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But he was in denial. Deep under the constant ‘this is not happening’ in his head, he knew that this in fact was happening.
Time had become trivial to James Potter. It was an unimportant factor in his life, in which days and night flowed into one.
He could remember what her living room looked like, the words they had spoken and, with a certain amount of dread and self-pity, the kiss.
When the door was closed, he could still imagine that nothing was wrong. But had it first been opened, he couldn’t pretend anymore.
He didn’t know if he regretted he’d asked his best friend for help, but he knew he was moving forward. It made him happy, but he was tired.
She’d had a weak side for him once, just like he had for her. A side that couldn’t say no, a side that wanted to please the other.
He sighed deeply, feeling a certain wave of sadness rush through him. He wanted her so deadly to be his, but she wasn’t.
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