Commentarius by 
Beedaily
AUTHOR’S NOTES: For every single one of you who--even after a year--have not given up on me. There are so many words and so many explanations and you'll get them, I promise, but here's what you really want, and I hope you all can forgive me long enough to enjoy it, even just a little bit.
IMPORTANT NOTES!!! PLEASE READ!!!
This is probably not the chapter you've been really hoping and waiting for. The fact of the matter is, chapter sixteen turned out completely plotty which totally and completely blows when you've been waiting a year (*cringe*) for it. Originally, it went to Friday night and contained...let's just say much goodness to compensate for all the plottiness in the beginning/middle of the chapter. But then I discovered that by keeping all of that in one chapter...well, let's just say it topped astronomical word counts. It was ridiculous. Even chapter 16 now is ridiculously long, so you can only imagine. But I'm asking--begging, pleading--with you to bear with me. The remainder of what was chapter 16 is now chapter 17 and is basically done. I have to make a few adjustments so that it can officially stand on its own, but that shouldn't take too long and I hope to have it to you by the end of this week. There's a part in 16 when Lily, very relieved, goes "The end. It's over. Thank bloody god" and while I hope it's not going to be as bad as that, it might be...so I'm begging you to hold out during this chapter. Give me a week to get you 17 and I swear that it is so unplotty and so L/J that you will have heart attacks up and down the streets. But everything in 16 is so important to the story and it's just completely and utterly bad luck that this chapter turned out to be the one you've waited so long for. I'm sorry. So...that's my warning.
I love you all, even when I’m not around.
Bee
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“Sometimes I think I'd be better off dead. No, wait, not me, you.”
-Jack Handey
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Thursday, October 16th, 7th Year Girls' Dormitory
Observant Lily: Day 31
Total Observations: 187
The Top Seven Reasons Why Lily Evans Will NOT Be Going Downstairs to Breakfast, Even Though She Has Done Nothing Wrong and Does Not Have to Be Reclusive and Most Certainly Is Not Avoiding Anyone
1) I am not hungry.
2) I am not thirsty.
3) I am exhausted. Truly, I am. I mean, it may seem as if I'm awake and rather lucid and all, but the truth is, I'm not. I am extremely tired. So tired, in fact, that it is quite hard to even write this. I am positively drooping over the paper. It's that bad. Really.
4) It is scientifically proven that growing young women such as myself need at least a full eight hours of rest in order to continue on in a healthy and functional manner. So really, according to the laws of natural science, I am physically obligated to stay in bed. I practically have no control over it. Practically.
5) The Never-Healing Ankle? Yeah, it's twinging again. A small twinge, I suppose, but it's there nonetheless. Therefore, unless I want this twinge to increase into a full-blown throb, which could then increase into a suicidal pulsing pain, it's probably not the best of ideas to get up and walk on it. Especially seeing as I'd have to walk down all of those stairs to get to the Great Hall. It's just rude to abuse my body that way. Even the Never-Healing parts of it.
6) I don't spend enough time in my room as it is. It must feel much neglected.
7) Because I am a coward.
__________________________
Later, 7th Year Girls' Dormitory
Observant Lily: Day 31
Total Observations: 187
The Top Seven Reasons Why Lily Evans WILL Be Going Downstairs to Breakfast, Despite What May Have Been Mentioned Before Because She Often Lies
1) I am hungry. Starving, in fact. And people who are starving generally eat when food is available to them. So I should probably go with that.
2) Though not particularly thirsty right now, once the partaking of the breakfasting meal occurs, I will probably be aching for some nice pumpkin juice. There is no pumpkin juice up here. There’s not even sanitary water up here. So, not good.
3) I am not tired. So not tired. And regardless of how many times I say that I am, that doesn't make it true. It just makes me sound more stupid.
4) Some scientists are wrong (and clearly not morning people).
5) The Never Healing Ankle is just that—Never Healing. So why let it win? Why let it cripple me?
6) I hate this room.
7) Because I am not a coward. Because there is no reason for me to feel awkward or guilty or anything of the sort just because James has decided to have one of his little fits of rage over something as simple as being introduced to someone—which, by the by, he told me I could do! It is not my fault that he is the most dramatic person in all of existence or that there seems to be some sort of deep, dark, family secret that no one appears to be inclined to share with me. It's not my fault.
I am going down to breakfast.
I am going down to breakfast right now.
Hmph!
__________________________
Later Later, Breakfast in the Great Hall
Observant Lily: Day 31
Total Observations: 188
May Godric Gryffindor roll over in his grave.
James Potter is a coward.
A bloody coward.
I sort of understand last night. I mean, even though he was depriving me of my educational rights as a struggling student by not returning for our tutoring session, I would've gladly waived my right to tutorage anyway if it meant avoiding an undoubtedly messy encounter with Angry James—it's not exactly pleasant dealing with Angry James, after all—because I am very un-confrontational like that. Therefore, it's almost as if he did me a bit of a favour by not coming back after he’d stormed off. I can't really hold it against him.
That, however, is most certainly not the case this morning.
I expected so much more from him. Really, I did.
Marley hasn't seen him. It was—rather pathetically, I suppose, but I couldn't help it—the first thing I asked when I arrived at the Gryffindor table, ready and prepared to take on Angry James and his Glares of Mass Destruction, only to find our table conspicuously down one of its usual members. James had not shown up.
It was a bit anticlimactic, really.
Since there weren't any Glares of Mass Destruction or Scowls of Burning Flames or anything, I mean.
I couldn't quite pinpoint my exact feelings about his absence. I mean, I suppose there was some relief, but I was mostly rather cross. Because really, what right did he have to be avoiding me? I'm the one who avoids him, not the other way around! And granted, yes, he has a lot to be ashamed about considering what a big arse he was last night, but since when has James ever run away from a confrontation? Since when? It was very vexing, to say the least. Even more vexing was when Marley simply shook her head at my inquiry, dashing all my hopes that perhaps he wasn’t a coward, just simply off in the loo or something.
I should have known not to hold my breath, the stupid wanker.
"He hasn't been down yet," Marley said, biting into a piece of toast. Her eyebrows furrowed curiously at me. "I thought the pair of you were together, actually. You don't know where he is, either, then?"
I shook my head, tiredly dropping my bag down on the floor as I slid into my seat across from her, trying not to scowl. The bloody, stupid coward. "He's cross with me," I told her flatly.
"Why?"
"Oh, who knows? I introduced him to someone."
Marley blinked.
"Well," she muttered dryly, "how dare you."
I gave a small smile, but couldn't quite muster anything spectacular as I grabbed a piece of toast myself and began restlessly tearing it into small pieces with my fingers. "Blokes are such shit sometimes," I muttered, pretending the toast was James's over-sized, filled-with-air, cowardly head. Marley nodded sympathetically.
"So true." She let out a gusty sigh. "Doesn't say much for our future as a race, does it?"
"No," I agreed bitterly. "It most certainly does not."
I hate him.
I hate him so much.
__________________________
Later Later Later, Still at Breakfast in the Great Hall
Observant Lily: Day 31
Total Observations: 188
I can't believe he's still not here yet.
He's such a bloody prat.
I hope he's sleeping himself into a coma. Or that Peter has jumped on him and suffocated him. Or that he's fallen, and he can't get up. Or that an owl has come, swooped straight into his room, and stolen his glasses, so now he is practically blind. I hope he's just...just...naked or something. Miserably naked. And cold. And...other things. Other very bad things!
I don't ever want to see him again. I'm not going to talk to him, anyway.
Merlin.
__________________________
Even Later, 7th Year Girls' Dormitory
Observant Lily: Day 31
Total Observations: 189
Sometimes I like to ponder what sort of sick guardian angel I've got.
I reckon that everyone has to have one. A guardian angel, I mean. Usually, I think mine's probably someone like my Great-Uncle Martin. Uncle Marty was a jolly old fellow, but he was never exactly right in the head, if you know what I mean. Now, whether that crookedness was a result of the immense amounts of alcohol he constantly seemed to consume—he put even Uncle Davy to shame in that regard, which is quite a feat, if I do say so myself—or just one of our several Evans family biological defects, I can't really be sure. He was the sort of old man who would come to Christmas dinner in naught but his undergarments just for a laugh, or spike the youngsters' milk bottles just to see what would happen. And if I'm not mistaken, I do believe he even once pushed his aging brother, Liam, down the stairs. And when he was asked why on earth he did such a thing to his poor, already practically crippled brother, his rather quick response was a bellowing laugh as he cried, "Why, to see if he'd bounce, of course!", as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
As I recall, Great-Uncle Liam did not bounce.
So, my guardian angel? Yes, it must be Uncle Marty.
And oh, the laughs I must give him.
The little buggering shit.
Honestly...is this truly my life?
Ugh.
Even though I had spent most of breakfast having pleasant conversations with Marley about how blokes are the scum of the earth who are completely irrational, annoying, etc., I was still in a rather off mood by the time I was walking—oh, all right, I suppose it was a bit of a stomp, really—back up to the dormitory, having a good amount of time before I had to be in class and no desire to stay down in the Great Hall where I was bound to sit and stew. I was actually rather hoping that I might run into He-Who-Is-Truly-Scum so that I could perhaps shove him out the nearest window or something, but I didn't see him and I suppose that made me all the more cross, even though after an hour of waiting on his appearance downstairs, I wasn't really expecting any sort of meeting afterwards. Still, I had hopes that the day would get better. After all, I did have several classes with the Irrational Scum. And this school does have many windows.
Yes, indeed. Many useful windows to toss yourself and others out of at your own discretion.
When it's necessary, of course.
Which in my life, it usually is.
Hmph.
I suppose that between the stomping, the pouting, the stewing and the mental window homicides, I was a bit distracted as I progressed up the stairs, not exactly paying attention to what I was doing. All I kept thinking about was stupid James who was probably in his stupid room doing stupid things and being stupidly cross and how he was stupidly unjustified in all of it. I was being overly dramatic myself, I guess, but sometimes when things in a girl's life have reached as devastating a point as mine has, that girl just has the right to be overly dramatic, you know? And oblivious. She also has the right to be more than a bit oblivious. So I suppose that's why I didn't quite notice the state of my dorm when I opened the door...
...and instead saved that realisation for when I nearly tripped to my death over a pile of books stacked right in front of the doorway.
Ah, yes.
Glamorous, as always.
What on earth...
Stumbling, I quickly grabbed the doorjamb just in time to break my fall as the pile of books I had just rammed into tumbled to the floor. But the books didn't make a sound. When they hit the floor, I mean. There was no boom or thump like there really should have been when heavy books such as these smash into hard dormitory floors. And the reason that there appeared to be a serious lack of clatter was because it just so happened that beneath those books—muffling the sound-that-should-have-been—was a sweater. Yes, a sweater. A green one, with white trim. And underneath that sweater was a pair of trousers. And under that pair of trousers, a blanket.
Either our floor had suddenly gained aspirations to be a closet, or there was something definitely off.
Ah, hell.
What the bloody fuck’s going on now?
I somehow found the courage to lift my head, though I was already picturing the worst, knowing whatever this was was not going to be good. I glanced up…and gaped in absolute horror.
Bugger.
Bugger, bugger.
My head moved slowly, taking in what turned out to be not just a pile of books or a layered array of dormitory clothes lying about the floor, but what seemed to be the ENTIRE CONTENTS OF OUR DORMITORY lying about the floor...and every other available surface inside the suddenly seemingly very small room.
Bloody hell.
It was a mess. And not just any old mess, either, but a real, big, good-lord-I-didn't-even-know-we-possessed-this-much-mess mess. Clothes, shoes, parchment, blankets, bags, books and even a few old chocolate frog wrappers were sticking out of every nook and cranny in the room and covered the floor in a blanket of clutter.
Good Lord.
What had happened?
I was searching for answers, still reeling from the shock of it all when I spotted the abnormality among the chaos. For in the very heart of the maelstrom, sitting rather demurely on her bed, a small piece of parchment in her hand, was Emma.
Yes, Emma.
And just what in the hell was that about?
"What in the name of all that's magical happened in here?" I all but shouted, completely dumbfounded. I started to make my way through the room, trying not to trip over any stray books or shoes or cauldrons or something, though with my luck, I knew it would be a miracle if I could manage it safely. Emma glanced up at my cry, apparently having just noticed that I'd entered. She turned her eyes from me and looked about the room casually, her hefty sigh the only indication that she noticed anything was amiss. Apparently, the fact that some sort of natural disaster had come and passed through our dormitory didn't seem to faze her all that much, because once she was done with her quick scan, she just looked calmly back towards me again and said nothing.
Dear Merlin.
The girl's finally gone mad.
It's probably my fault.
"Emma?" I asked again, this time more loudly, hoping that I might be able to shout the sanity back into her. "What happened?"
By then I had somehow managed to maneuver my way safely through the chaos to the side of Emma's bed—the only relatively clear surface in the entire room, I noticed. I dropped myself down next to her, more than a bit confused. Emma stared blankly at me. I considered briefly trying to shake the sanity I had obviously stolen from her back into her since shouting hadn't worked, but just as I lifted my hands to get to work, Emma moved. Still silent, she held out the parchment I'd seen her staring at before—an envelope, I now realised—and placed it in my hand. I flipped the envelope over, examining it curiously, not exactly certain what in the hell an envelope had to do with the fact that I just spotted my slaggy, black, heeled boot that had up until recently been hidden away in the very back, very dark corner of my closet, hanging off the canopy of Grace's bed.
I really couldn't even begin to wonder where the other boot had gone.
"Er, Em," I started slowly, eyeing her a bit warily now. "Unless this is an envelope containing a miniaturized tornado that you managed to catch after it swept through our room, I'm still not quite getting the answer I'm looking for. Now what exactly happened to our dormitory?"
"I was looking for that," Emma answered, speaking for the first time, nodding towards the envelope in my hand. Her voice was raspy, almost weighted. "I lost it," she said. "I had it right there on my bed stand, but when I woke up this morning, it was gone and I...well, I had to find it. So I looked and looked and I...well, I suppose I...made a bit of a mess."
Yes, just a bit.
Psh.
"You did all of that for this?" I pointed disbelievingly towards the room while holding the envelope aloft. "What the bloody hell is it?"
Emma blinked at me. "A letter," she said.
Well, thank you for that, Miss Brilliant.
"A letter?" I replied dryly, rolling my eyes. "Really? Not a tornado inside an envelope, then?"
"It's from Mac."
I froze.
It's...it's...
"What?" I asked dumbly, the words not really registering. "It's what?"
"The letter," Emma said again, suddenly looking very tired. "It's...it's from Mac."
From...Mac?
Mac?
Well, I'll be damned.
A letter from Mac.
A letter from Mac!!!
Congratulations, Lily Evans, welcome to the Mad Meddler's Hall of Fame!!!
Yeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeesssssss!!!!
I couldn't help it—I broke into an impossibly huge grin and threw myself down on my back, holding the letter aloft in the air, staring at the objectified proof of my astute meddling skills.
He had done it! He had actually done it!! He had listened to me—and no one ever listens to me! Oh, but how inexplicably glad I am that he decided to be the very first madman to do so! I knew I wasn't being foolish interfering with this. I mean, how could I honestly just stand there and watch this relationship fall apart when I could do something to help? When I was the one to inadvertently cause the riff? I couldn't! I didn't! And now I've saved it!!!
Merlin, I'm good.
I knew I was grinning like a complete fool and that Emma must have thought I'd gone completely over the end, but I just couldn't contain myself and my limitless meddling pride. And even though he's an angry prat and I'm still very cross with him for being so irrational and cowardly, at that moment, lying there on the bed, looking my meddling victory square in the face, I would have given anything to go and find James. Not so much so I could brag—though, really, could you blame me if I did toot my own horn a bit?—but just to see the look on his face. Just to hear what he'd say when he saw that yes, my plan had worked. That, yes, it was necessary. That I was right, it was done, and I had saved them.
At first, I think he'd be a bit shocked—and who could blame him for that, really?—but after the initial surprise faded away, I know exactly what he'd do. He'd give me that little disbelieving smile of his, the one that sort of quirks up at the side of his mouth, and then probably say something like, "I don't know how you do it, Infallible. I really don't".
Yeah, he'd do that.
If he wasn't cross with me, that is.
Hm.
My mental reminder of my present predicament put a momentary damper on my elated mood, which normally wouldn't have been the greatest, but in this circumstance, was probably a good thing because it gave me time to realise something rather important about my latest victory.
"Uhhh, Em?" I flipped over onto my stomach, propping my elbows up on the bed. "Why isn't the letter opened?"
Emma reached out and took the letter from my hand. She stared down at it. "Because I haven't opened it yet."
"Well, why not?"
"Because I'm not sure I want to."
Not sure...
What?
"You're not sure you whatt?" I sputtered.
Emma threw me a look. "I'm not sure I want to open it," she said again.
I felt my heart sink in my chest.
Not open it? What did she mean she's not sure if she wants to open it? How could that be? Of course, she wants to! It's from Mac! The man she loves! About their love, undoubtedly! Where is the hesitation? Where is the pause? How could she possibly sit there and tell me that she doesn't want to open it? Of all the stupid, moronic, idiotic things...
A meddler's job is just never done, is it?
For Merlin's sake.
"Emma, what are you talking about?" I asked quietly, looking at her imploringly, giving her my best now-let's-really-think-about-this-here face. "I mean, I know you and Mac haven't had the best time of it recently, but why on earth wouldn't you read it? Don't you want to know what he has to say? Aren't you—”
"Oh, I don't know, Lily!" Emma suddenly cried, cutting my meddling monologue off short. She looked down at the letter in her hand and began to glare at it—a glare I hadn't seen since it had been directed most avidly at me a few weeks back. "It's so stupid," she muttered, sounding very cross. "Why did he have to go and write a letter? I'm not going to read it. I can't."
"Well, why not?" I asked, a bit put out that she was so rudely scoffing her nose at all my hard meddling work. "Personally, I think it was rather brilliant of him to write you a letter. I mean, considering you won't even look at him, let alone talk to him. What else was he supposed to do? Send you telepathic waves? Mime it from across the room? I think writing a letter was actually rather inspired."
Plus, I had come up with it.
It was a brilliant idea.
Obviously.
"He shouldn't have done it," Emma muttered stubbornly. "It was a silly idea."
I raised my eyebrows mockingly. "Do you often tear entire rooms apart looking for silly ideas?"
Oh, yeah.
Take that.
I would've liked to see what sort of response Em could have come up with to counter that last little piece of witty, brilliant logic, but just as she appeared to have come up with some sort of retort, she was suddenly cut off by the sound of the dormitory door opening. We both looked up just in time to see Grace pop her head inside the doorway, her eyes widening as she took in the general state of dormitory unrest. Her eyes finally came to settle on the pair of us as she opened the door fully and took a tentative step inside.
"Are we moving?" she asked.
"Not today," I responded dryly, watching Grace's wary expression as she crossed the threshold of the dorm, eyeing the mess skeptically. I waved her over. "Emma's gone mad," I said. "Come over here and help me knock some sense into her."
"You did this?" Grace asked dumbfounded, looking at Emma. She dropped her rucksack next to the doorway—the safest place for it, most likely—and began to tiptoe her way through the mess. "My money was on Lily."
Of course, it was.
Psh.
"I'm not even going to respond to that," I sniffed crossly, even though, really, when you see a mad mess, who do you automatically go to blame but the maddest of madwomen? How could she be faulted? "But just for clarification," I felt it necessary to add, "this was all her."
Grace nodded, but gave me a grin that said oh-you-know-you-would-have-thought-it-too, which I would have, but not the point. "The Slag Twins are going to kill you," she said to Emma, plopping herself down on Emma's bed, as well. She looked around the room again. "So, what's the deal?" she asked. "It better be a good one, considering you're going to die for it."
"Is love enough to die for?" I questioned dramatically.
Emma glared. "Shut up, Lily."
"Love?" Grace's eyes blinked rapidly. Then she threw her hands together in delight. "Oh, this is going to be good. Wands of a Kind good, I can tell! What's happened?"
"This is not one of your romance novels, Gracie!" Emma burst out, but I quickly interrupted her, explaining at the same time, "Emma's got a letter from Mac, but now she won't open it. Even though she tore our entire dormitory apart looking for it when she thought she'd lost it. And even though he's probably confessed his undying love for her inside of it. And even though I'm sure it took a lot of convincing...er, it took a lot to convince himself, I mean...to write this letter in the first place because it is so personal and emotional and love-filled. EMMA IS SCOFFING HER NOSE AT LOVE. "
There was a brief pause of silence as Grace took this all in. Then she turned to Emma, disgusted. "What kind of mate of mine are you?"
"One who's obviously sane," Emma shot back, holding the letter close to her so that neither Grace nor I could snatch it from her, which Grace looked quite on the verge of doing. "You can't make me open it," she said, a bit hysterically. "I'm not going to open it!"
"You're being unbearably stupid right now," I warned her, acting quite as if this was her last chance to open the letter and if she didn't at that very moment, it would self-combust or something, which perhaps was a bit over-dramatic, but I was a meddler with a job to do. "You're being very rash and not thinking this through."
"I've had a week to think it through," Emma retorted. "My decision's still the same!"
"A week?" I cried, stunned. "You've had the letter for an entire week?"
Emma finally had the decency to look a bit sheepish. "Well, yes," she murmured, looking down at her blankets. "Mac gave it to me Saturday. After the match."
"After the match?!” I all but shouted, rising up onto my knees. “Emma! You’ve had this letter since the match and you still haven’t opened it? Is that why you were up here all that time during the party? And more importantly, WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL US ABOUT IT?”
“I would’ve told you,” Emma insisted, giving me a pointed look. “But someone was having her own romantic problems, if you’d care to remember.”
“Oh, sure,” I huffed, crossing my arms over my chest. “Blame the emotionally unstable girl. Nice shot.”
“You could have told me,” Grace piped up. “I’m not emotionally unstable.”
“Um, yes you are.”
“Hey, Lily...James.”
“Shut up!”
“Ha, ha, ha...”
“You know, you wouldn’t find it so funny if you were in my position—”
“Your position of romantic denial?”
“Oh—”
“Could the pair of you stop please?” Emma cried, completely exasperated. She shot the two of us a good glare. “Grace, stop provoking her, and Lily...you have every right to be emotionally unstable right now. You’re in a very awkward romantic position.”
I sniffed haughtily at the air. “Yes, I am.”
Grace was still coughing something that sounded distinctively like ‘denial’ under her breath, but a quick jab in her stomach solved that problem quite efficiently.
Never mess with the emotionally unstable. We’re violent.
Emma rolled her eyes. “Actually, Lily, while we’re on the subject, there’s something I found while I was searching—”
“Searching? Is that what we’re calling it?”
“—this morning. And yes, it was searching. It just happened to be a bit...disorganised searching. Now where...oh, right. Here.”
And that’s when she gave it to me.
My heart positively sank at the sight of the familiar scarlet and gold.
James’s scarf.
James’s lucky scarf.
Shit.
“Oh, shit,” I whispered aloud, weakly taking the scarf from Emma’s outstretched hand. The simple weight of it suddenly seemed like an anvil. “Oh, buggering shit.”
How had I forgotten about it?
How had I forgotten that I still had his scarf??!??
“I found it under your bed,” Emma told me, regarding me with the most sympathetic of looks. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you, but I rather thought you’d forgotten you had it. You must have taken it off that night and not realised it’d been tossed under your bed. And I just thought...well, you know.”
I nodded, but I wasn’t really listening, so absorbed in the feel of James’s scarf beneath my fingers.
I can’t believe I’d forgotten about it. How could I have forgotten I had it? And why hadn’t James reminded me? Granted, it’d been a rather awkward week for the both of us, what with him snogging me and all—I mean, not that he remembers that, but even so...
What the bleeding hell am I supposed to do with it now?
I wished not for the first time that James would for once manage not to get cross with me over something every two-and-a-half seconds, but even as I was wishing it just then, I knew that regardless of whether or not we were presently speaking, I would still be in the same awkward predicament. Because this scarf...well, this scarf had been there. Just like me, just like James, and just like MJ. It had been a witness. And even though it’s an inanimate object and it’s not as if it can go and be all, “Hey, James, you snogged Lily, but don’t remember. What’cha gonna do about it?” or anything...
Well, it’s a magical world. You never know.
How am I just supposed to give it to him when there's that underlying message there? It's just not something you do casually. It can't be done casually because it is not a casual situation. And maybe that's a lot of significance to put on a simple scarf, but it is a rather significant object.
And now I'm stuck with it.
I stared down at the scarf dumbly, willing it to stop mocking me with its mere presence.
It's just a scarf.
It's just a scarf.
“It’s just a scarf,” I said, pretending I meant it. “It’s not a big deal. It’s just a scarf.”
A scarf that James had given me because he fancies me and thought it would bring him luck.
A scarf that I had worn because I fancy him and couldn’t possibly say no.