Jily Oneshots (pt2)

Pieces

"You have my mug."

She laughed, a weak, wet thing, but a laugh. "I didn't know I had it, promise. But I was going through some boxes, and I found it, and I just—"

"It was a piece of you that maybe wasn't as in the past as you thought?" he offered. He had been thinking a lot while editing.

"Or one that felt so far away I couldn't ever find it again."

Silence settled over the call.

"You deleted your post about it though," he said at last.

"Yeah, how did you see that anyway?" Lily asked.

"Remus."

"Of course, the sneak."

"But you left the picture," James prodded. Now that she was here, he had to know.

He could hear her shrug, picture the self conscious lift and fall of her thin shoulders. "The picture said it all, I guess. It felt, like, I don't know, but the words were too much. And not enough."

"I know," he said softly. "I know what you mean."

Silence again, but this time James could tell she was working up to something. He let her take her time.

"You used words. You don't do that."

"You watch my videos?" That genuinely surprised him. They were something he had started after their breakup, a form of catharsis, he supposed.

"James, I watch every single one. Subscribed and ring the bell for notifications and all that. How do you think I found this one so fast?"

James was stunned. "I dunno, I figured Remus would meddle in the opposite direction, maybe send it to you?"

"Did you not want me to see it?" she sounded worried.

"Lily, if I didn't want you to see it, I wouldn't have posted it."

Lily took a deep breath, the shuddery, post-cry kind. "I saw it. And—and I've spent the last three hours trying to decide what you meant by it, because I knew right away you had seen my post even though I deleted it. You quoted it, James," she cried. "You quoted me. Why?"

"Same reason you chose the photo over the text. Sometimes, what we have on our own—it's just not enough."

"I would say it's not enough most of the time," she sighed.

"Lily?"

"Yes?"

"I meant it, you know. The video. I miss who I was, but, more than that, I miss who we were. I miss—" he throat tightened; he could feel the tears pushing at the backs of his eyes. "I miss who you made me," he managed.

"We made each other crazy," she protested.

"We made each other better."

Lily was quiet for a moment. "I miss you too, James. I miss you so much. Nobody..." she didn't finish that though, but James knew what she meant. Nobody else had ever just gotten him the way she had. Nobody else made life better simply by existing.

"What happened between us?" she asked.

What indeed. It was a question neither of them could have asked three years ago, let alone answer. But now, here, in this moment, this time/place/identity, James thought he could make a start.

"I felt like I wasn't enough," he admitted. "You had so much more to give than I did, like giving came naturally to you, with your words, and I was constantly trying to keep up with you. You always know what to say, what to do. I couldn't compete."

Lily burst into sobs. "God, James, I never know what to say! I talk until I figure it out. You're the one who always had yourself together—"

"Are you kidding? All I have are pictures, Lil. That's it. I can't articulate them. I can't share who I am as effortlessly as you can."

She snuffled back tears, pulling herself together. "Haven't you ever heard that a picture is worth a thousand words? I talk and write because sometimes I feel like words are all I have to offer, and they aren't worth much so I pile them up hoping they'll make something worth hearing."

James felt all the air leave his lungs in a rush, leaving a vacuum in its place. This. This was what they should have been saying three years ago. But three years ago, they weren't the people they needed to be to have this conversation. And wasn't that the whole point of growing up? Becoming who you needed to be, and letting go of the bad stuff, while hanging onto the old pieces that served you, that added value?

"No, Lily, the way you communicate, it's—amazing." He stopped, gasping for air. "What a mess," he said finally, his voice wavering between laughing and crying.

"Totally," Lily agreed. "Completely. One hundred percent. But—"

"Yeah?"

"Do you think we could ever, well, try again? And this time, leave a bit more—space—for each other?"

James knew he would do anything she asked for the chance to be the one she spent her lovely words on. For her, he would find words for all his pictures, and if they worked together, they could learn to speak the same language, blending to form a beautiful story that was enough in every moment. Always enough.

"Lily?"

"Yes?"

"Want to do a Mac's run?"