Jily Oneshots (pt2)

Pieces

Wait.

James scrolled back up. That was his. Not the picture, his travel mug. He been wondering for three years where it went. Now he knew.

He checked the timestamp. Then he grabbed his phone and found the pic from Remus. She had posted the picture, an aesthetic shot of his mug sitting on the edge of a bench in early morning light, a slight wisp of steam curling from it, an hour after the pensive text post. Why? And why leave the picture, but not the thoughts? Presumably, she felt the picture was safer, never imagining that the only person who would understand the meaning of the two together, the only person on earth who could make that connection, would ever see.

But he had, thanks to Remus. And he did understand. Because seeing that travel mug, with the faded logo at the bottom and the worn spot where he rubbed his thumb over a dent too many times to count, sent him right back to a place and time—a version of himself—he longed to recapture.

There had been a gas station and convenience store a five minute walk from their dorms. They went there all the time, not just him and Lily, but the whole gang of them. "Anyone up for a Mac's run?", or even just, "Mac's run?", was the most commonly asked question among them for four years. Mac's meant midnight milkshakes and munchie mix. It meant being young, carefree, and capable of consuming intimidating quantities of junk food without a second thought.

And after school, when it was him and Lily together, between their frequent road trips and early work hours, Mac's stayed with them. James remembered buying that exact travel cup from the one nearest their first crappy apartment, because with the amount of coffee he was drinking, the free refills every seventh cup paid off. A Mac's run was one of the last things they could do together without fighting near the end. That, and sex.

James started crying. Alone, in the dark, sitting on a bed that felt empty no matter how many pillows he added, he wept. For who he had been, who he had become, the mistakes he made along the way, and for how sorry he was that he hadn't figured a few things out sooner. He cried for the life he could have had if he had been stronger, kinder, more compassionate back then. If he had really truly listened to what Lily was saying behind all the words. Why hadn't he listened? And why hadn't he tried harder to find the words to say back? He thought in pictures, yes, and articulating those took time and effort, but for Lily, for the sake of promises made, he should have found a way.

When the tears slowed, James reached for his phone. Remus said her number hadn't changed. He could text her, ask about the photo, ask her why.

Or he could tell a story. This time, with words. Suddenly energized, electrified, he leapt off the bed and frantically grabbed some basic camera gear. Did he have time to reshoot and start over from scratch? Not at all. Was he going to anyway? Absolutely. There was a Mac's across the park, and he found himself in need of a coffee.

Over the next few days, James struggled to craft the story in his head. Normally his videos were short, three to five minutes, never with any dialogue. Maybe some instrumental music, but more often than not he only used the ambient noise of the story itself. His goal, after all, was to invite viewers into a moment, and let them decide what to take away from it.

This one was different. This was for her. And for her, he needed words.

He worked like a madman, barely pausing for food or sleep. But on day three, it was complete. It was the best thing he'd ever done. He only hoped it was enough. He made the upload public, and closed his laptop.

His phone ringing woke him hours later. He answered without looking, eyes barely open. "Hello?"

"James?" she sniffled.

"You saw it?" James sat up slowly, trying to ignore the way his heart pounded.

"Un-huh. Did you—did you really...?" she trailed off.