Lily leaned into his touch right away, closing her eyes for just a moment as she concentrated on the feeling of his hands, which were still so familiar to her. The thought of losing him made her chest feel too tight, her heart physically ache within.
And she couldn't help the chord of sadness that it struck with her to realize that, young as Harry was, he wouldn't ever really know her. The stories were important of course, but he would know her through memories of memories. Her beautiful son wouldn't remember her on his own. And that was surely what made her want to weep for real since the conversation had started. It hurt to know that she would die, and it hurt to know that James would be without her, and that she wouldn't raise Harry -- but it was damaging to know that Harry wouldn't know her.
Lily kissed James in return, her hands cupping the sides of his neck, the tips of her fingers curled into the longer hairs at the nape of his neck. She smiled faintly as well when he called her his ginger -- a nickname she had never been terribly fond of one, but one that she associated implicitly with him.