You're not loud.
You're never loud, and you're never quiet. You're not too bold, and you're not shy.
You simple are.
That is what James has always admired about you.
Since he met you, since he watched you sit in your train compartment calmly, as if you knew that people would come to you.
They did.
You have all of the things he performs to get.
And he should hate it, he should. He should hate that you live so seemingly peacefully, free of others' expectations.
But he loves it. He adores it. Admires it.
Admires you, too.
He'll never shoot his shot.
But it's not first year anymore. You're not 11, getting sorted or sitting on the train.
You're almost sixteen, and it's the same situation.
You sit in a compartment alone, waiting for your friends to board the train.
James, holding his bags and leading Remus, Sirius and Peter through the aisle of the train, stops.
Right beside your compartment, as soon as he sees you. He can't help it.
With a quick muttering to Sirius, he hands him his bags, and turns to face the compartment door with a deep breath.
He opens it, leaning forward into the space with a grin on his lips.
"Hi, love," he says brightly. He thinks he looks cool, he really does, but he just looks like an excited kid.
You look over, before saying calmly, ignoring the racing of your heart, "Just because you're charming doesn't mean you can barge in, Potter."
"So you think I'm charming?"
He stares at you for a moment, and as he takes you in, he knows.
He's not sure what he knows, actually, but he just does. He knows.
When you know, you know, as the poets say.