Come on, Ravyn, please don’t make this hard on him.”

“I’m not.” Ravyn takes a breath and returns her gaze to James. She opens her mouth to say, I’ll leave, or I’m sorry, or I miss you, she isn’t sure which, and neither of them gets to find out. 

The speakers rumble with the next song, a woman’s voice cooing, “Oh, yeah, yeah, yeah…”

“Are you fucking kidding me!” Sirius groans as the chorus blares:

“I got a pocket, got a pocketful of sunshine I got a love and I know that it's all mine, oh, oh-oh.”

And as if the heavens had opened up above them, as if Zeus himself had struck James with a lightning bolt, or Hades had slapped him awake from living death, James jolts, and his face…crumples.

Ravyn gasps with relief and rage, horrified that she could cause such a grimace but fucking thankful that she’s still fluent in all things James. 

That he hasn’t changed entirely.

 Or maybe he has, because the James Ravyn knew was proud and brave and fearless—he would never run away, especially not from Ravyn. But there he goes, shoving through the crowd and towards the back of the Leaky Cauldron, where a long line to one dingy bathroom awaits. 

Ravyn ignores Sirius and Remus and follows him there, the movement both thoughtless and thoughtful because following James is second nature, and loving James is the entirety of her thoughts. 

She finds him cutting the line, banging on the metal door with a wild expression. The door opens with a jerk and the stranger flips James off, but he doesn’t notice, he shoves inside and tries to slam the door. 

Only Ravyn catches it with her hand. 

It’s only the advantage of surprise that gets Ravyn into that bathroom because she knows how strong James is, she’s inspected every goddamn muscle on that perfect body, watched him flex and stretch on surfboards, over water, in bed. 

She locks the door behind her back, not taking her eyes off of James standing by the sink, head bowed, arms tense. 

Stupidly, Ravyn feels a surge of gratitude to her past self for dressing up tonight, she has her favorite padded bra on, and she tucked herself in a miniskirt that flaunts her waist and legs, the tall platform Docs only adding to the image. She looks good, maybe not as good as three years ago, but good enough. 

James, of course, looks better. 

He doesn’t even have to try. 

“We should talk,” Ravyn rasps. 

James somehow both smiles and glares at the faucet, and then, as he lifts his eyes to meet Ravyn in the reflection, he lets out a long laugh. It’s nothing like the bright laugh Ravyn knows him for, but rather clipped and dry, as if he needs a glass of water or a good cry. 

“James, I’m—”

Another wave of laughter cuts Ravyn’ off, and she feels her hands clench behind her back, and watches her jaw stiffen in the mirror. Then she realizes what, exactly, prompted James’ psychotic break. 

Their initials in a heart on the bathroom mirror. 

The memory of Ravyn shoving James inside this very bathroom, pulling his pants down and sucking him off, lurks on the edge of her mind but those are moments she can’t reminisce on, especially not with him right there. Right there. He’s right there and Ravyn feels herself shake with that reality. 

Finally, James’ laughter ends, and he turns on the mirror, on the symbol of them, and looks Ravyn right in the eye. “You were saying?” 

It’s almost cruel, his voice, and Ravyn tries not to sound weak for it. “I didn’t want to do this here, I had a plan—”

“What?” James cuts her off. 

“If you’d let me finish—”

He doesn’t, naturally. “What do you mean a plan—you wanted to talk to me? This wasn’t just an accident?”

It’s comforting, almost, that he sounds a little less mean and a little more weak now. 

“Yes. I wanted to be, well, mature about it. I know that this is your home, your city, and Sirius is obviously your best friend.”

James squeezes his eyes open and shut, then does it again. “Ravyn I feel like I’m losing my mind, can you please put in simple terms what the fuck is happening?”

Ravyn nods, and speaks slowly, “As of today, I live here now. I wanted to reach out to you and see if we could be amicable given that we will be living in the same area and presumably operating in similar social circles.”

She sounds a little patronizing, like a doctor talking to a toddler, but if James is bothered by it, he doesn’t say. “You live here,” he repeats. “In Santa Cruz?”

“I’m sorry if that’s not what you want, but I was given an opportunity that I couldn’t refuse, and—and I do miss this place.”

James’ eyes pour over the graffitied walls around them, the small chipped toiled seat, the flickering fluorescent light. “You miss this place.”

“Of course,” Ravyn says softly. 

He shakes his head and pushes off the sink, pupils blown wide. “I’m glad you’re back. For Sirius’ sake.”

“You are?”

James nods shortly. “And yes this isn’t the best place for us to see each other after all this time but obviously this is going to happen now…and that’s fine. We can be amicable,” he repeats the word Ravyn used, only it sounds horrible in his mouth. It feels flat and distant and everything they’re not. Or rather, weren’t. 

“Glad we had this talk then,” James finishes, gesturing to the door. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to go dance.”

It’s as if he’s talking to a stranger, or no, worse, because James is kind to everyone he meets, warm and open and honest like a goddamn golden retriever—-it was the first thing about him that Ravyn fell in love with. 

“Ravyn?” 

How dare he say her name without all the love he once wrapped into those five letters. How dare he see her and dismiss her and agree to amicability just like that—how fucking dare he. 

“You went on a date tonight?” Ravyn asks, her voice venom. 

James steps back, clearly unprepared for the question. “It—it ended quickly.”

He sounds like he’s defending himself, and he doesn’t have to defend himself, but it’s good that he does, because Ravyn’s skin is crawling with a feeling of minemineminemine and she’s certain that if she gets a name, she’ll hunt that bitch down and make sure they never see James Potter again. 

Ravyn doesn’t say that though. Instead, she shoots for amicable. “I’m sorry that it didn’t go well.”

“I didn’t say that,” James counters, one brow raised. 

“So what? It was a quick fuck?”

It feels surreal and stupid that this is what they’re talking about after three years; Ravyn has a whole novel worth of questions and thoughts to tell James, and yet, this is what they’ve landed on, a petty conversation about his sex life. Fine. Good. Great. 

James doesn’t answer, and points to the door yet again. “Trapping me inside the bathroom and interrogating me isn’t very amicable of you, Ravyn.”

His face comes closer, his expression caught between a taunt and a threat, and Ravyn drinks it all up, her fingers tingling from the urge to reach forward and pull him flush to her. God, she wants to lick him, to fucking sink her teeth into his neck, and devour him.

“Forget amicable—” Ravyn closes the distance between them, their faces a mere inch apart, breaths tangled. “That’s not the right word, it’s a terrible word, actually, I can think of at least ten that are better,” Ravyn rambles, her lips coming closer and closer. 

“Civil? Pleasent? Neighbrhouly?” James suggests.

Ravyn feels like she’s gasping, her heart is pounding on her ribs, begging to be let out of its prison, a three-year sentence much, much too long. The air is hot and electric, forcing James’ hair to stand on its ends and shocking Ravyn’s skin, her lips altogether voltaic.

Then James pulls away, and the air, Ravyn’s skin, settles. He gently pushes past her and opens the door, not bothering to look back as he walks away. Someone else comes into the bathroom, their frown sour, and Ravyn darts after James. 

By the time she’s out of the Leaky Cauldron, she sees one old red truck driving down the road, away from her, away from whatever the fuck that was. 

The club door shuts behind Ravyn and Sirius comes forward. “What happened?” 

“We talked.”

Sirius sets their jacket over Ravyn’s shoulders, hugging her over the fabric. “You okay?”

Ravyn turns and sees Remus waiting outside too, finally having a smoke. “I’ll be fine if you give me a ride, Lupin.”

Sirius’ grip loosens. “Of course we’ll drive you home.”

The smile on Ravyn’s face is slow and confident, more than it should be given the circumstances, but for the first time in a long while, three years to be exact, she is teeming with hope. 

“Yeah. I’m going home.”

******

Ravyn pauses outside the Apartment. Unit 3. The end of the hallway, past the trash chute and the stairs, across from an elderly couple with a love for cooking garlic. Or maybe they moved out. Hell, maybe they died.

She shakes off that unnecessary spiral of thoughts and poses her hand to knock on the door. Sirius didn’t think this was a good idea—Remus played Switzerland—and Lily’s texts were full of all-caps encouragement. A fairly even data pool, and one that Ravyn entirely ignores, because she knows her gut, and the rare times it tells her to do something, she does it. 

“You gotta trust your gut, Ray. It tells me everything important. Like the fact that you and Sirius are mine.”

Ravyn breathes in and knocks. 

But there’s no response. 

She presses her ear to the door, listening for shuffling, for pacing, even for the suction of the fridge opening and closing, but it’s dead silent inside.

Maybe James went back to that date of his, Ravyn thinks bitterly. Maybe he wanted a distraction after the bomb Ravyn dropped in his lap. Maybe he wanted something different than Ravyn.

Or Maybe he’s lying inside, on the couch, staring at the ceiling and wallowing. 

Ravyn knows James. 

She knows him better than herself. 

So she digs through her purse and unzips the side pocket, pulling out the bronze key that she should have thrown away years ago, but saved because, well, she’s not sure why. For this moment? 

It probably won’t even work, and she scoffs at herself and she tries to slot the key inside the lock, shaking her head in disbelief even as the lock turns smoothly. 

The door swings open with a light push and she steps inside his apartment—what was once their apartment.

She takes in the kitchen with the narrow countertop and barstool, the fridge a collection of tacky magnets and polaroids, then she turns to the left, finding the living room largely unchanged, an old TV across from a new wide velvet couch, the door to the bedroom propped open and glowing with soft, buttery light from a mushroom lamp. 

“Hello?”

A head emerges from behind the couch. “Ravyn?”

She sighs. So she did guess right. James didn’t go to someone else, he came right back here, to the place that holds so many memories of them, good, and in the end, bad. 

“You’re actually here?” James whispers, rubbing his eyes. 

She stops him before he can ask if this is a dream because he said that the last time she was in here, when they stood at either side of the room and broke each other’s hearts. “Why didn’t you change the lock, James?”

James once again flinches at the name, or rather, the absence of the nickname. “I—I don’t know.”

“You should have changed the lock.” 

“Probably.”

“But you didn’t.”

“No.” James’ hands open and close at his sides. “I didn’t move either.”

Ravyn finds her feet coming closer to the couch, finds herself asking, “Why didn’t you move?”

James scoots himself into a sitting position, like he’s resigning himself to the conversation, to Ravyn’s presence. “Why are you here, Ravyn?”

“I got accepted into the Ph.D. program at UC Santa Cruz.”

“No, I mean why are you in my apartment—wait what?!” James lurches to his feet. “You got in?! No fucking way, oh my god, Ravyn—Ray that’s so incredible I’m so proud—” his smile falls like a toppled tower. He clears his throat and says, softer, smaller, “That’s really great.”

Ravyn walks around the side of the couch. “Can I sit?”

When James hesitates, she adds, “I just want to talk.”

“I thought we already did that?”

“I wasn’t satisfied with how the conversation went,” Ravyn says with a shrug.

“So what? You want to try again?”

The words hang between them, a reference to their conversation, but also their relationship, maybe, or so Ravyn hopes. 

“Yes,” she answers, hoping he can read her just as well as she can read him, that he sees every crinkle of her sincerity. 

“Then sit.”

Ravyn perches herself on the edge of the couch cushion. “You got a new couch, it’s…nice.”

“Thanks.” James' eyes are not unlike a deer’s, but not in the headlights, no, more like munching in a meadow, cautious but hungry. 

“How—how have you been?” Ravyn tries. She’s not sure how to navigate this, them, and she hates all the uncertainty. 

“I graduated,” James offers. 

Ravyn grasps the olive branch eagerly. “Congratulations.”

“You too.”

They fall back into silence, and Ravyn feels the burden of conversation thick on her skin, but she’s so used to James lighting the path, James tricking her into speech, pulling thoughts, both random and profound, from her riotous mind. 

Now he’s silent, waiting for her to light the match. 

Or maybe not. 

“I ran into Lily.”

“Yeah.” Ravyn’s lips twitch up. “She called me right after.” 

James' lips part in the shape of a crescent moon, then close. “I’m glad,” he eventually says. “Glad that you two…have each other.”

His voice lifts at the end, halfway to a question. And while Ravyn's reclusiveness rivals her uncle, she is socially adept enough to know what not to say; she won’t soliloquize about her best friend and former roommate, Lily’s renowned talent and even more remarkable wit. No, Ravyn won’t brag about the person who gave her the idea to, well, leave James. 

So instead, she says: “Lily told me to come see you. I mean, I was going to regardless, but she gave me the push I needed to…”

“To what?” James prompts. 

“I don’t regret what happened between us,” Ravyn blurts. The statement is absurdly simplistic, and one that seems to punch James in the gut, so Ravyn quickly adds, “Not our relationship and not even our break-up, though I wish we didn’t end things like—it doesn’t matter, what I’m trying to say is that I needed that space. I didn’t want it, all I ever wanted was you, but I had to find my own place, James. I had to.”

“I know.”

“And I’m sorry that I had to hurt you to, fuck, to figure that out.”

James looks at his palms full of callouses. “I know I faulted you for that in the moment, Ravyn, but I get why you needed to leave me. I understand.”

“But I didn’t want to leave you forever. I just needed a little time, and you wouldn’t give it to me.”

At her accusing tone, James clenches his jaw. “I knew what was coming, Ravyn. I just sped things along.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“You were going to break up with me eventually, all that shit about a ‘break’? Come on.”

Ravyn’s blood rushes to her head, fire licking up her cheeks and teeth, and she fumes. “I wasn’t just stringing you along, I was going to come back, of course I was.”

James scoffs, shaking his head. 

“So what?” Ravyn spits. “When you said you wanted to break up you were lying? Saying just what you thought I wanted?!”

“Of course I fucking lied! I was hopelessly in love with you, I basically proposed to you every other day, there was no part of me that imagined an existence without you by my side.”

The flames inside Ravyn flicker out, doused from James’ sincerity. Still, after all this time, it knocks Ravyn off her feet. 

She rubs her eyes, scrubbing away the tears that threaten to spill. “I thought you didn’t want to have to wait for me to—to figure my shit out. It made sense to me that you wanted to move on.”

James laughs lowly. “I’ll never move on, Ravyn.”

Ravyn has to repeat the words over and over in her head, seeking sense from the nonsensical, because it’s everything she wants to hear and everything she doesn’t. “It’s been three years.”

Three years of James hurting, missing Ravyn, not knowing that she was doing the same? 

“Thought you graduated from Stanford?” James says with a forced smirk. “Never is the negative construction of forever, as in, as long as I live and even after that, I’ll be in love with you.”

“So then why didn’t you let us just take a break, Jamie?” Ravyn’s voice cracks. “Why?’

“I was trying to do what you wouldn’t. I knew you’d break up with me eventually so I was just speeding things up,” James says. 

“You idiot.”

James' eyes brighten. “Been a while since I heard that.”

“Well it bears repeating: you’re an idiot. Imbecilic, asinine, doltish—” Ravyn doesn’t realize she’s crawling closer on the couch, not unlike a puma ready to pounce, until they’re back in that familiar, foreign position—their faces an inch apart, electrifying the air rattling down their throats. 

James looks into Ravyn’s eyes, and she can feel that he wants to kiss her, wants to touch the past they had both been certain they had lost forever, and that makes Ravyn’s elbows go weak, gravity shoving her where she belongs. 

James catches her on his chest, arms sliding around her back and shoulders, and then into her hair. He inhales deeply but she can’t do the same, not before she says one more time, “I’m sorry, Jamie.”

He kisses the top of her head. “Me too, love.”

Ravyn smiles on his shirt, wondering if he’ll forget that kiss the way he did their first; if he’s once again operating on auto-pilot, as if loving Ravyn is an impossible, inevitable facet of his human nature. 

She forces herself up, away from his warm, cinnamon smell, to look into his eyes. “I came here to apologize, but also, to ask you something.”

James’s eyes dart to Ravyn’s lips. “What’s that?”

“I love you.”

The brightness that shoots across his face is blinding, but Ravyn won’t look away from the sun, she wants to bask in it until she’s fucking burnt to a crisp. 

“That’s not a question, love.”

“Oh. Right.” Ravyn giggles, sounding inexplicably tipsy. “Jamie?”

“Hm?”

“Will you—”

"Yes," he interrupts. "Yes."