The stadium is still buzzing when you finally make your way down to the pitch. Your ears ring from the cheers, your clothes smell like wind and cold bleachers, and your heart is still racing, not from the game, but from him. James always looks brightest after a win. Glowing, alive, golden. Like he was made for broomsticks and open skies. And you want to be the first one there, want to be the one he sees when he lands, the one he runs to, the one he lifts off the ground without thinking twice. You want it more than you want to admit. But she’s already there. Lily Evans reaches him before you even step onto the grass. She’s laughing, breathless, hair whipping in the wind like she’s part of the celebration itself. She throws her arms around him in that effortless Lily way, warm, familiar, bright, and James hugs her back, spinning her once before setting her down. The crowd roars again. Maybe for the win. Maybe for them. You slow your pace.

Lily looks beautiful without trying, like she was born with charm threaded into her freckles. She says something to James, and his face lights up. He pushes his hair out of his eyes, glasses crooked, grinning like he doesn’t even realize how lovely he is. Your stomach twist with that soft, aching envy that feels almost shameful. Because you like Lily. You really do. She’s kind to you, all sincerity and sharpness. She tells you when your eyeliner looks perfect and when your essays need work. She squeezes your hand when you’re anxious and sits with you in the library because you study better when someone else is there. She’s sunshine. And she shines on everyone. But sometimes, like right now, it feels like she shines a little brighter standing next to him.

James says something that makes her laugh, loud and bright, and she shoves his shoulder. He pretends to wobble dramatically, and the two of them fall into that easy rhythm they’ve always had. The rhythm you sometimes struggle to match, even though James insists you do. You stop a few feet away, hands slipping awkwardly into your pockets. You fight the urge to fold into yourself. To disappear. James sees you. His whole expression changes. He leaves Lily mid sentence not bothering to apologize. He jogs over to you, hair messy, eyes bright, cheeks flushed from the wind and adrenaline. He’s smiling so big it almost knocks the breath out of you. He pulls you into him without waiting for permission, arms wrapping tight around your waist. His face drops into your shoulder for a moment, brief, grounding, intimate. "Hey,” he says, voice soft in the way it only ever is with you. “Did you see that last goal? Thought I was gonna fall off my broom, swear it.”