The library had been empty for hours. Everyone else had the good sense to leave. Everyone but you — and him. You sat in the farthest corner, quill tapping against parchment you weren’t reading, eyes burning holes through a page you weren’t even seeing.

You felt him before you heard him. That stupid presence. That stupid gravity he carried around like the sun revolved around him and everyone else just had to cope.

“Still pretending you can ignore me?” James Potter’s voice broke the silence like glass shattering on stone. Low. Tired. Not smug, not cocky. Almost… hollow.

You didn’t answer. Not right away. Not when you could hear the way he dragged his hand down his face, like he hated himself for standing there.

“Evans said I was pathetic for chasing you this long. Think she might be right,” he said, and this time, his words weren’t sharp. They bled. “But I’m still here. You can’t scare me off, no matter how hard you try.”

You closed your eyes. Counted to five. To ten. “You should leave,” you said, finally, voice thinner than you wanted it to be.

“But I never do.” His footsteps were slow, echoing in the hollow belly of the library, bringing him closer and closer until he stood just behind you. “You hate me. I know. You’ve told me enough times. Everyone knows it by now.” A bitter laugh escaped him. “But I still keep showing up, don’t I?”

You didn’t turn. Couldn’t. If you saw his face, the way his eyes probably looked at you like you hung the moon, you’d crumble.

“I thought maybe… maybe if I annoyed you enough, fought with you enough… maybe you’d see me. Not the Potter you’ve built up in your head. Not the arrogant Gryffindor you’re supposed to hate. Just… me.”

Your throat burned. Your chest tightened.

“I don’t even know why I’m saying this,” James went on, quieter now. “You’ll laugh. You’ll tell your friends. You’ll say ‘Potter’s finally cracked.’” A breath. “But I can’t take it anymore. Not pretending I don’t care. Not pretending it doesn’t ruin me that you look through me like I’m nothing.”

Slowly, painfully, you stood. You turned. And Merlin, he looked wrecked. Hair messier than usual, jaw clenched like he was trying to hold himself together, eyes rimmed with something he’d never let anyone else see. Vulnerability. Ache. A boy who was tired of being hated by the one person he couldn’t stop loving.

“I don’t know how to stop,” he said. “I don’t know how to stop wanting you, even if all you’ll ever give me is hate.”