Best Friend's Brother

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at

http://archiveofourown.org/works/37021876.

Rating:
Mature

Archive Warning:
No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:
M/M

Fandom:
Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling

Relationship:
Regulus Black/James Potter, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin

Character:
Regulus Black, Sirius Black, James Potter, Remus Lupin, The whole
Marauders Era make appearances really

Additional Tags:
Modern Marauders (Harry Potter), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting,
Sirius Black & James Potter Friendship, Regulus Black & Remus Lupin
Friendship, Alternate Universe - Muggle, Falling In Love, Dating, Fluff,
Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Flirting, Trans Character, James Potter's
unrelenting optimism vs Regulus Black's unwavering pessimism, Remus
Lupin's hunger for knowledge vs Sirius Black's fear of being known,
Regulus and Remus are best friends who would help each other bury a
body, but do not know each other's middle names, James and Sirius are
best friends that make other people question if they're in love, references
to past jily - it's okay they're besties, Lily is NOT villainized, Peter is just
vibing, Humorous and slightly ridiculous references to source material,
Barista Regulus Black, Baritsa Remus Lupin, Remus is going to be a
teacher!, Regulus is going to be a chef!, Artist Sirius Black, Regulus and
 Sirius hating each other, but not really, references to Walburga Black's
A+ Parenting, Dating in Secret, but only half of the couple is aware, That
oh shit moment where you've been falling in love with your best friend's
brother, and didn't even realize it

Language:
English

Collections:
wolfstar fics but like also any other fic that sounds mildly interesting,
spain without the 's', Ongoing fic, screaming shitting going feral, All the
best fics ive ever read, My favorite gays aka Wolfstar, my favorite
jegulus <3, favorites_mjb, my jegulus heart <3, Fics That Butter My
Biscuit, Jegulus Masterlist, super cool and awsome works to show
people, marauders era masterpieces, life changing, hp stories,
FavouritesFics, All Time Fav Wolfstar <3, i like to be sad, Magnolia's
Favourite Fics, read, jegulus, My Favourites to read, TbrJegulusbabe, My
Virtual Bookshelf: Harry Potter, Want to read, COMPLETED FICS,
TbrWolfstarbabe, lovely marauders, hp fics for when I need my fix, The
Golden Snitch Selection, jegulus_for_the_win, wolfstar and other
marauders, wolfstar fics that are good soup (may include other ships), HP
Fics I’ve lost sleep over that have also single handedly ruined my life,
Ceonix’s favourites, Jegulus_Library, dead gay wizards, Unfinished/TBR
Jegulus, marauders fics that i cannot stop reading despite being in so
much emotional pain, To read—-___HPFics, TBR, marauders fics,
maraudersNOTread

Stats:
Published: 2022-02-10 Completed: 2022-04-07 Chapters: 30/30 Words:
329740
 Best Friend's Brother
by zeppazariel

Summary

Regulus hates his brother—this is fact—and as his best friend, Remus

would never betray him by falling in love with aforementioned brother.

Sirius hates his entire family—this is also fact—and as his best friend,
James would never betray him by falling in love with a member of it.

The problem is, none of them are even aware that it's happening.

Notes

Alright, so maybe these characters and their dynamics compel me. I

didn't expect this story to grow into what it is has when I started
writing it, but oh buddy, it definitely has its twists and turns.

With that being said, strap in <3

 Chapter 1
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

Regulus knows instantly upon seeing Remus that something has happened.
Something big.

"Who have you shagged?" Regulus asks bluntly, and Remus yelps, tipping
over the cup of espresso into the drain carrier underneath, hissing as the
dripping espresso hits his hand because he fumbles to right the cup again.

"Oh, piss off, Regulus," Remus snarls, snatching his hand back to fling it
out, which Regulus calmly leans out of the way of. Remus' ire does nothing
to hide the blush lighting his cheeks.

"Oh, you have," Regulus says, lips curling up. "Just as I thought. You've
that look about you."

"That look," Remus repeats, grumpy. He huffs as he pulls down another cup
and dumps the remaining espresso into it from the last cup, then pushes the
button for a half-shot to make up for what he spilt.

"Yes, you know," Regulus tells him, and Remus shoots him a look that
makes it very clear that he doesn't know, actually. Very well, then. Regulus
isn't the sort to hold back on these things, especially if he has the
opportunity to indulge in some vindictive amusement. "There's this glow
about you, Remus. The one that suggests you've shagged someone for the
very first time—the details hardly matter, of course. The result is the
same."

"That's not a real thing."

"Oh, but it is. You can't focus. You keep drifting off in your own head and
smiling. Even your sighs are soppy."

Remus frowns. "Am I really?"

"Yes. It's disgusting." Regulus sighs. "Being observant is a prison of which

I cannot free myself from."

"You're awful, you know," Remus tells him.

Regulus hums. "Being self-aware is my cellmate." He passes over the

chocolate toffee flavoring and raises his eyebrows. "So? Go on, then. Tell
me about him."

"Why in God's name would I do that?"

"Because, frankly, we're both trapped in this friendship, so if we're not
constantly humiliating one another and dragging secrets from each other,
then what's the point?"

"You don't tell me secrets," Remus says flatly.

"I do, too."

"Do not."

"I have."

"Name one time."

"Two years ago, August 22nd, I told you the name of my imaginary friend
when I was a child was Snuffles," Regulus reminds him seriously, forcing
himself not to grimace or shudder when revisiting that memory. He'd been a
bit drunk, admittedly, and it was at that point that he realized Remus either
had to be his best friend for life, or he had to die. He knew too much.

Remus stares at him, pausing with a can of squirty cream over the cup.
"Regulus, that's...that's not a big secret."
"Don't undermine my experience, Remus," Regulus says, narrowing his
eyes at him. "I've never told anyone that before. No one knows that about
me, but you."

"No one?"

"Well, my brother, who is—"

"—dead to you," Remus finishes, rolling his eyes. "Yes, I know. But, well,
that sort of proves my point, doesn't it? I don't know anything about your
brother, other than the fact that he's a waste of space, and you hate him
more than you usually hate people. I don't even know his bloody name. I
barely know anything about your entire family, actually."

"Yes, which is why your life is brighter than mine," Regulus replies calmly.
"Consider yourself lucky. Besides, it's not like you enjoy talking about your
family."

"You know, upon reflection, this might not be a route I want to go down
with you," Remus says mildly.

Regulus smiles. It's thin. "Smart man."

"Talking to you is always a bit like playing chess."

"You love chess."

"Oh, shut up." Remus looks away, but his lips twitch.

"Stop trying to change the subject, Remus." Regulus props back against the
counter as Remus puts the lid on his cup and immediately takes a large sip,
despite knowing that it's going to make him wince in pain from burning his
tongue. He always does that, like maybe it won't hurt the next time, even
when he knows it will. That's sort of Remus' worst trait—just how often he
hurts himself chasing the taste of something he craves. A bit reckless,
especially when it comes to himself.

"I'm not," Remus mumbles, clicking his tongue with his face scrunched in
agitation.

"You are," Regulus insists, no-nonsense. Anyone else, and he wouldn't

bother. "Go on, you know you want to talk about it. Was it nice? Was he
nice? Handsome? Anyone I know?"

"No, I highly doubt it," Remus says, admitting defeat with a sigh. "Met him
in a bloody queue at Flourish and Blotts. Never seen a bloke look so out of
place in a bookshop before; it's all sweaters and glasses in that old dusty
shop—"
"You say that as if you didn't come out of the womb in tattered fleece,"
Regulus cuts in, amused, and Remus sends him a scathing look. "Alright,
alright, go on."

"Yes, well, he was wearing leather and jewelry and looked like he'd burn a
book before he'd read it, as in he'd probably set something on fire for the
fun of it—which is a bit of a small-minded assumption to make, now that I
think about it. He turned out to be quite intelligent. We had a few
intellectual conversations I wasn't at all expecting," Remus muses.

"Before or after you shagged him?" Regulus asks, then smirks when Remus
makes a choking sound. "Oh, during, was it?"

Remus scowls. "Cut it out, would you? Do you want me to tell you about
this or not?"

"It's not fun if you're not suffering."

"You appall me."

"Liar." Regulus raises his eyebrows. "So, he wooed you with books, then?
Decent strategy, I'll admit. You, Lupin, are hilariously predictable."

"He didn't—" Remus groans. "That's not how it went at all. The queue was
long, and we got to chatting, and… I don't know. He was just…" There he
goes, giving one of those soppy sighs again. "In any case, he was in front of
me, so I thought he'd be long gone by the time I got outside, but he wasn't.
He said he was taking the tube, asked if I was, and I was, so we
just...walked together. Chatted some more. Then, er…"

"Tell me you didn't shag him in some back alley, Remus."

"What? No! Of course not. He just saw a bar and suggested we stop in for a
few drinks. It was in the evening, and I thought it would be—nice, I
suppose, to keep talking to him. So, I had a few pints with him. Then, ah,
more than a few."

Regulus leans back and huffs a small laugh. "My god, Remus, did you get
pissed and shag the man the day you met him?" In the next second, Remus'
face turns a brilliant shade of red, and Regulus' lips part. "Oh shit. You did!
You actually—"

"Not—no, shut up," Remus practically wheezes. "I wasn't pissed, alright?
Just...pleasantly relaxed. Bold enough to say yes when he admitted that he
didn't actually take the tube because his flat was close by, and would I like
to see it?" He clears his throat. "As it turns out, yes, I did like seeing it."

"You whore," Regulus says, tucking his smile away at the corners of his
mouth. Remus looks like he's about to melt, his whole face is so red. "This
is brilliant. You got your end away for the first time with a stranger because
he wooed you with books. I'm never letting you live this down."
Remus scowls through his blush, then hides his face behind a swallow of
his latte. "He didn't woo me with books, you intolerant shit."

"Sure he didn't. Honestly, I didn't know you had it in you. Was it worth it, at
least?" Regulus asks.

"It was…" Remus trails off, getting that distant look in his eyes again.
Unconsciously, he starts smiling. Oh, this is quite bad, indeed. He's
absolutely smitten, he is. Regulus almost pities the poor fool. "Yes, it was
very worth it. Is it always like that? It can't always be like that, can it?"

"Almost never," Regulus admits bluntly. "Or, not in my experience, at least.

You've found yourself a true gem, it seems. When are you seeing him
again?"

"What?" Remus blinks at him.

Regulus stares. "You are seeing him again, aren't you?"

"I—I don't know," Remus says, swallowing. "I mean, he was nice enough
the next morning. Made me breakfast. Walked me all the way to the tube,
and even gave me his number, but he didn't take mine. Am I meant to just
ring him up and tell him I want to—what, do it again?"
"No, of course not," Regulus says. "You text him, and you go with a bit
more subtlety than that. How many days has it been? Wait, when did this
happen?"

"After my shift before my days off."

"So, two days. Yeah, that's enough time."

Remus looks at him skeptically. "You sound...very certain about this.

Regulus, in the three years I've known you, I've never seen you date
anyone."

"That's because I don't date anyone."

"But—"

"Shagging is a bit different," Regulus admits.

"See!" Remus glares at him. "I don't know anything about the people you
shag! I don't even know what your first time was like, and here you are,
interrogating me about mine."
"You haven't asked." Regulus keeps his face blank when Remus gets that
look like he wants to strangle him. "Oh, calm down. My first time wasn't
memorable at all. It wasn't remarkable in the least, and neither is anyone
else I've ever shagged. Most of the time, I don't bother."

Remus frowns. "Well, that's just a bit sad."

"Yes, Remus, thank you for pointing that out," Regulus replies tonelessly,
entirely unimpressed.

"Sharing secrets, humiliating each other—we have a beautiful friendship."

Remus gives him a satisfied, crooked grin and raises his latte, eyes bright
with humor.

"Sometimes I contemplate killing you to free myself from it," Regulus

muses.

"Oh, do put me out of my misery, please," Remus retorts, rolling his eyes.
He pauses, then looks thoughtful. "You know, Regulus, you could consider
shagging out of your comfort zone. I know you. You tend to stick to routine.
If you're shagging the same types of people, and it's not worth it, maybe you
should shag someone like you've never shagged before."

Regulus narrows his eyes. "Like who?"

"Like him," Remus says, pointing towards the front of the shop, his lips
twitching in amusement. "He's literally been standing there for twenty
minutes, just waiting for us to open the shop so he can come in and talk to
you."

"Absolutely not," Regulus says sharply. "I wouldn't shag him, even if he
was the last person in the world."

"Oh, don't be mean, Regulus. He's so sweet, though," Remus tells him, his
voice softening. "He likes you quite a bit, and I can tell that you—"

"Don't finish that sentence, Lupin."

"Just give it some thought, yeah? I think he'd be good for you. The kind to
your rude. The truth to your lies. The—"

"I'm not entertaining this," Regulus snaps. "Getting fucked has clearly
scrambled your mind."

Remus goes red again, coughing. "Well, actually—"

"Oh?" Regulus arches an eyebrow. "Alright, fucking someone else has

clearly scrambled your mind. Speaking of, what's his name? I want to put
this down in my mental list of things to be repeatedly dreadful to you
about."
"Well, about that…" Remus reaches up to scratch the back of his head,
looking sheepish. "I, ah, never actually caught his name. That's awful, isn't
it?"

"That," Regulus says, "is absolutely hilarious."

"Oh, piss off," Remus mutters, huffing. "We were a bit caught up talking to
each other, then—other things. Shut up. Stop laughing, Regulus, it's not
funny."

"I'm not laughing."

"You laugh with your eyes. I'm serious, stop it. I'll open up the shop ten
minutes early and hide in the back to leave you alone with him. I'm not
joking."

"Don't you dare," Regulus hisses, a real spike of apprehension shooting

through him, along with a zing of something he refuses to label as
excitement. No. Absolutely not. Regulus is no fool. "I'll never forgive
you."

Remus rolls his eyes, exasperated. "Yes, you and your ridiculous ability to
hold grudges. I'm aware of it. You have a tremendous amount of issues, you
know."
"Obviously," Regulus drawls.

"He will get in here eventually, Regulus."

"Yes, I know—which is why I'm going to have his order already made, so
he will leave faster."

"Right, because knowing his order and having it made up for him doesn't
send mixed signals at all," Remus says sarcastically, raising his eyebrows.

Regulus glares at him. "Don't you have someone you're meant to be

texting?" Remus huffs a laugh and swivels around to head towards the back,
likely to go get his cell. "And stop forgetting your name tag!"

The door swings shut behind Remus, and Regulus clicks his tongue in
annoyance. He never says it, but if Remus feels like talking to him is
playing chess, then Regulus feels like talking to Remus leaves him a few
moves behind. It'd be enough for Regulus to hate him if he—well, didn't
hate him, as it were.

When it becomes clear that Remus is going to spend the rest of his time
before the shop opens in the back, Regulus moves over to lean behind the
till, grateful for the cover and the view of the front of the shop. It allows
him to look without being caught doing it, which is always one of his
favorite things. He has a natural draw to secrecy and no shame in such a
thing.

It's been like this for two weeks now. Persistent. Ever since it rained badly
enough that multiple people rushed into the shop to escape the worst of it,
ordering coffee or pastries while they waited for the rain to let up a little.
Most people who came in never even came back.

James did.

James continues to come back, literally every day. When he stumbled in

from the rain, laughing like a little kid, his wild hair still fighting gravity
and the weight of water to stick up and also plaster to the side of his head,
Regulus is ashamed to admit that his breath had caught. For just a moment,
he'd gone absolutely still, not moving even to replenish his very much
needed oxygen, too caught up in staring at the beaming smile and bright
eyes behind glasses covered in small teardrops of rain that ran down the
circular frames.

Then James had shuffled forward, gathering a few napkins to take his
glasses off and clean them, pinning the full warmth of his striking brown
eyes right on Regulus as he declared, rather cheerfully, "Absolutely mad out
there, it is. Lucky I've found this shop to wait in a bit."

And, honestly, that was fine. Genuinely, truly, it was completely fine that
Regulus was staring at him and thinking ridiculous things. He's the sun,
Regulus had thought, the realization taking a firm, unshakeable shape in his
mind, putting a low jolt of warmth in his stomach. He carries the horizon
on his shoulders. He's sunshine in the storm. All very mad things to think
about someone he'd only been staring at for five seconds, but it was fine,
because Regulus has a lot of experience with hiding his reactions, keeping
his face blank, brushing things off and burying feelings so deep even he
can't make sense of them. It would pass, and he would be fine.

Except James slipped his glasses on his face, and his expression fell slack
instantly as he looked at Regulus, blinking once, twice, then rapidly in a
rush. Just like that, his devastating smile bloomed once more, brighter than
before, and he leaned on the counter before murmuring, soft and slow and
breathless, "Oh, I am lucky. Well, hello."

So, no, it's not fine. Regulus is not fine. Because James is warm. He's
energetic, and effortlessly kind, and so charming that Regulus wants so
badly to hate him for it—he's trying, he really is, he tries so hard—but he
can't.

The thing about James is, he's larger than life. His presence fills up
whatever space he's in, but it's not smothering. It's welcoming. Regulus is a
bit defenseless against it, like a moth drawn to a flame, ready to burn up for
one taste of warmth. He hides it well, he thinks, but that hardly deters
James. He's a bit relentless, James is, and he wouldn't know subtlety if it
walked up to him and shook his hand. He's the type of person who hasn't
successfully told a lie in his life, and his worst secret is most likely
something like him keeping snack wrappers under his bed because he's too
lazy to take it to the bin.

He's ridiculously earnest about everything, always laughing and smiling,

and he's so playful. It's clear that he's open, that he wears his heart on his
sleeve, that he's kind instinctively far before he's hostile. To put a fine point
on it, James is basically everything that Regulus is not.

He is also quite dangerous, because Regulus knows James could absolutely

ruin him without even trying. It'd be effortless, if Regulus were foolish
enough to let him.

But Regulus is no fool.

Breathing harshly through his nose, Regulus pushes away from the till to
start making James' order. Yes, he has it memorized. He wishes he didn't.
Being observant is actually a prison; he wasn't joking about that.

James gets a four-pump hazelnut and vanilla latte—which is just French

vanilla, really, except the shop doesn't carry that flavor, so they make do—
with an extra shot of espresso, even though he hardly needs the extra boost.
He always dumps in two sugars, which he also doesn't need, and Regulus
has seen him eyeing the squirty cream and caramel drizzle wistfully enough
times to know that he wants it, but doesn't get it because it's hard to add the
sugar through that. Regulus is adding it for him before he even realizes it,
too distracted by peeking out the window to think about how that seems.

It's odd (and endearing, though Regulus would chew his own arm off before
admitting it out loud), but James coordinates his pastry by color. More
specifically—what color he's wearing. When he's in blue, he has a
blueberry muffin. When he's in red, he has a raspberry danish. When he's in
black, he has a blackberry fruit bar. White, he has a cinnamon roll, warmed
up. Orange is toffee pudding, yellow is a biscuit, and green is a croissant. If
he's not in solid colors, or he's wearing multiple colors, he has a doughnut.

As James is in blue today, Regulus grabs a muffin and packages it neatly,

sitting it on the counter just as Remus comes from the back. Glancing at the
clock, the time ticks over to the next hour, and Regulus sighs.

No more procrastinating.

Remus is kind enough to not comment when he sees that Regulus has
prepared James' order, and he even goes to open the shop, though that might
just be because he knows Regulus will put it off for as long as he can.

"Morning, Regulus' dashing coworker!" James greets as cheerful as always,

because it's something of a joke now that James doesn't know his name,
seeing as Remus never brings his name tag to work. James does not seem at
all ashamed of the fact that he's been loitering by the door like a dog
waiting to be let in from the cold.

"Good morning, James," Remus says, amused. "Up early, are we?"

"Oh, I've been up for a bit now," James says, walking beside Remus with a
smile. "You know what they say about the early bird." He flicks his gaze
towards Regulus, and his smile stretches. "Always gets the worm. Morning,
Regulus."
"James," Regulus replies. "Do you know what they say about the second
mouse? It gets the cheese. The first one is dead in the trap, you see, so that
makes it easier."

James looks ridiculously charmed, the idiot. "Well, if the first mouse had
planned it properly, it might've gone differently for him. Any sort of
mischief that comes with thievery requires a proper plan, you know."

"He does have a point," Remus says as he steps around the counter, his lips
pinched like he's fighting a smile. Regulus resists the urge to stomp on his
foot as he goes by, always abandoning him to James, the traitor.

"Or the mouse could—oh, I don't know—run back off to whatever hole it
crawled out of," Regulus suggests.

"Mm, I suppose," James allows, leaning up against the counter to flash that
disarming grin of his right at Regulus, "but then it wouldn't have the cheese,
would it?"

Regulus feels his face twitch, so he focuses on the till to get himself under
control. He rings James up, then arches an eyebrow when he tells James his
total, only for him to look terribly (adorably) confused. "What?"

"I didn't order," James says slowly.

"I know." Regulus pushes the drink and muffin forward, which makes
James blink again, and then he repeats the price.

James' gaze flicks up to him, startled. "Wait, how'd you know I wanted a
muffin today?"

Endless responses fly through his mind, one of them being the simple and
elusive but nonetheless true I'm observant, except what falls out of his
mouth is the unexpected and much more honest, "You're wearing blue."

"Regulus," James says, just staring at him.

"When you wear blue, you get a blueberry muffin. Every time," Regulus
explains, wishing desperately that he wasn't currently chained to the open
draw of James' gaze.

"Regulus," James repeats, softer this time, bracing one hand on top of the
counter while the other lifts up until he can brush his fingers right above
Regulus' eyebrow, the touch faint and gentle near the sweep of his hair by
his temple. He's staring right at Regulus with this tiny smile that's a secret
just for them, and Regulus is rendered absolutely useless, frozen in place,
not breathing again. "You're lovely, did you know?"

"I'm really not," Regulus manages to say, once he gets his wits about him
again, hating how winded he sounds. In the next second, his hand snaps up
to clamp down on James' fingers, and then he slams it down to the counter
with a harsh twist. It makes James yelp and bend down, half-turning to try
and outrun the pressure on his wrist. "You shouldn't touch people without
their permission, did you know?"

"Ouch, ow, ah," James chokes out, gaping up at him, mouth hanging open,
his face twisting every other moment as he squirms around. "Oh, yes, I've
gotten that. Ouch. Bloody hell, Regulus. You're going to break my sodding
hand."

"Yes, I'm considering it. Is it very important?" Regulus stoops down over
him a bit, cocking his head and watching James.

James releases a strained laugh, and he's breathing hard as he wheezes,

"Quite important, actually. That's my wanking hand you're about to snap.
You wouldn't do that, would you?"

"I absolutely would," Regulus tells him. "I'm actually more tempted now."

"You—you're just—" James blows out a deep breath and sort of deflates,
dropping his head down on his arm as he gazes up at Regulus. "You are just
so lovely."

Regulus heaves a sigh and drops James' hand, standing up straight again.
His heart feels like a bird in a cage, determined to break free from captivity.
"You're ridiculous."
"Oh, sure." James gives him a slow smile, still practically lying on the
counter, staring at Regulus with blown pupils, because they apparently grew
double in size when Regulus pinned him down to the counter. His hair is a
mess around his head, and his glasses are a bit smooshed against his cheek,
and if anyone is lovely in this world, it's him. "Go out with me anyway."

"What?" Regulus blurts out, because as much as James has teased, as much
as he has flirted, he hasn't outright asked.

James pops up to half-height, propping his elbows on the counter and

dropping his face in his own hands, staring at Regulus with pinched
eyebrows and a hopeful tilt at the corners of his smile. "Go out with me,
Regulus."

"I've just nearly broken your hand," Regulus says faintly.

"I know." James' smile grows some more, and his eyes sparkle with delight.
"So, will you?"

"Yes," Remus announces, abruptly sliding in beside Regulus with a smooth

smile, "he would love to. Pick him up tomorrow after his shift. And here,"
he adds, sliding the latte and muffin to James, "this is on us today, free of
charge. Go on, then."

"Oh." James blinks rapidly, looking stunned as Remus pushes his drink and
muffin into his hands, and then his entire face lights up brighter than
Regulus has ever seen it as he backs up towards the door. "Oh! Brilliant!
Yes, good, I'll just—" He nearly trips over a chair in the lobby, which makes
him curse under his breath, and then he's smiling a little lopsided and
bashful as he continues on. "Sorry. Sorry, that was—I didn't mean to do
that. Anyway, yes, thanks. I'll—tomorrow. Yeah."

With that, James all but stumbles out of the shop, laughing breathlessly in
shameless elation as he goes. Regulus stands still, staring after him, feeling
both very cold and very hot all over. He turns slowly, pinning a glare so
sharp on Remus that, by all accounts, it's a small miracle he doesn't start
bleeding.

"Don't look at me like that. You knew he ordered a muffin because he was
wearing blue," Remus informs him with no small amount of judgment,
arching an eyebrow. "I just did you a favor, as a friend. You were drowning,
but fortunately for you, I know how to swim."

"You," Regulus whispers, "are dead to me."

Remus just laughs.

Sirius is practically vibrating as he darts his gaze between the pint in his
hand and the door, his leg jumping up and down beneath the table. He
repeatedly, forcibly calms himself, only to inevitably end up fidgeting
again, all this ridiculous pent up energy trying to spill out of him all at
once.
Ten minutes late. Moony is ten minutes late.

Bit premature, giving him a nickname, Sirius thinks, but he can't help it.
Like a fool, he'd never gotten the bloke's name, and he's been cursing
himself for it ever since, only slightly less than he's been kicking himself
for not getting his number.

It's just that Moony fits, because he has this crescent scar on his inner thigh
shaped like a moon, and Sirius can't stop thinking about how he'd traced it
with his fingers, and it had earned him a quiet sigh that bordered on a
strangled whimper. Mad as it is, Sirius has been playing that sound on
repeat in his head for two days, almost constantly. Bloody distracting,
Moony is. Sirius might be a bit obsessed.

The door creaks open, and Sirius is already watching, so he sees it when
Moony steps inside. He comes in taking a knitted hat off the top of his head,
leaving his hair an endearing flop of fluff around his face, and he's in
another blasted wool jumper, the kind with the big sleeves and swooping
neckline. He's a beautiful, wonderful mess, and Sirius is quite sure that he's
never been so enticed by anything in his entire life.

It'd been almost instantaneous, from the moment Sirius saw him in Flourish
and Blotts. He'd been in only to grab the next book in a series Effie loves
for her, inwardly patting himself on the back for enduring such a
ridiculously long and slow queue. He'd just so happened to glance over his
shoulder, and his eyes immediately latched onto the bloke right behind him.
Tall and freckled, distracted by his own book, wearing a sweater with
patches on them and not seeming aware of the world around him at all.
Sirius had thought then, like a lightning strike, oh, I'm about to make a fool
of myself for this one, and it'll be worth it.

And it was.

Moony, at first, had been a bit...distant. Very much a leave me alone, I don't
like people sort of bloke, but Sirius is nothing if not persistent. He'd found
himself thankful by the endless queue then, because it gave him the chance
to watch Moony bloom more and more with each sentence. Slowly, as they
chatted, he opened up and grew more and more relaxed.

Sirius was mesmerized by his tiny smiles and fluttering eyelashes, his brain
catching like a skipping record every time Moony lifted a hand to gesture
with his fingers. Long, deft fingers. Gods above, Moony is pure poetry
brought to life and set in motion, the kind made up of whimsical words that
stir something in your chest and leave you short of breath.

Honestly, Sirius never stood a chance.

So, really, he'd been genuinely irritated when he finally reached the till and
was free to leave the shop. In the end, he couldn't stop himself from
waiting, and he'd completely lied with no shame when he told Moony he
was taking the tube, and oh, maybe they could walk together?
Then oh, maybe they could stop and get a drink? Then oh, why not have a
couple more while they chatted? Then oh, actually the whole tube thing was
a lie, because the flat was quite close, why not go there? Then oh, hi, this is
the bedroom, and—ah, yes, there's the snogging. Sirius Black is an absolute
genius.

Except, well, he's also a bit of an idiot. In the morning-after daze of nerves
and inexplicable giddiness, Sirius had enough mind to give Moony food, his
number, and a gentlemanly escort to the tube. What Sirius did not do was
take anything from Moony, which means he has been subsequently banging
his head against some internal enclosure for fucking himself over in the
worst way possible. Moony did not message him to pass along his number,
didn't message him at all the first day, or the second, and Sirius has been
dramatic about it. Quite convinced he'd found the love of his life and just let
him go like the absolute fool that he is.

But then Moony had messaged him on the third day, today, and here Sirius
is, hardly able to remain calm. No one would look at Moony and be able to
tell that he's bloody strong, that his warm eyes can get heart-trippingly dark,
that his mouth which curls into tiny, sweet smiles is also capable of being a
line of heat on Sirius' skin, rough and soft in intervals, making Sirius
thoroughly insane. He's so unassuming, Moony is, but he'd had his fingers
in Sirius' mouth at one point only three nights ago, for fuck's sake; he's a
fucking menace.

It takes only a second for Moony to see him across the room, and then he's
making his way over with polite, distracted smiles to the people at the
tables he has to wind around. It's so endearing that Sirius wants to bury his
face in his hands and scream. Oh, yes, without a doubt Sirius isn't surviving
this, but what a way to go. He's always been reckless—may as well stick to
the theme with his heart. Normally, he wouldn't, but he can already tell he
won't have a choice in the matter this time.
"Getting started without me?" Moony asks as he slides in across from
Sirius, inclining his head at the pint.

"Just the one. I thought about ordering you one, but I didn't want it to get
warm," Sirius admits.

Moony hums. "That's alright. I'll just have some of yours." He reaches out
to take the glass, their fingers brushing, lingering for a beat before he draws
away to have a swallow. He plunks it back down with a sigh. "Next round
will be on me. Sorry about the wait, by the way. Bit of a crowd on the tube
that kept hanging me up. One bloke lost his shoe."

"Only the one?"

"Mhm."

"Poor lad. Not having the best day, is he?" Sirius grins reflexively when
Moony huffs a quiet laugh. The grin must do something, because Moony's
smile stretches to answer it, a streak of red rising in his cheeks. Cherry-rose
and undeniably lovely. "And you? How was your day?"

"Fairly normal, I suppose. Seemed slow," Moony tells him, lips twitching.
"It felt like it took forever to get to the end of it."
"Oh?" Sirius asks innocently. "Something you were eager to get to, then?"

"Yes," Moony says, eyes bright, and then with a hint of mischief, he
continues, "I always look forward to having a drink after a long day. Don't
you?"

Sirius chuckles. "Something like that."

"Well, go on," Moony says, nudging the glass over to Sirius, who takes it.
"How was your day, then?"

"Actually," Sirius says, then doesn't shut up again for quite a long time.

It's ridiculously easy to talk to Moony, who goes with the flow of the
conversation, good with tone shifts and abrupt subject changes, effortlessly
witty to the point that Sirius is always startled by how quick and sharp he is.
Magnificent, really. Sirius gets a thrill just talking to him.

They sit right there for hours, drinking slowly and spending most of their
time eagerly getting to know one another, seemingly hungry for each new
piece of information that makes the other take a more solid shape in their
mind. The more Sirius learns about Moony, the more he wants to learn. A
bit of a curse, that. The curse of the snake eating itself. Ouroboros. That's
what wanting Moony is like. Sirius will swallow himself whole trying to
have him.
They talk about music and films and books; about their favorite foods,
snacks, and sweets; about Moony's old dream to write a book, and Sirius'
much more childish dream to build the first flying motorbike, which he had
at the tender age of six; about favorite holidays, and the ones they hate;
about the state of the world, where they fall in the matter of political
opinions (which is, thankfully, the same or similar enough not to be a cause
for caution), and what large societal situation is close to them because it has
directly affected their lives.

At one point, Sirius nearly snorts drink out of his nose and sputters out,
while still wheezing, "That's hilarious, Moony."

"I'm sorry?" Moony gets a strange look on his face, and he tilts his head.
"What did you just call me?"

"Ah. Right. Well…" Sirius slumps in place a little, sheepishly pushing his
hair back from his shoulders. "Moony. I called you Moony, you see,
because I, ah—" He coughs, face scrunching as he gazes at Moony a little
helplessly. "Ah, don't judge me too harshly about this, please, but in all
the...excitement with you, I might not have, ah, caught your name. So, I had
to come up with something to call you."

Moony stares at him, and then his lips twitch, which calms Sirius a bit
because he was unaccountably nervous that he'd mucked it all up. "Why
Moony?"

"Oh." Sirius pauses, considering, then he adopts an innocent look as he

carefully, easily frees his foot from his boot—the strings and tongue are
already loose, because Sirius Black is too cool to lace up his boots properly
—and he slumps back in the booth so he can lift his socked foot and drag it
over the bend of Moony's knee, sliding it further up until he's almost sure
he's pressing into the scar on his thigh. Moony, bless him, jolts from the
very first contact, banging his elbow into the table, and he turns a brilliant
shade of red. "That's why. The scar on your thigh looks a bit like a moon,
and I recall fondly the lovely sounds you made when I discovered it. Also,
if it wins me any points, we can make it romantic. I have the same name as
a star, so maybe I want you somewhere out there in the galaxy with me."

"Oh, do you?" Moony asks, shaking his head a little, his smile a little softer
as his fading blush surges forward again. "And where did you come up with
the idea to give me a nickname, rather than just ask my name?"

"Well, it's all the rage with my mates, honestly. Been doing it since we were
fifteen, the three of us. Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs. Moony fits right in,
don't you think?"

"Am I just a mate, then?"

Sirius raises his eyebrows and grins, pressing his foot into Moony's thigh
before dragging it back, stuffing it into his boot again. "My god, I hope
not."

"Mm, and which are you?" Moony asks. "Of the names, I mean, and
honestly—how did you come by them?"
"Padfoot," Sirius admits, chuckling when Moony squints at him a little bit.
"It's for a dog. We went to a bit of a prestigious boarding school, the three
of us, and we had an art assignment where we had to draw an animal
written on a small slip of paper that we picked out of a hat. I got a dog.
Prongs got a stag. Wormtail got a rat. We fancied ourselves troublemakers
in school, so codenames were standard. We thought it was cool, but by the
time we got old enough to realize it was not, it'd already become a habit."

"That's really quite endearing, you know," Moony tells him, and Sirius
beams. "Well, Padfoot, you've problem-solving skills that I just don't. See, I
don't quite know your name either, so I've just been thinking of you as that
attractive bloke I'd very much like to shag again. Bit of a mouthful, if I'm
honest."

Sirius chokes on the swallow of drink he was going for, nearly spitting it
out everywhere. His hand flies up to cover his mouth and hastily wipe away
the small dribble on his chin, eyes watering as he coughs. Moony reaches
over to grab a few napkins from the dispenser, offering them with a small,
pleased smile tucked at the corners of his mouth.

"Oh, Jesus," Sirius chokes out, strained. He shifts a little bit in his seat,
flustered and hot all over. "Bloody hell."

Moony blinks at him sweetly, innocence painted on his face like he's never
done anything wrong or naughty in his life, and he holds out his hand in
offering. "Remus Lupin."
"Remus," Sirius repeats instantly, tasting the name in his mouth. "Remus
Lupin." He smiles, and Remus smiles back, and then Sirius reaches out to
take his hand, shaking it but letting the contact linger. "Well, Remus, I'm
Sirius."

"That's a star?" Remus asks.

Sirius hums. "The brightest one in the sky."

"Of course it is," Remus says with a quiet laugh, his shoulders shaking a bit.
"No last name, Sirius?"

"Oh, yes, but I'm not fond of it," Sirius says with put upon cheer, pulling his
hand away. "I was all but adopted when I was sixteen, just not legally. The
family that took me in—well, you could say I'm an honorary Potter."

"Well, Sirius Honorary Potter," Remus muses, "it's nice to put a name to a
face, and it's certainly less of a mouthful."

"Oh, but I quite like what you were going with before."

"Do you?"
"Yes, very much. You're a very smart man, Remus Lupin. A very smart
man, indeed." Sirius leans in, resting his elbows on the table, his hands
folded under his chin. "The only problem is that my intentions with you are
pure. I'm a gentleman, you see, so I couldn't possibly have my way with
you."

Remus considers that for a beat, then he chuckles and leans back. "Is that
right?"

"Yes, of course," Sirius says, mock-haughty. "I intend to sweep you off your
feet, Remus."

"Ah, I see." Remus nods. "Only, how exactly is shagging not contributing to
that?"

Sirius bites back a laugh. "You're making it very difficult to be a gentleman,

Moony."

"Maybe I don't want you to be a gentleman."

"Goodness, you're eager, aren't you?"

"You've created a monster," Remus tells him, flashing Sirius a disarming

grin that leaves him dazed.
"Did I?" Sirius can't stop himself from laughing then, a bit breathless
without even meaning to be. He kicks a foot forward and feels it bump into
Remus' under the table. Almost immediately, Remus hooks his foot around
Sirius' leg, sliding it up and down gently. "Are you insinuating I'm the best
you've ever had? Because I have to warn you, I've quite the ego already, and
you're not helping."

Remus hums. "Well, Sirius, you're the only I've ever had, so don't let it go to
your head."

"What?" Sirius goes still, not even blinking. "Are you serious?"

"No," Remus says, "you are."

"I—I—but that's—" Sirius sucks in a sharp breath and all but launches
himself out of his seat to slip around the table and slide in next to Remus,
pressing in so close that their noses nearly bump. Remus doesn't lean away
or back down, just staring right at him, a sturdy line of heat up against
Sirius' side. "First, I can't believe you just made that joke. Everyone hates
when I make that joke. It was very sexy to me that you just made that joke
with a straight face."

"Was it?" Remus murmurs, a laugh trembling in his tone, his eyes bright
with dancing humor.
"Second," Sirius continues, "I need to know if you were joking. It's very
important to me to know."

"I wasn't joking, no," Remus tells him with no shame whatsoever. He
shrugs. "Why is it very important? Does it actually matter?"

"You've never—"

"No. I've dated people. Kissed people. Nothing else, though. Never really
got around to it, and it didn't—feel right with them, so I just...didn't."

Sirius exhales slowly and reaches up to push a lock of Remus' hair behind
his ear. "It felt right with me, then?"

"Obviously, or I wouldn't have done it," Remus informs him, arching an

eyebrow.

"Oh, Moony. Moony, Moony, Moony," Sirius mumbles, his heart thumping
wildly in his chest. He shakes his head, flicking his gaze over Remus' face.
"I'm going to treat you so well, you have no idea. Won't you let me?"

Remus' lips twitch. "I'm not stopping you."

"Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant." Sirius puffs out a soft laugh of awe and
cups Remus' cheek, tilting his chin up just a bit to kiss him. It's meant to be
gentle, and it is at first, soft and slow and sweet—and then Remus brushes
his hand through Sirius' hair and bears down on him, pressing him back
against the booth to deepen the kiss.

Sirius isn't sure where he got off with the idea that he has any of the power
here, because he absolutely does not. When it comes to Remus, he feels
quite weak, actually, helpless to do anything but want him with an
inexplicable desperation that would be embarrassing if Remus seemed to
mind.

He opens up to Remus in every way he knows how, eager for it, and it's
baffling how the world melts away until all that's left is Remus. Sirius is
dizzy with it, making a small sound into Remus' mouth as he crowds in
closer, aching to be closer, practically wanting to open him up and crawl
inside and never come back out again. Remus' mouth is hot and inviting,
and Sirius clutches at him, raising up with all intentions of getting right into
Remus' lap—until his hip slams into the side of the table, that is, and he
breaks the kiss to yelp.

"Oh, are you alright?" Remus asks with a throaty chuckle, reaching down to
cup Sirius' hip like he can capture the pain in his palm and toss it aside.

Sirius melts into him with a sigh. "You, Remus Lupin, will surely be the
death of me."
"Well, that's not at all the goal here," Remus says, ducking his head and
sweeping Sirius' hair aside to gently slide his mouth and teeth, open and wet
and playfully sharp, along the line of Sirius' neck.

"Mm, that's very—that's very nice." Sirius' eyes flutter shut, and he can't
stop himself from tipping his head to the side a bit, giving Remus more
space. "You're relentless, you know that?"

"Are you complaining? Would you like me to stop?"

"Absolutely not."

Remus chuckles again, right against his skin. "That's what I thought."

"I did create a monster, didn't I?" Sirius laughs breathlessly and cups the
back of Remus' neck. "A dangerous creature, you are." Remus responds to
this by catching Sirius' earlobe between his teeth, nipping at it and tugging a
bit, making Sirius release a sound high in his throat. "Oh, bloody hell. Can
we call this a date, Remus? Can this be a date, so I can take you home and
—"

"I thought you wanted to be a gentleman," Remus teases, pulling back to

smile at him, seeming perfectly calm except for the flush on his face that
betrays him. "It's not very honorable of you, Sirius."
"I...might've backed myself in a corner with that one," Sirius admits weakly.
"Like I said, you make it difficult."

"I can play nice," Remus says, amused, and he eases back slowly until
there's a bit of space between them. "This can be a date, though, if you'd
like."

"I'd like," Sirius blurts out, far too eager, not suave at all. No one in the
world has ever flustered him this much.

Remus' smile stretches into a full grin. "Alright. As far as first dates go,
you're doing quite well."

"So are you," Sirius offers, leaning his head over on the booth as he gazes at
Remus, happy to do that all night. There's a low simmer of heat under his
skin, a persistent desire, but it's just as nice to sit here and be with Remus,
to talk to him. "A classic date, then. Tell me, Moony, what's your favorite
color?"

"Black," Remus says instantly, then laughs warmly when Sirius grins. "It's a
bit of an inside joke with my best mate. You?"

"Well, I wear a lot of black."

"You do. It looks good."

"Like the leather, do you?"

"It's working for me."

Sirius barks a laugh at the sheepish smile that lights up Remus' face. "Oh,
have a thing for bad boys, Moony?"

"Mm, I don't think there's anything bad about you, Padfoot," Remus replies
lightly, and he's the one who laughs when Sirius feels his face go hot.

"Shut up," Sirius says weakly. He reaches out to drag his hand over Remus'
wool sleeve. "I like this, you know. You always look so warm. You're
beautiful."

Remus' face blooms with surprise, as if he didn't know, which is a tragedy.

His eyes soften, and then he bites down on his bottom lip for a moment
before he murmurs, "Sirius, I should tell you, I'm many things, but a
gentleman isn't one of them."

"Oh?" Sirius rasps, his mouth dry.

"Not quite," Remus says softly, leaning in to press a startlingly tender kiss
to Sirius cheek, before speaking directly into Sirius' ear, low and rough.
"We should go now, or else I might actually drag you out."

"Right. Right, yes, let's—" Sirius almost trips in his haste to scramble out of
his seat, breathless from how quickly Remus slides out right behind him.
"That's—yeah, sure, I'll just be a gentleman on the next date."

"Of course," Remus says, and Sirius' heart flips over at the confirmation
that there will be another. He's smiling broadly as Remus catches his elbow
and drags him to the door.

Chapter End Notes

I'll likely be posting every three to four days. Next up is James and
Remus POV.
 Chapter 2
Chapter Notes

why are they all so adorable? 😭

See the end of the chapter for more notes

James watches in amusement as Sirius slips back into the flat, pausing to
melt back against the door with a soft sigh. He's got this look about him,
absolutely besotted. When he looks up and sees James, his face turns red.

"You're back," Sirius says. "I thought you'd be longer."

"No, I made it quick. One of the employees was running late, so I felt bad
about sticking around." James goes for the kettle when it starts to whistle.
"Besides, I'm going back later."

"Are you?"

"Mm, I've a date."

Sirius' eyebrows fly up. "You managed to get a date, then? With the mean
barista you've been banging on about?"
"I did." James grins at him. "And you? I heard you last night, you know.
Got a bit loud there, mate."

"Sorry. Couldn't exactly help it, if I'm honest." Sirius briefly looks
enraptured, sighing dreamily again.

James laughs, pouring them both a cup of tea. "Oh, you like this one."

"I've named him," Sirius says, easing away from the door with a broad grin.
"I've declared him Moony, because he's the moon to my stars, Prongs."

"To Moony, then," James announces cheerfully, passing Sirius a cup and
delicately clinking them together. They both take a sip at the same time,
then glance at each other and release a snort in perfect sync. "God, we're
posh."

Sirius sighs. "It's a curse."

"That it is, Padfoot, that it is." James pops his pinky finger and winks when
Sirius barks a laugh. "Come, good sir, join me in my grand drawing room."

"Oh, of course. After you, Mr. Potter," Sirius replies, sticking his nose up in
the air and waving a hand lazily, his voice taking on a snooty tone.
"So, this Moony," James says once they've both dropped the act and
sprawled lazily on the sofa. "Tell me about him. Is it serious—"

"No, I'm—"

"Don't."

"Oh, alright." Sirius rolls his eyes. "Yes, fine, I'm—I'm quite invested in
him. We're dating. Only had the one, but we're planning the second on his
next day off."

James' face splits into a smile. "Excellent, Sirius! That's good, I'd say. You
haven't dated anyone since...what, Kingsley, back in school? It's been years,
in any case."

"Oi! I've been with—"

"Yes, but that was just shagging, which is nothing to be ashamed of at all, of
course. Dating, however—well, you're always a bit careful with your heart
and the like."

"Not everyone's a romantic like you, James."

"More's the pity."

Sirius snorts. "Yeah, maybe, but… I don't know, mate. Just didn't really
stand a chance with this one. Do you know what I mean? You meet
someone, and it's like…"

"Oh, I know," James assures him, because he does. He's only had it happen
to him twice in his life, but they were both impressionable enough that he'd
never forget.

The first time was with Lily Evans, who he'd wholeheartedly expected to
one day marry. Of course, for the first five years of knowing her, that was
just him being delusional, as she'd had no interest in ever becoming his
wife. Things had changed in the next few years, but James had ended up
learning a rather painful lesson. Sometimes, life will put you in front of a
person who has hands shaped to your heart, but that doesn't mean they'll
want to hold onto it. They'd been beautiful, him and Lily, once they worked
out that being friends was better for them both. Love is funny like that,
James supposes. It can take shape in the way you least expect.

The second time was three weeks ago, when he'd eased his glasses back on
his face and Regulus came into focus for the very first time. James had
thought he'd stumbled for a moment, only to find out that it was his heart, in
his chest, doing the tripping. He'd just come in from a storm, seeking
shelter, and one look at Regulus made him feel like he'd come across yet
another one, but the kind you chase after. It was like Regulus cast out a lure,
just a hook on some fishing line, unwittingly aiming to catch the corner of
James' mouth, except James swallowed the hook whole.
James has been chasing the storm ever since, the hook buried in his heart
only wedging in deeper, tugging relentlessly.

"Yeah, Padfoot, I know," James continues, biting the inside of his cheek to
stop himself from grinning. "I get it. So, he's the one, is he?"

"Oh, you know I don't believe in all that shit." Sirius scoffs, and then his
face softens. "But, I suppose if I did, yeah, I'd say he is. If I did believe in it,
I mean. But I do not."

James chuckles. "Right. Yeah, I hear you, mate."

"He's just so…" Sirius holds up his hands and does something odd with his
fingers, like he's squeezing the air, trying to make shapes out of it.
Eventually, he just gives up with a muffled groan and dramatically flings
himself across James' lap, his hair falling over his face. "You know?"

"Sure," James says mildly, smiling as he reaches down to gather Sirius' hair
out of his face, gently spilling it out over his leg. He starts carefully
working a few of the tangles out, distantly amused to realize that this
Moony of his must've put them there pulling on his hair at some point.

Sirius watches him for a bit, clearly hesitating, and then he blows out a deep
breath and says, "You can—I just mean, if you wanted, you can talk to me
about the mean barista."
"Oh, that's—well, I know, Sirius. I just…" James grimaces at the expression
on Sirius' face. Trust Sirius to understand.

Of course Sirius understands. The only other person who might get it would
be Peter, but he'd probably be too kind to bring it up. Not that Sirius isn't
kind, because he certainly means well; James just doesn't want to talk about
it.

It's an odd thing to be insecure about, James knows, but he can't exactly
help it. It's just that he spent nearly seven years absolutely confident in the
outcome of what he perceived as true love. From his perspective, he was a
boy working to get the girl of his dreams, truly in love, so of course it
would work out for him. And it had, until it hadn't. He was so sure, so sure,
and he'd been smacked with a healthy dose of reality that had left him
feeling small and more unsure than he'd ever been in his life.

He's less sure about these things now, for all that he hasn't given up on it.
James can't shake off how mortifying it had been when he'd had to quietly
ask Peter and Sirius, not meeting their eyes, to stop teasing him about what
grand gesture he'd come up with next to win Evans back.

"I'm not winning her over," James had mumbled. "It isn't going to happen.
Can we talk about something else?"

He wouldn't say it defeated him, exactly, but heartbreak—even as necessary

as it had been—has a way of making one a bit more cautious.
"I'm just saying," Sirius insists gently. "It's alright to—to talk about it, be
excited about it, have some hope. I'm here for you, mate, if you want to."

James smiles at him a little helplessly, patting him on the top of his head.
"Thank you. Maybe if—if it goes well, and there's actually something to
talk about, I will. Until then, though, you can help me pick out what to wear
later."

"Yeah, sure. Obviously you're wearing the blazer with the red trim," Sirius
tells him, no-nonsense. "Oh, and those trousers I like on you. They do
fantastic things for your arse."

"You're going to have to be more specific, Padfoot. My arse is fantastic on

its own."

"Sure, Prongs, keep telling yourself that."

They sprawl out on the sofa a bit longer, and it's good in a way James is
quite sure he'll never find in another person. He supposes, in a way, he's lied
to himself in the soft curves in his own mind. He'd claimed to have only felt
that intense, instant knowing twice in his life, but that's not true, because
Sirius Black had been the very first—just in a very different way.

It's a love beyond love, a love beyond the love that so many crave, but
everyone else in the world is mad not to ache for something like this the
same that they do for the one thing it isn't. See, James Potter met Sirius
Black at the awkward, fumbling age of eleven and felt something break
open his very bones and fuse together with this boy who had sleek hair and
wide, playful eyes eager for the world that James so desperately wanted to
explore alongside him. He's learned that so many things in this world aren't
permanent, but Sirius? Well, Sirius Black is unshakeably, inarguably
forever.

If some people out there have hands that fit perfectly around his heart, then
Sirius is the sinewy muscle and clenching tunnel of which the blood flows,
the very substance his heart is made from. They'd even done it when they
were kids, young and foolish and believing in magic, jaws held firm around
wild grins when they'd both fallen out of the same tree and scraped the
same hands, and they'd only needed to look at each other for one second
before they were pressing their wounds together in some parody of an old
blood ritual that would bind them together always. No hesitation. As
wholeheartedly as they'd believed in such things at the time, neither of them
had an ounce of fear or trepidation that they'd be tied together forever, and
they'd come out of it with sore palms and mild disappointment that they
couldn't read each other's minds.

James is quite sure that no matter who comes and goes, Sirius will always
be there, and losing him would probably just about kill him. It was never—
well, people would speculate. Christ, Peter was the worst about it. He'd
catch them in bed together and squint and say are you two… and they'd
have to sigh and reply no, Pete, obviously not, how many times—

Their love was beyond that, too, despite the amount of people with heavy
skepticism. They didn't really get it, how two people could connect the way
they do and have absolutely no desire to shag, since they're not actually
related. James and Sirius like that, though, getting to baffle the masses. The
only people who have never, not even for a second, doubted the structural
makeup of their relationship always was and likely will always be
Euphemia and Fleamont Potter. Effie and Monty, who never batted an eye
about the level of their intimacy, as if it was perfectly normal. And it is,
because it couldn't possibly be anything else.

Sometimes, James thinks about how they're all made up of atoms and space
matter bled from creation, and he thinks that he and Sirius are made up of
the same. Soul-deep content to be together again.

All that said, James still nearly smothers Sirius with a pillow by the time he
has to get ready, and Sirius has waved away outfit after outfit with a heavy
sigh before groaning and saying, rather dramatically, "Good lord, Potter,
have you no sense of style? Never wear those shoes again. How did you
even get them?"

"Dad gave them to me!" James squawks in offense.

"No offense to Monty—I love him dearly, I do—but those are the ugliest
shoes I've ever seen. Shove over, I'm diving back into the closet for you."

"Are you?"

"Don't make the joke."

"I would very much like to make the joke."

"I know you would," Sirius says, his snort muffled from within James'
closet. After a few moments, he emerges again with a different pair of shoes
and that blazer he'd mentioned before, as he was apparently not joking
about it. "Go on, bring it all together. My expertise will not lead you astray."

James gets dressed and then stands in front of his mirror, ruffling his hair
with a frown. "I don't know, Sirius."

"Just trust me, would you?" Sirius eyes him from where he's sprawled on
James' bed. "You must really like this one. I haven't seen you this nervous
since—"

"You can talk about Lily," James says, exasperated. "We're friends. I've
moved on."

"Yes, well, that's my whole point, isn't it?" Sirius waggles his eyebrows at
him. "You've clearly moved on. Fierce redheads are out. Mean baristas are
in." Sirius grins at him and bounces up off the bed to come clap him on the
shoulder, shaking him just a bit. "Relax, James. If the mean barista can't see
how amazing you are, then the mean barista is an idiot, and on the bright
side, you will always have me."

"Yeah, alright," James breathes out, some of the tension seeping from his
frame.

Sirius smacks an enthusiastic kiss to his temple, laughing, and shoves him
gently to the door. "Go, already. Go have a nice date. You don't want to be
late."

"Thanks, mate." James lingers long enough to flash a chagrined smile at

Sirius, and then he's out the door.

James is a bit of a mess all the way to the shop, winding himself up the
whole way, a tangled mixture of nervousness and excitement that he can't
quite figure out how to separate from each other. His heart is racing by the
time the shop comes into view, then it seems to skip a beat in his chest
when he sees Regulus and his handsome coworker talking heatedly a few
paces away from the door.

Regulus' handsome coworker is a good bit taller than Regulus, so he catches

sight of James over Regulus' head, his eyes crinkling when he smiles.
"James!"

"Hi, Regulus' dashing coworker; hi, Regulus," James greets as he strolls

over, hands stuffed in his pockets.

"Dead," Regulus hisses to his coworker, who chuckles.

"Oh, sure. Well, I best be off. You two have fun. James, I expect you to be
the perfect gentleman." With a cheeky smile towards Regulus, he turns and
starts off.
"Dead, Lupin!" Regulus calls after him.

Regulus' handsome coworker—Lupin, is it?—just throws up a hand to

waggle his fingers, then turns a corner and is gone.

James feels his heart turn over in his chest when Regulus stiffly turns
towards him, expression blank, almost cold. James has seen it thaw, though.
The mystery of Regulus has its own draw, but those moments where James
gets to see the real him breathe through the cracks are his favorite. He's so
effortlessly beautiful, with his sharp eyes and sharp jaw, that it's maddening.
He looks like he should be made out of marble, carved from perfection,
except James is so sure that he'd be soft and warm to the touch. His fingers
ache with the urge sometimes, like an old soreness that flares when the
storm of Regulus blows in, the impulse making his bones creak.

"Alright?" James asks softly. "I didn't interrupt an argument, did I? Seemed
that way. Sorry."

"I'm going to kill him," Regulus says flatly.

James smiles. "So you two are friends, then? Not just coworkers? I sort of
guessed, but…"

"He's my—" Regulus grimaces slightly. "My best friend, as loath as I am to

admit it. As far as close friends go, my options are limited. I hate everyone,
you see, but him less than most."
"You know, somehow that makes sense," James muses, grinning when
Regulus' mouth pinches a little. "How long have you known him?"

"Three years," Regulus admits. "We met here at work, actually. Both started
within the same week as each other, and the rest of the staff had been here
for years, so we were always put together for everything. He was quiet,
which I liked. Didn't try to talk to me, or anything like that."

"What changed?"

"Not very much, at first. We just sort of acknowledged each other, then
there were two months where we were put on different shifts, but by then
we'd gotten so used to working together that everyone else was
just...disappointing. I went to request that we work together again, and
when I came out, he was there with the plan to make the same request. They
put us back on the same shift, and after that, we just started talking. Went
out for drinks when we were bored enough. And then, before I knew it, he
knew me better than anyone else."

"That's actually really sweet," James tells him, and Regulus narrows his
eyes before scoffing. "No, it is. Sometimes people just—connect, you
know?"

Regulus clicks his tongue. "No, we just enjoy making each other suffer,
which is what he's doing right now."
"Is he?" James blinks. "How's that?"

"James," Regulus grits out, "he's the one who agreed to this date. Not me. I
had no intention of saying yes to you. I'm only here because of him, and if I
had my way, I would leave."

"Oh," James rasps, taking that like a direct hit right to the chest. He steps
back, a little winded, and he feels the bottom drop out from his stomach as
he swallows harshly around the abrupt lump in his throat. "I—I—yes, I...see
that now. Right. I'm—I'll just—just leave you to it, then. Very sorry. I—"

James starts backing up quickly, turning to go. He hears Regulus curse

under his breath, and then a firm hand catches his elbow and tugs him back
around. James stops, because he feels small and stupid and ridiculously
hurt. Regulus is scowling at him, frustrated and beautiful.

"You didn't know?" Regulus asks.

"No. How would I know that?" James replies hoarsely.

"Well, I've never been particularly kind to you, have I?" Regulus
challenges, mouth set into a lovely frown.

James clears his throat. "I suppose I just assumed you were a bit mean, is
all."
"And you still wanted to date me?" is the incredulous response, Regulus
staring at him in disbelief.

"I—ah, well, I like that." James can feel his cheeks getting hot. "Just, you
know, I have a patterned history of fancying people who will be rude to me.
Don't...look too closely into that, please. I've embarrassed myself enough
for one day, I think."

"Alright, I'll take that in stride," Regulus says briskly, "but I find it a little
hard to believe that you're going to just, what, give up? After you spent
three weeks coming in every day, being all around relentless and persistent,
you're going to walk away and leave it at that?"

"I wasn't being relentless, Regulus. I just liked seeing you every day,"
James murmurs, but he can feel dread slowly drip, drip, dripping down his
spine. "That's not—I didn't mean to be so—so—" He swallows and takes
another step back, feeling a bit nauseous. "I'm sorry. It was my mistake."

Regulus flicks his gaze over James' face and very carefully, very softly
says, "You just liked seeing me every day."

"Yes, but I can take a hint. Though, you were quite blunt about it. I suppose
I should be grateful."

"James."
"I'll just go."

"Seriously?"

"Sorry, am I meant to be doing anything else?" James feels his shoulders

slump. "You've made yourself quite clear. You're acting as if there's some
other option besides giving up. I know better than to push; I know how to
bow out, maybe not gracefully, but I've learned the basics."

"You should have waited for my answer," Regulus says.

James looks away. "Yes, I'm realizing that. Again, my mistake, and you
have my apologies. I have an awful habit of...making assumptions I
obviously shouldn't. I'll, ah, leave you to it, and thank you for—for
brightening my day, Regulus."

"Oh, honestly," Regulus mutters with a deep sigh as James turns and starts
striding away, still feeling like the biggest fool in the world. He jolts when a
hand slips into the crook of his elbow, but he's not tugged around again,
Regulus matching his stride. His face is blank when James peeks at him.
"Far be it from me to dull your shine, James. My answer is no, you can't
take me on a date, but—" His face twitches slightly, and there's a brief
flicker of fear that pours through the cracks, hidden quickly. "But I will take
you on one."
"I'd rather do without the pity, thank you."

"Oh, don't whine."

"You obviously don't want to, Regulus," James says quietly, looking down
at his shoes.

Regulus jerks on him sharply, snatching him to a halt, and he pins a glare on
him that perhaps steals all the breath in his lungs a little bit. "I don't do
anything I don't want to, not for a long time. Never again insinuate that I
do."

"Okay," James croaks. "Sorry."

"Good," Regulus says firmly, then tugs him back into walking again. He
keeps his hand tucked into James' elbow.

"Where are we going?"

"Wherever I decide. Is that alright?"

James huffs a weak laugh and thinks, and knows, I'd follow you anywhere.
"Yes, fine. I do like surprises."
"Do you?" Regulus glances at him, startled. "I didn't get that from you at
all. I assumed the opposite."

"Oh. No, I love surprises."

"So, why—"

"What?" James asks, gaze darting forward and then back to trace Regulus'
features over and over.

Regulus makes a complicated expression, agitated, and then he heaves a

sigh and rolls his eyes. The motion is so familiar that James blinks, but he
can't place who it reminds him of. "It's been—I can't work it out. Why you
do it. Why you coordinate your pastries to the color of your shirts."

"Oh, that?" James chuckles, pleased with the implication that Regulus has
been thinking about him, enough to wonder about that, at least. "Yeah, it's
for the spontaneity."

"The spontaneity," Regulus repeats flatly. He tilts his chin up and to the side
to narrow his eyes at James. "In what possible way could that be
spontaneous? That's—James, that's a routine. A pattern. There's nothing
spontaneous about it."
James grins at him. "No, not at all. You see, by the time the next morning
rolls around, I've already forgotten the little rule I've made, and it's not as if
I pay much attention to what I'm throwing on that early in the morning. So,
when I get to the shop and realize I'm going to have to pick a pastry, maybe
with a queue of people behind me, which always makes me a bit anxious—
well, I remember my rule, look down at my shirt, and surprise! See?
Spontaneity."

"You are absolutely ridiculous," Regulus declares, but there's something a

bit softer about his eyes.

"You're the one taking me on a date," James points out, feeling less stupid
by the minute. In fact, he's beaming.

Regulus hums. "Yes, which is a problem."

"Er, why?"

"I don't date."

"Er, why?"

"I have my reasons."

James chews that over in his mind for a long time, trying to make sense of
it. Regulus is confusing, a contradiction, and he's a mess of mixed signals
that James wants to pull apart until he can see the center. He doesn't really
know what it all means, because if Regulus doesn't date, if he has his
reasons for not dating, then why is he doing this with James now?

He said he doesn't do anything he doesn't want to, so that means he wants

to, except he also said he had no intentions of agreeing to date James at all.
If he wants to, why wouldn't he? If he doesn't date, then why is he?

Trying to gather his wits and figure out a way to say all of this, James
almost misses it when Regulus gently pulls on his arm and leads him
confidently into a building. James follows, of course, curiously looking
around the lobby until he's led up a slightly shabby staircase, up two floors
where Regulus goes right to a door and pulls out a set of keys.

James blinks. "This—is this your flat?"

"Yes," Regulus says calmly, blandly, and pushes open the door to tug James
inside, dropping his arm. He flicks on a lamp and shrugs out of his coat,
neatly hanging it on a rack by the door.

"You've brought me to your flat," James says, cautious, his gaze darting
around helplessly. The place is a pleasant surprise, both what James would
expect, and also what he wouldn't. It's tidy in certain places—the pillows
organized on the sofa, the art pieces perfectly straight on the walls, the
stand for the telly without a speck of dust. It's also a bit messy in other
places—the desk in the corner covered in strewn papers and an open laptop,
a fleece blanket thrown casually over the back of a chair, an empty tea cup
left sitting out on the coffee table in front of the sofa. There's a tall
bookshelf packed with books, all organized from large to small, then small
to large on the next level down, then alternating so it looks like a winding
staircase.

"I have," Regulus agrees, turning to head into the kitchen. James shuffles
behind him. "No need to sound so worried."

"It's just—I mean, is that safe?" James blurts out. Can't help it. The words
just spring forward. "I could—I could be anyone, really. What if I turned
out to be some kind of stalker, or a serial killer, or—"

"James." Regulus glances over his shoulder, and his lips actually twitch a
little, a mere impression of a smile. Oh, he's so lovely. So very lovely. "Sit
down, would you? If you do plan to kill me, at least wait until we've had a
meal."

"You're cooking?" James asks, interest peaked. He moves over to the

counter and sits in one of the stools, leaning forward on his elbows to watch
Regulus casually move around with the ease of someone who knows
exactly what they're doing.

"Mhm."

"For our date?"

Regulus cuts him a look again, then hums. "Yes. Any objections?"

"No," James says quickly, too quickly, far too earnest.

"I could poison you, you know," Regulus tells him, that hidden smile tucked
at the corner of his mouth.

James is always so helplessly charmed by it. He can't stop himself from

pouring himself out over the counter a bit, feeling warm down to his toes.
"Only one way to find out, I suppose. Is there anything I can do to help?"

"No."

"Do you like it? Cooking, I mean."

"I like the independence of it," Regulus murmurs. He pauses, ducking his
head as he turns on the stove. "Do you have any allergies, James?"

"Bees," James rattles off immediately. "That's all. You?"

"Shrimp."
"Oh, I rather like shrimp. What are you making?"

"Chicken Basquaise."

"Never had it."

"Mm, it's French," Regulus says, glancing back at him again. He keeps
doing that, and honestly, it's starting to go to James' head just a bit. It's as if
he can't help it.

James smiles at him, and Regulus quickly looks away. "God, I thought I
was posh. I'm in the presence of a cultured man."

"James, I go to school for the culinary arts," Regulus says, looking at him
again just to arch an eyebrow.

"Oh. Really? That's brilliant, Regulus," James blurts out, perking up at the
new information. "So—so, cooking is actually important to you, then. Do
you want to be a chef? Open up your own restaurant someday?"

Regulus nods carefully, pausing long enough to roll up his sleeves, his
hands sure and nimble as he gets started. "Yes, that's the plan. What's
yours?"
"My plan?"

"Mhm."

"I'm going for counseling, specifically for helping at-risk children of all
ages in—or coming out of—abusive homes, hopefully to either encourage
them to open up and get out, or help them acclimate once they have. I'd be
doing evaluations, having one-on-ones with the children that have open
cases, things such as that. I can't—obviously I know I can't save them all,
but if I save even one, if I…" James trails off, staring down at his hands. He
clears his throat. "Anyway, I—"

"It's important to you," Regulus cuts in, staring right at him, even as he uses
his knife to cut peppers neatly.

James nods just once, sharp. "Yes, it is."

"Because of personal experience?" Regulus asks.

"In a way." James blows out a deep breath. "Not—I mean, my parents are
lovely. Someone else in my life came from a very bad home. For a lot of
years, I couldn't help him. I didn't know how, and I felt so...useless."
"Sometimes there's nothing you can do but wait for them to help
themselves," Regulus says softly, turning back around, and he doesn't look
back after that.

They still chat, moving on to lighter topics. James talks a bit about his
parents, unable to stop himself from singing their praises, earning a laugh
when he says he looks just like his mother, except for his hair—he has his
father's hair. He heard that often growing up, and still does every once in a
while, but people are always quick to tell him you look so much like your
mother, except your hair; you have your father's hair.

Regulus doesn't mention his family at all, and James isn't that surprised
when he slides the conversation along with ease, as if he has a lot of
practice avoiding the subject. James knows all about that; Sirius is quite
skilled at that as well, when it comes to his family. So, James moves along,
watching Regulus in his element, fascinated by the way he moves while he
cooks, effortless and precise and confident, almost like a dance.

They get to know each other, bit-by-bit, but James is all too aware that
Regulus gives very little away. Learning what little he does feels like an
achievement, and he's riding the high of it, pliant and pleased when Regulus
waves him off to go sit at the table. He smiles broadly when Regulus brings
over two plates, sitting one down in front of him, then sweeps off to grab
two wine glasses and a bottle of wine to carry over.

"You know, I'm feeling a bit spoiled," James admits, amused, watching as
Regulus pours them both some wine.
Regulus flicks his gaze up as he sits the bottle down. "You should. No one's
ever had anything I've cooked before."

"What?" James' smile falters. "No one?"

"I don't cook for people. It's—cooking is fairly new in my life,

comparatively, and it's...personal." Regulus' blank expression fractures just
a bit, just enough for James to realize he's nervous. "You're the first person
other than myself who will ever eat my food."

"Oh," James breathes out, feeling a sudden burst of warmth in his chest, and
then he's beaming so hard his face hurts.

"Don't do that. Don't—look like that," Regulus mutters, not quite meeting
James' eyes as he sits down.

"I feel special."

"Don't."

"But I do."

"Well, you're not.

James laughs softly and picks up his fork. "You've basically just said the
opposite right before, and that seems a bit more true, honestly, so I'm going
to believe that instead. Thank you, by the way. That—this means a lot. I'm
honored."

"Shut up and eat, James," Regulus says with a huff.

"Yeah, alright." James ducks his head to hide his grin and carefully takes his
first bite, slow about it, because he really is honored. The first burst of
flavor on his tongue has him nearly dropping his fork, a muffled moan
trapped in his mouth as he chews with increasing enthusiasm. It's good. It's
really, very good. Absurdly good. Fine-dining type of good. His eyes flutter
shut and he thinks, helplessly, oh, the way to the heart is truly through the
stomach, because he's found it, he has it, oh god.

When James swallows, he instantly mourns the taste; when he opens his
eyes again, Regulus is staring right at him, his gaze sharp and focused and
dark, his fingers gripping his own fork so hard that his knuckles are
bloodless-white. His voice is lower than normal when he roughly says,
"Good?"

"Regulus."

"Yes?"
"Regulus," James emphasizes, breathless.

"What?" Regulus snaps.

"You're lovely, you're so lovely, but you're doing a terrible disservice to the
world, to so many people, by denying them your culinary skills," James
says in a rush. "I pity everyone else. I pity them all. You must cook for more
people, if that's something you'd like to do, and you must never cook for
anyone else because I will be terribly jealous. It's not just good; it's better
than good, Regulus."

"You're being dramatic," Regulus says, but for the very first time, there's a
steady flush seeping into his cheeks, leaving him rose-ruddy and bright-
eyed.

James shakes his head. "I'm truly not. If you believe nothing else I've ever
said to you, please believe that."

"I do," Regulus murmurs. "I do believe you."

"So good," James says yet again, going right back to eating, because
honestly, he's not wasting one bite.

It's obvious to James that cooking is Regulus' passion. With good reason,
too, as the food is genuinely a marvel. Honestly, it's actually a bit difficult
to tear himself away from the meal long enough to have much of a
conversation. Even when he gets full, he finds himself irritated that he has,
like he wishes he had extra room to have more. He's finished it all, but that's
hardly the point. Once done, however, he nurses the wine, which is quite
good, and then dives back into conversation with fervor while Regulus
finishes eating.

This discussion is a bit of fun, because Regulus gets caught up in it. Just
talking about what he's cooked, what's his favorite thing to cook, what's his
least favorite—the whole topic seems to reach out and grip him, bringing
lingering light to his eyes, cracking open his expression into excitement in a
way that suggests he can't help it. James all but melts, feeling warm and
syrupy and sated. He thinks he could listen to Regulus get enthusiastic
about spices for the rest of his life.

"I—what?" Regulus falters abruptly in the middle of gesturing broadly with

his hand, his elbow nearly in his empty plate, the sparkle in his eyes
dimming with confusion. "What is it? Why are you looking at me like
that?"

"You're beautiful when you're happy," James tells him, and it's like someone
sliced Regulus open a little, because he sort of just...deflates. James sighs.
"Sorry, you're always beautiful, but it's nice to see you care that much about
cooking, is all."

Regulus gazes at him, and then he clenches his jaw before suddenly pushing
to his feet. He gathers the bottle of wine, his empty plate and glass, then
comes back to stretch out from as far away as he can get as he grabs James'
plate and glass. James darts out a hand to catch his wrist, and Regulus' gaze
snaps to him with that cold intensity that makes James' skin prickle.
"What did I say about not touching people without permission?" Regulus
asks.

"Shit. Sorry," James says reflexively, quickly dropping Regulus' wrist,

clearing his throat. "I just—I—er, do you...maybe want some help? I'll—I
can rinse and dry, maybe?"

Regulus does that thing where he gets softer around the edges, a little hazy.
His voice has warmed up a bit with something like exasperation when he
says, "Yes, James, you can come help me clean up."

"Brilliant," James chirps, popping up instantly.

"Christ," Regulus says under his breath, huffing out a soft there-and-gone
puff of laughter as he shakes his head and leads James back to the kitchen.

They're quiet as they work beside each other, but James likes this kind of
quiet. It's not really quiet at all—with background noises like water running
from the tap, the clanking of dishes, the shuffle of shoes on linoleum. It's
not the kind of empty quiet with carved out spaces that James is always
compelled to fill, anxious and oversensitive to the silence, feeling like he'll
come out of his skin if it's just more of nothing, nothing, nothing. Instead,
this is a busy kind of silence, warm and full, something he can feel settling
into his bones.
James doesn't feel the need to break it, and he's not the one who does,
surprisingly.

"I want to ask you a question," Regulus says. "You're not going to want to
answer it."

"Is that right?" James glances over at him, their elbows nearly brushing.
"Why's that?"

"It's not a very nice question. It'll bring you discomfort."

"Oh, that's promising. Yeah, alright, but if I answer it, you have to make me
feel special again."

"And how do you propose I do that?" Regulus asks, arching an eyebrow at

him.

James shrugs. "Up to you. I'm sure you'll think of something, being as
creative as you are. Use words, or don't."

"Yes, okay."

"Then you have yourself a deal. Ask away."

"Shouldn't make deals with the devil, James." Regulus passes him the last
dish and drains the water, flicking soap from his fingers. He dabs his hands
with a tea towel and turns to the side, leaning his hip against the counter as
he regards James with curiosity. "What's the worst thing you've ever
done?"

"Sorry?" James nearly drops the last plate, his fingers spasming. Regulus
was right; that does bring him a great deal of discomfort. "That's your
question?"

"It is."

"This is a date. I'm trying to make a good impression, not send you
running."

"I sincerely doubt that this is as dramatic as you're making it out to be. I
find it hard to believe that your worst is far behind my best, so if that's
meant to send me running, why aren't you fleeing right now?" Regulus
challenges.

James presses his lips into a thin line and looks away, finishing with the last
dish. He stands there for a bit, face scrunched into a grimace, and then he
sighs. "Alright, sure. Just remember that you asked."

"I did."
"When I was fifteen, I wanted to murder some people."

Regulus blinks at him. He's silent for a long beat, and James helplessly
peeks at him through his eyelashes, his stomach squirming and tying itself
into knots. "Okay, I can honestly say I didn't see that coming. You have my
attention. Go on."

"Do you remember me telling you about that person in my life who came
from an abusive home?"

"Yes."

"He—he came to us in bad shape. Physically, mentally, emotionally.

Physically, he's recovered; mentally and emotionally, I suspect he'll always
have to struggle. But that night… Like I said, I felt useless. It was—it was
really bad, and I was scared, and I just—" James stares forward, licking his
lips nervously. "I remember staying awake all night, even after he fell
asleep, and I stayed with him. I held his hand. I looked at him, and I
thought: I'll kill them all. And it wasn't—it wasn't just some...burst of anger,
you know? It wasn't just a passing thought in the height of emotion. It
was… I wanted to."

"James," Regulus says softly, but James can't stop.

"I really wanted to, Regulus. The whole family. Every person who was
there that night, who ever made him feel like he was less than he was, and I
didn't know any of them. Complete strangers, and I wanted to—" James
shakes his head and roughly jams a hand up under his glasses to knuckle at
his right eye. "Like I said, it wasn't just anger. Not the kind where you lash
out and come down, I mean. It was calculating. I sat there all night and—
and thought about it, in detail. My mum came in and looked at me, and I
don't know what it was on my face, but she wouldn't let me leave the house
for the next few days. It scared me that I could feel like that. It's not—you
know, I was just a child, but I—I actually felt it. And, to feel it like that, you
can't even imagine what—what—"

"I don't have to," Regulus cuts in, his hand reaching out to land on James'
arm, drawing his wary gaze. "James, I don't have to imagine it. I know what
you mean, and chances are, your friend from the abusive home? He does,
too." He holds James' gaze, significance in the set of his mouth. "Take it
from me, it's a common reaction."

James' stomach all but drops out from underneath him. He'd suspected—
and he would, knowing the signs, learning to spot them. Having the
conformation still stings. He wants to bundle Regulus up and take him far
away from here, take him somewhere safe for a long time. "I'm—I'm a bit
protective, you could say. And also...possessive of the people I've decided
are mine. I don't mean to be that way, I just—I don't know why it happens,
but something in me just latches on every time, and it's like they're mine,
that's mine, I'll keep them safe and make them happy and never let anything
hurt them, except I can't always control that, and it makes me—it makes me
so—"

"You think that's a bad quality? Caring so much?"

"I can be—overbearing."

Regulus' lips twitch. "I should have known. Even your worst is better than
my best."

"What's your best?"

"I was brave. Once."

"Only the once?" James asks.

"Yes," Regulus answers bluntly.

James searches his gaze. "You left your home."

"I did," Regulus confirms.

"Regulus…" James chews on his bottom lip. He has this crawling desire to
do more, to do something that will release this itch under his skin. He feels
jittery. "The thing is, that bravery extends for the rest of your life. It's not
just one act of courage. Leaving was brave, and living every day after is
still brave. Standing right here, right now, is brave. Your best—I would say
you're doing your best every day."
Regulus' fingers clamp down on his arm, tight on his sleeve, and his
expression is cracked open, raw, vulnerable. His lips part around a sharp
exhale, as if his very breath has been snatched from his lungs, and his sharp
eyes are as soft as they are wide. He's so heartbreakingly lovely.

"James," Regulus whispers, and then again, with something more urgent
underneath, "James."

"Yeah?" James breathes out.

"I'm going to make you feel special now."

"Alright."

Regulus swallows and rasps, "This is a bad idea. You are a bad idea. Dating
you is a bad idea."

"I've worked out that you feel that way for myself, thanks. I won't lie, I
don't feel very special right now," James mumbles.

"It's a bad idea," Regulus repeats, sucking in a short breath, his fingers
flexing on James' arm, "but I'm quite sure that I'm going to do it anyway."
James exhales shakily, almost a laugh, immediately feeling lighter as a rush
of delight whips through him like a storm. He's elated by it, only just
managing to stay still, clamping down on his bottom lip to try smothering
his grin.

"Stop smiling," Regulus mutters.

"Sorry," James says, smiling harder.

"You need to go," Regulus tells him, his fingers squeezing briefly before he
drops them back to his own side, curling into a fist, "before I do something
stupid."

James doesn't move. "Please do something stupid."

"No. That would be uncharacteristic of me."

"Right. Can I do something stupid, then?"

"James," Regulus says, a warning.

"Regulus," James replies, swaying closer. He waits for Regulus to back up
or shove him away, but Regulus' eyes flutter shut, and the column of his
throat rises and falls. James crowds in closer, the hook in his heart reeling
him in until he's got Regulus boxed in at the counter, nearly touching. He's
dizzy from the proximity, practically vibrating. "Can I kiss you?"

Regulus seems to hold his breath for a long moment, because it eventually
bursts out of him, and he croaks, "Best not."

"Right," James murmurs, forcing himself to rein it in, blinking hard as he

pulls back.

"You never ask the right questions," Regulus tells him, eyes opening slowly,
pupils large, mouth wet from his tongue.

James is struggling with where to look, his gaze bouncing all over Regulus'
face, and it takes him a long moment to get what it is exactly that Regulus
means. His mind sputters back to life, and he asks, "Do you want me to kiss
you?"

"Yes," Regulus answers promptly.

"Will you let me if I try?"

"Yes."
"But you've told me not to."

"I know."

"You are so…" James huffs out a fond laugh, shaking his head.

Regulus smiles. It's small, and gone in a flash, but for one brilliant second,
it's there. James wants to touch his mouth to it, taste it, capture it between
his teeth. "Yes, I know."

"Alright, well, I suppose I'll just have to find the safe in-between for us,"
James murmurs. He steps closer again, holding Regulus' gaze for any sign
of refusal. "I'm going to kiss you somewhere else. Is that alright?"

"Where?"

"A surprise."

"I don't like those."

"Bully for you, because I do. You can always say no. I'll always respect a
no."

"I—" Regulus visibly wavers, frustrated, then he huffs and tilts his face up.
"Yes, it's alright."

James smiles softly, pleased, and he ducks in quickly to press a tender kiss
to Regulus' forehead, reaching up to swipe his hand gently over Regulus'
hair. It's soft. So soft. Regulus' skin is warm under James' mouth, and he
sways harder into the pressure of the kiss, almost melting against James.

The kiss breaks slowly, and James is even slower to pull away, because
Regulus is leaning into him, close and warm. He does eventually back off,
gifted with the lovely sight of Regulus blushing. With a grin, he says, "I'll
be off now. This was lovely, Regulus, thank you. I'll see you tomorrow
morning."

"Yeah, see you," Regulus replies, and his voice is weak, so weak that it
cracks a little bit in his throat. His face glows brighter, and James grins all
the way out the door.

"How was it?"

"Don't talk to me."

"Regulus," Remus says, barely holding in a laugh.

"Go away. You're dead to me until I've decided otherwise. Don't talk to me
for the rest of the day," Regulus says.

Remus snorts. "You're so bloody dramatic. Alright, fine, let me know when
you're over your strop."

Regulus just ignores him, so Remus rolls his eyes and starts stocking the
condiment display. The thing about Regulus is, for all his secrets, he never
fails to let you know how he feels about you. If he's angry with you, he
makes sure you know. If he likes you, well, that's sort of obvious because he
doesn't like anyone, really. He just tolerates most people.

Remus supposes that's why they got on so well. He likes that there's no
guessing with Regulus. He was never good at making friends, growing up
as lonely as he did, and so Regulus' bluntness was a breath of fresh air.
Remus appreciates that he won't have to think in circles, anxiously
wondering about Regulus' emotional state towards him.

It also helps that Remus is very aware that Regulus actually does like him,
as he genuinely doesn't like most, but Remus is an exception for some
reason. He's not really sure what he did to make Regulus like him, but it
became quite clear that he did once he actively started speaking to him of
his own free will, seeking him out, then eventually declaring one day—
whilst thoroughly drunk; he always gets sweet when he's drunk—that
Remus was the best friend he's ever had.
It was at that moment that Remus realized that Regulus was the best friend
he's ever had. From that point on, they were two miserable sods making
their way, bruised and grumbling, through the world with a simple,
unshakeable bond between them. It was nice. It still is nice.

It's just that Remus worries about Regulus quite a bit, which he cannot say
to Regulus, because doing so would just earn him an eye-roll and a scoff.
He can't help it, though. Regulus is locked up as tight as a vault, and while
he has no qualms about sticking his nose into Remus' business, he struggles
to open up even a little bit and let Remus into his.

Sometimes, Remus worries that Regulus is lonely being like that. He'd
know, as he's much of the same himself, and it is a very lonely life to lead.
But, as he's worked out for himself, getting out of that comfort zone of
safety can be good. So, yes, he nudged Regulus into a date with James, who
seems upbeat and kind, who clearly fancies Regulus a lot. He doesn't regret
it, so long as it didn't go too terribly.

Besides, Regulus is the one who urged him to reach out to Sirius again, and
Remus is forever grateful that he did. He had no plans to, honestly, even if
he was thinking about him incessantly. He was too unsure. Reaching out to
Sirius was very different than a spontaneous meeting in a bookshop,
followed by relaxing into a few drinks, then letting himself stumble into the
rush and free fall of doing something he never had and likely never would
for anyone else. But Sirius? Oh, Remus never stood a chance.

Speaking of Sirius, Remus wants to call him and ask if they can do
something today, after his shift. Not a second date, really; that's already
planned. Remus just wants to see him again. It's a bit pathetic, and he keeps
talking himself out of it, but Regulus is currently sporting that icy demeanor
of his, so Remus finds himself trying to warm up in the back.

He paces for a bit, chewing on the inside of his bottom lip, tapping his
thumb to the side of his phone. He hovers his finger over Sirius' name in his
phone so long that the screen goes dark, then he cringes at his own
ridiculousness and forces himself to make the call. It's two rings in when
remembers how early it is, so the chances of Sirius answering are—

"Bugger off," Sirius growls into the phone, his voice rough with sleep in a
way that makes Remus' heart pick up speed.

"Well, good morning to you, too," Remus says reflexively, his tone dripping
with sarcasm.

There's a choking noise down the line, like Sirius just accidentally
swallowed his own spit, and then frantic rustling followed by a hastily
blurted, "Remus? Oh, fuck, I didn't—I hadn't looked at the screen when I
—" He makes a rough sound, sort of pitiful. "I had no idea it was you."

"Oh? I just assumed that's how you greeted everyone."

"Most of them, yeah, if they wake me up. Not you, though. I'm always
happy to talk to you, Moony, no matter the time."
"Ah, so I get special treatment?" Remus asks, smiling.

"Of course," Sirius replies.

Remus chuckles and tips his head back, staring up at the ceiling, feeling a
bit like a teenager with a crush. He never was the teenager to have a crush,
and to be honest, it's a mortifying ordeal. "Yes, well, my best friend is angry
with me, so I'm distracting myself until we open the shop."

"Why is your best friend angry with you?"

"I set him up on a date."

"Playing matchmaker, are you?"

"Suppose so. That's a bit awful, isn't it? I just worry that he's lonely, I think,
and the bloke is really sweet. And fit."

"Getting a bit jealous here," Sirius says, amused. "If it helps at all, I don't
think it's awful. Your intentions were good, if nothing else. That has to
count for something."
"Maybe," Remus murmurs. "In any case, he has sentenced me to a cold
shoulder until the end of our shift, which is never fun. He hasn't done that
since I accidentally spilled coffee on his favorite shirt."

Sirius snorts. "No offense, but he sounds a bit—fussy, your best mate.
Dramatic, I mean."

"You have no idea," Remus admits, "and you also have no room to judge.
You're quite dramatic yourself."

"I will have you know—"

"I want to see you."

"What?" Sirius has lost the haughty tone entirely, and now he sounds a bit
thin, breathless. "Right now? Okay, I'll come."

Remus grins helplessly. "Not right this second, Padfoot, it's fine. After my
shift, I mean. We can—well, it can just be date one-and-a-half, if that's
alright with you."

"Yes, it's alright. It's brilliant," Sirius says quickly, eagerly, and then he
pauses. "That was...embarrassing."
"A bit, yeah."

"Piss off. You miss me."

"A bit, yeah," Remus repeats, softer this time, more honest.

Sirius blows out a deep breath through the phone, then laughs warmly,
sounding utterly delighted as he says, "You're doing wonderful things for
my ego, Remus."

"I aim to please," Remus says dryly.

"You know," Sirius muses thoughtfully, "I could come meet you at our pub,
then take you for a ride on my motorbike."

Remus turns and presses his forehead against the wall, squeezing his eyes
shut. He sounds strained, a bit strangled, when he chokes out, "You've a
motorbike?"

"Hm? Yeah."

"Of course you do."

"Are you alright, Remus?" Sirius asks, genuinely asking. "You sound a bit
off."

"Yes, you absolutely have to take me for a ride on your motorbike," Remus
breathes out.

There's a beat. When Sirius speaks, he sounds curious and also amused.
"Moony, is it riling you up that I have a motorbike?"

"A bit, yeah," Remus says once more, his voice weak, and Sirius
immediately bursts out laughing.

"Alright. That's what we'll do, then," Sirius says, once he isn't laughing
anymore. "What time?"

"I'm off at three, and if I'm done getting the cold shoulder by then, I'm
going to try to convince my best mate to come get something to eat with
me. Should be free to meet you between five and six. How's that?"

"Perfect."

"I should get back. Sorry for waking you up."

"Do not apologize. You've made my whole day."

Remus smiles down at his shoes, pushing away from the wall, his face
prickling with heat. "Then I'm not sorry. Glad to do it, Sirius. I'll see you."

"See you," Sirius replies, and hangs up.

For a second, Remus can only stand there and grin like an idiot, then he
tries to fix his face into something contrite before pushing his way back to
the front. It's still a few minutes out from when they need to open, but
Remus comes to a screeching halt when he sees that James is already
inside, leaning up against the counter while Regulus leans up against the till
on the opposite side.

There's already a drink and a croissant on the counter—Remus briefly

wonders what James is wearing that means he gets a croissant; Regulus
obviously knows, which is hilarious because he'll look at a regular who
they've been serving for three years that gets plain coffee every day and not
know their order, so he's not fooling anyone with knowing exactly what
James gets. In any case, James is smiling warmly, having eyes only for
Regulus, and Remus can see Regulus fiddling with the stapler in front of
the till away from prying eyes, a sign of nerves.

Ah, so it was a good date, then. Remus can't help the bolt of satisfaction
that shoots down his spine. He gives himself a mental pat on the back and
strolls forward, likely radiating how smug he feels.
"Oh! Good morning, Regulus' dashing coworker and best friend, Lupin,"
James greets as soon as he sees him, clearly pleased with himself for
obtaining the new information.

Remus honestly doesn't have the heart to spoil it for him. Regulus usually
refers to the last name when he's annoyed with him, so it makes sense. Still,
"Aw, you told him I'm your best friend? Regulus."

"I'm reconsidering," Regulus grits out.

"Mhm." Remus chuckles and looks at James. "Good morning, James. Did
you enjoy taking Regulus on a date?"

"Oh, well, I didn't," James says cheerfully. "Actually, he's the one who—
ow!" James frowns and rubs his arm where Regulus pinched him, pouting
about it. "What was that for?"

Regulus says, "We're not talking to him today."

"We're not?"

"No."
James chews on a smile, sheepish, and then he laughs and shakes his head.
"I wasn't aware we were doing things together, you and I."

"We're doing this," Regulus says icily.

"Sure, but—well, I feel like I'm betraying him a bit," James admits,
glancing over at Remus with his eyes crinkling happily behind his glasses.

"You hardly know him." Regulus scowls.

"A shame, that. But, you know, I have been talking to him a bit these last
three weeks, almost as much as you."

"Oh, did you come in to see him every day, then? Actually, why didn't you
ask him out?"

"No offense to him, because he's absolutely dashing, really makes me want
to swoon, but he's not exactly you, is he?" James grins and raises his
eyebrows, looking right at Regulus with such fondness that Remus sort of
feels a bit envious in an odd way, and great, he misses Sirius all over again.

Regulus does something that Remus has never seen in the three years
they've known each other; he blushes. Outside of the way his face flushes
when it's hot, or he's had a few drinks, Remus has never seen Regulus
blush, especially not in response to something someone has said to him.
Remus has to do a double-take, his eyebrows flying up.

"You know, don't even worry about it," Remus says slowly, laughing a little
helplessly. "I'll make it easy for you, James, and leave you two alone."

Remus goes right back into the back, digging his cell out to text Sirius. I
think I got my best friend a boyfriend.

Not even three minutes later, Sirius messages back. That's because you're
brilliant. A dangerous, scary, lovely mastermind. Everyone should fear you
and your schemes, but they don't because they're fools who think you are
innocent and sweet.

Aren't I?

Oh, absolutely. I'm a fool, too. I've fallen prey to your charms.

Your mistake.

I know. I'm utterly hopeless. Now, you should put your mind to doing what
you've done for your best friend for yourself.
I thought I already had, Remus replies, and it takes him at least two minutes
to actually send it. He puts his phone facedown and paces for a few
minutes, then forces himself to stop when he realizes how ridiculous it is.
When he picks the phone back up, his heart is racing stupidly in his chest.

I can't believe you've done this.

I'll kill him.

Who is he? :(

Don't be a twat, Sirius.

Obviously it's you.

Sirius takes his time replying, which makes Remus pace again and glare at
his phone. And then: Always two steps ahead, aren't you, Moony? An
absolute brilliant schemer, you are. Except for how I've completely goaded
you into saying that, which means you're as much a fool for me as I am for
you. We'll just have to be fools together. You don't mind, do you?

Not at all, Padfoot. Not at all.

I should be going, though.

I'm going to bombard you with messages all day.

You've woken me up and put me in an extremely good mood, and this means
I am now your problem.
Not the worst problem I've ever had.

You're going to give me a heart attack.

Remus shakes his head, checking the time, still smiling as he heads out
front again. He keeps his distance and lets Regulus and James do their
dance, only peeking at them every now and again between preparing for the
morning rush and texting Sirius. He does go by when he has to open the
shop, but James and Regulus don't even seem to notice.

It isn't until people start trickling in that James stands up straight and says,
"Ah, I should go and not keep people from their coffee before work. I'll see
you tomorrow, yeah?"

"Yes, James, obviously," Regulus says flatly. "I work here, and you show up
every morning."

"Well, tell me if you'd like me to stop."

"Goodbye, James."

"Have a nice day, Regulus," James says, grinning, and he winks over at
Remus. "You too, Lupin."
Remus chuckles. "Bye, James."

With a wave, James brushes past the growing queue behind him and slips
out the door, drink and croissant in hand.

After that, the day is busy enough that Remus and Regulus don't have much
time to chat, even if they were chatting. The good thing is, they never need
to speak to work well together. They spent months hardly uttering a word to
one another on shift, but still having an altogether simple time managing the
orders. It shows now, as they barely speak, but they handle the busy day
without a stutter.

Still, the day was busy enough that Remus is tired by the time the next shift
rolls around and they're free to leave. They both head to the back, and
Remus blocks Regulus' path when he tries to leave out the employee-only
side exit.

"No," Regulus says sharply.

"Let's grab a bite," Remus says. "I'll pay."

Regulus purses his lips. "You're still dead to me."

"Oh, sure. But we can go to that place you like. And I have news." Remus
raises his eyebrows.

"Fine," Regulus mutters after a long beat of silence, just as Remus knew he
would. He's so hilariously predictable sometimes.

Twenty minutes later, they're crowded in a booth with a spread of Indian

food between them, and Remus is trying not to smile at the frown on
Regulus' face. "Right, so my news."

"Yes, go on," Regulus says with a sigh.

"You-Know-Who," Remus starts, and Regulus does that thing where he

smiles with his eyes. "He has a motorbike."

"That's your news?" Regulus wrinkles his nose.

Remus snorts. "No need to look so disgusted by it. What, you don't like
them?"

"No, not really, but I suppose I have a reason. My brother was obsessed
with them when we were younger," Regulus murmurs, lips tipping down.
"He always thought they were so bloody cool."
"Well," Remus says, "not everyone's him. Don't take issue with my
boyfriend because your brother was—is?—a prick."

"Is," Regulus confirms knowingly. He pauses, then arches an eyebrow at

Remus. "Boyfriend?"

"Oh, right, that. I sort of just told him he was, and he seemed happy about
it," Remus admits.

Regulus' lips twitch, real amusement causing his face to soften with the
impression of a smile. "Remus, if you've ever actually wondered why you're
more tolerable than most, it's because you do things like this. You've just
told your boyfriend he's your boyfriend. That's fucking funny."

"Oh, piss off. I was a bit of a mess about it."

"Of course. But you still did it."

"A study in bravery, I suppose."

"Yes, I'd say so. You really like He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named if you're

doing things for him that scare you."
Remus doesn't reply for a long moment, thinking about how to say what he
wants without Regulus taking the piss about it. He purses his lips. "This—
what I'm about to say, I don't want to be teased about it, yeah?"

"Alright," Regulus says, immediately becoming more serious, all the

laughter draining from his eyes. Remus remembers the first and only
argument they've ever had. Regulus had been particularly cruel about
something, finding it all so amusing, but it had hit Remus at just the wrong
way until he was suddenly angry enough to shout at Regulus about it.
Instead of them getting into a worse row, all Regulus said was well, you
only had to tell me you were sensitive about it, or you didn't want it to be a
joke, and from that moment on, Remus did exactly that. Regulus has never
once mocked him when Remus has asked him not to.

"Everything scares me," Remus breathes out. "When it comes to him, all of
it scares me. Regulus, he's—he's really—"

"Well, that's fine, because if he ever commits a grievance too large to come
back from, we'll just kill him. Or, I'll handle the whole nasty business, and
you won't have to worry about a thing," Regulus offers calmly.

"That's—shockingly comforting," Remus mutters, huffing out a weak

laugh. Regulus hums in vague satisfaction, but he doesn't say anything else.
"Right, so can we talk about your boyfriend now?"

Regulus' face falls into a scowl. "He's not my boyfriend."

"But you did go on a date. He said he didn't take you, but I don't believe for
a second that you two didn't do something."

"I—well, yes, we did."

Remus' eyebrows raise. "Did you two—"

"No," Regulus cuts in, looking unimpressed with Remus' sleuthing skills.
"We just shared a meal and talked."

"And?"

"And what?"

"Come on, Regulus," Remus needles, "I know there's more to it. You could
have told him you changed your mind, or you never actually said yes to the
date in the first place, and broken the poor bloke's heart—but you didn't."

Regulus' face twitches, and then his eyebrows draw together as his mouth
twists unhappily. "I did, actually. One of the first things I said to him was
that I had no intention of saying yes and would rather leave. Broke his heart
quite a bit, I think."
"Regulus," Remus groans.

"Oh, don't start," Regulus grumbles. "In any case, he just—he respected it.
Despite feeling foolish and being hurt, he was so ridiculously respectful
about it, and I think… Well, I'm nearly sure that he's been hurt before in a
similar way. Or just hurt in a very big way. I don't know, but he's so—he
needs—people need to be careful with him. That's what he needs. To be
treated with care."

Remus tucks his lips in so he won't smile. Regulus is frowning down at his
fork, deep in thought, which is for the best. "So you felt bad for him?"

"No," Regulus says softly.

"You fancy him," Remus suggests simply. "I mean, really."

Regulus doesn't answer for a long moment, chewing some of his food a bit
too slowly, not looking up. After he swallows, he closes his eyes and sighs.
"Yes. I'm seeing him again."

"That's good, Regulus, no need to look so defeated about it. I don't

understand what the problem is. He's obviously a wonderful person,"
Remus murmurs.
"That is the problem," Regulus replies, opening his eyes to stare at him,
looking—for the first time that Remus has ever seen—quite desperate. "It's
one of them, anyway. The main one, you could say. He is a wonderful
person, and I'm—I'm not very—he deserves someone—but I'm not—"

Remus has never seen Regulus so inarticulate. He always thought it would

be funny to see Regulus struggle with words for once, since he uses them
like weapons, but him being weaponless—powerless—isn't funny at all. It's
sad. "Regulus, stop it. Don't do that, alright? You don't get to decide for him
what he deserves, and he wants you, doesn't he?"

Regulus looks down, staring at his plate, not replying. He seems so small
like that, like he's shrinking himself down.

"Whoever taught you that you weren't good enough, that you don't deserve
good things—they were wrong, Regulus," Remus says quietly. "I wish I
could meet them just once so I could tear into them for being so fucking
stupid."

"I'd never introduce you to my family," Regulus whispers.

"They fucked you up quite a bit, didn't they?"

"Yes."
"You can—tell me. If you want," Remus offers, more hopeful than he'd ever
admit. As much as he knows about Regulus, there's far more that he
doesn't.

Regulus heaves a sigh. "My mother was awful. Cold, harsh, demanding.
She had expectations for her children, and if we didn't meet them, she made
us wish we had and decided to expect more. You could never—there was no
way to really please her. It was just—how things were done. You could
follow her plans and rules perfectly, and she still wouldn't be proud, because
that's just how we were meant to live. Oh, but you could disappoint her.
You could anger her. You just couldn't do enough to—to get ahead, in a
way. There was always more she demanded from you. She was draining,
and cruel, and I—I did everything she wanted for so long, until I couldn't do
it anymore. The worst part is that she didn't see it coming. She never
noticed I was… It baffled her."

"My mum was the opposite," Remus says, "and not in a good way. I love
my mum, I do, but she was always...out of touch. I suppose that's a good
phrase for it, yeah. She, ah, loved me. I know that. But it was like… I don't
know. She never saw me, really. She lived in this bubble, and everything
outside of it couldn't penetrate the fog to get through to her. It was like she
was playing a role, just reading a script; there was no real emotional
connection." He drops his gaze, scraping his fork across his plate. "It didn't
matter what I did. Mum didn't feel anything about it, really. You know,
when I told her I was seeing a bloke for the first time, she didn't even stop
cooking. Just said that's nice, dear, and continued on as if she hadn't even
heard me, and I'm not entirely sure she ever did. I reckon I ought to be
grateful that it didn't go badly, but it just felt so… It always felt so hollow in
my house."

"Is she…?"
"She passed away when I was eighteen."

"And your father?" Regulus asks.

Remus is inwardly relieved that Regulus didn't apologize, or offer

condolences, or get awkward about it. As for his dad, well, Remus can't
stop himself from scoffing. "If my mum was hollow, my dad was a ghost. I
hardly knew him, honestly. He was always working, and when he was at
home, he was shut up in his study. It was a bit like living with a stranger at
times."

"Mm, my father was like that, too," Regulus admits, smiling without any
humor. "He was very distant, but not the way Mother was. Sometimes, I
genuinely think he forgot he had children. Although, really, I can't say all
the blame is his. It was hard to—to handle my mother, and my father was
sickly by the time his children got older. If anyone was capable of kindness
between my parents, it was him. He just...never was. Never felt he had a
reason to be, I suppose."

"You said he was sickly. Is he…?" Remus trails off.

"I don't know," Regulus says bluntly. "I would think he's dead by now. He
really wasn't doing very well when I left. But I haven't had contact with my
family in...five years."
Remus chews on that in his mind for a while, eating slowly, his eyebrows
furrowed. He knows that not knowing isn't easy, that it must weigh on
Regulus, even if he never talks about it. This is the first time. "I haven't
spoken directly to my dad since my mum died. Six years now. Going on
seven, I think."

"Why were they—" Regulus looks up, frowning. "I just mean, were they
just naturally inclined to being awful? Was their marriage failing?"

"I have no idea how things were between them," Remus muses softly. "My
dad was—he was upset when he lost my mum, but it only made him more
withdrawn. They were…" He grimaces and looks away with a sigh. "I think
they were the way they were because… You see, when I was four, I fell ill.
Very ill. I was hospitalized for most of my early childhood, and my parents
spent a lot of time believing I was going to die. I nearly did. When I didn't,
it was—it was different after that. I think it messed them up, having to come
to terms with the fact that their son was going to die so young. They found
ways to cope with it, and they never really left those behind, and at times it
was like I died anyway. I think they disconnected, then just...never
reconnected."

"I never knew that," Regulus says, blinking. "About you nearly dying, I
mean."

Remus frowns. "Well, it's not really something I advertise. I prefer not to
talk about it. Some of it I don't even remember; some of it was the most
painful time of my life. It fucked me up, though. Not just my family; I
mean, health-wise. My immune system has been shit ever since. I get sick
so easily, even now. But I've dealt with it all my life, and I've never wanted
—I don't want it to be the focal point of my life, really. Maybe I'm a bit
cautious because of my parents, but nothing good ever comes from people
knowing. Humans, as a rule, don't handle the reality of impermanence
well."

"Well, we're all dying, Remus," Regulus tells him. "You hardly deserve to
be ostracized for it."

"Thanks," is all Remus says, his frown melting into a tiny, grateful smile.
"What about your brother?"

Regulus' face does something strange. "My brother… He was different. He

was—when we were young, he was my—" It's awful the way Regulus'
words cut off with force, like they're blocked by a lump in his throat. He
swallows thickly, dropping his gaze. "He was my best friend. The thing
was, he had so much pressure on him, even more than me. He hated it in
that house. Hated the demands and expectations and—and the complete
lack of freedom. It stifled him. He never wanted to be what he was expected
to, and he just—he wanted to get out. He always wanted to get out. He was
always going to get out."

"Did he...not?"

"Oh, he did. For the first ten years of my life, he and I were very close. He
was always looking out for me. When I did something wrong, he took the
blame. He—protected me. Took punishments for me. Made a scene so I
could slip off. He was the best thing in that house."
"What changed?"

"Mother had enough of him, I suppose, and she must have thought that
sending him to an expensive boarding school would teach him to be the
way she wanted him to be, and it might have done if he spent any of the
time there with the people she expected him to. Only, he never did what
was expected of him, so he made friends that Mother would have never
approved of. Made one, in particular, that had him even more rebellious
than ever. He came home after that first year, talking about him so much,
never shutting up. My best mate this, and my best mate that, and I was ten,
so I…"

"Jealous?" Remus asks sympathetically.

"Indeed," Regulus says dryly, smirking, but there's an old, echoed pain in
his face that suggests it still smarts, even to this day. Remus' heart pangs.
"When Mother found out, she beat him so badly that he never talked about
his friend again. Not in detail anyway. She was formidable, our mother, so
he was afraid. Can't blame him for hiding things from her. I imagine he hid
things from me for my own sake."

"Still trying to protect you?"

"Mm, yes, he did that no matter what else was going on, at least until we
got older. The years went on, and we grew apart. He was gone more often
than he wasn't. We went to different schools, so it wasn't as if I could see
him anywhere else other than home, but he hated being home. Even me
being there wasn't enough. As he got older, he got louder about hating the
family and everything it stood for."

Remus winces. "Not excluding you, I assume."

"Not so much, no." Regulus huffs a sardonic laugh. "I don't think that was
all his fault, either. Like I said, I did everything to try and please my mother.
I wasn't like him. I—I was terrified of the idea of getting out, and I never
thought I would. It was a bit selfish, but I just wanted him to stay anyway.
At least we'd suffer together. And—and I wanted to be worth that, I think,
but...I wasn't."

"Regulus…"

"He left when I was fifteen. He was sixteen and had an explosive fight with
Mother. It—it was very bad. The worst it ever was. It was the first time he
ever dragged me into a situation like that, like—like we could team up and
challenge her together, as if that would do anything. He was away so much,
it was like he forgot how our mother was. There was no beating her. So, I—
I didn't try. He looked at me that night and said I was no better than the rest,
and then he left. He finally got out, and he never looked back."

"He abandoned you," Remus says stiffly.

Regulus' eyes are hard and cold. "Yes. The worst part is, I kept waiting for
him to come back for me. He didn't." He looks down, face grim. "And now,
he wouldn't even recognize me if he saw me on the street. He was the
person who knew me best, but he never knew… And now he'll never know
me."

"But you got out on your own," Remus murmurs.

"Mm, I did, yes. Three years later." Regulus leans back in his seat, blowing
out a breath so deep that it rounds out his cheeks and makes him look sweet
and child-like. "In high-brow society like my family is a part of, it was
common to sort of—arrange marriages. Nothing official, of course, but I
was aware my mother would pick my spouse. I avoided thinking about it
until I...couldn't, and then I had two options. I could stay and have a life I'd
rather be dead than live, or I could go and see how well I did on my own."

"A traditional family like that…" Remus chews on his lip for a moment. "I
suppose you weren't happy with the marriage because you're gay."

"I—" Regulus looks thoughtful for a moment, and then he chuckles, eyes
lighting up with some hidden joke. "Well, technically, yes."

"But here you are. That has to count for something."

"Here I am, and it does."

Remus sighs heavily. "Your brother—fuck him, yeah? I see why you hate
him. I'll hate him with you."
Regulus laughs again, actually smiling. "You don't even know him,
Remus."

"Don't need to, do I?" Remus raises his eyebrows. "I know you, and that's
enough." Regulus rolls his eyes, so Remus leans in to catch his gaze. "I
think you told me all of that when you never have before because some part
of you wants someone you trust to tell you that it's okay. It is okay, Regulus,
to be with James. Your family—all of them—are shit, and you're worth
more and far better than they ever led you to believe."

"Christ, shagging has turned you into a sap."

"Maybe so, but it needed to be said."

"I could have gone my whole life without hearing it, actually," Regulus says
dryly.

Remus just shakes his head. "No, I think you've gone long enough."

"Stop it," Regulus rasps, looking away. He's so emotionally stunted that it's
not even funny. So is Remus, though.

"Only because you'll combust if I don't."

"I genuinely might. Look at this, you've given me goosebumps. I'm about to
break out in hives, Remus."

"Oh, shut up," Remus says, laughing as Regulus scrunches up his sleeve
and waves his arm around. He has, in fact, broken out with goosebumps,
hilariously enough.

Regulus reaches out with his fork and spears a piece of pork from his plate,
popping it in his mouth, and Remus gently kicks him under the table. The
moment passes, and they move along, bickering over stealing food from
each other's plates. They don't talk about it anymore, what they've
discovered and shared, but they are lighter after that.

A mere few hours later, Remus strolls up to Sirius, who is leaning casually
up against his motorbike, one helmet hanging off the handlebar and the
other sitting on the seat. His hair spills down over the collar of his leather
jacket, and he looks so effortlessly beautiful in that reckless, untouchable
way, like capturing lightning in a bottle. He is that lightning, threatening to
shatter glass, a flash and force of energy that's so easy to be drawn to and
impossible to fully grasp.

Sirius grins at him, a smile that always makes Remus feel a heated tug at
his navel. He has never wanted to touch, to claim, anyone the way he does
Sirius. His fingers itch with it. His arms. His heart. Remus wants to wrap
himself around Sirius and hang on forever. He wants, inexplicably and
ridiculously, to be Sirius' leather jacket, pretty much.
"You always keep me waiting," Sirius greets, his eyes sparkling. He's
wearing fucking eyeliner, as if Remus isn't about to go into a crisis about it.
"Keep on like this, Moony, and I might start to think you're not that
interested in me after all."

"Sorry. Lunch ran over a bit," Remus murmurs sheepishly, moving over to
reach out and run his hand over the cold metal of the motorbike, admittedly
a little transfixed.

"Ah, yes, the best friend." Sirius cranes his head, face open with curiosity.
"Is he here?"

"No. His flat is in the opposite direction. I suppose you'll meet him
eventually, whenever we get around to it. For now…" Remus tips his head
at the motorbike. "I believe you promised me a ride."

Sirius hums. "That I did, Remus, that I did. First, there are some rules you
have to be aware of."

"Is that right?" Remus asks, amused.

"This," Sirius says, reaching out to tap his hand to the motorbike, "is the
love of my life."

Remus tucks his lips in, eyebrows flying up. "Is it?"
"Yes, and as such, you will offer nothing but the utmost respect," Sirius tells
him, nodding. "No talking shit about my bike, Moony. It's a cardinal sin."

"Mhm, right," Remus mumbles, struggling to keep a straight face.

Sirius smiles. "Brilliant! Let's go, then."

"Sorry? Wait." Remus blinks. "That's it? Don't I need—I mean, I've never
ridden one of these before, Sirius."

"Tragic," Sirius says sadly.

Remus frowns. "What if I fall off?"

"You won't fall off."

"But I could. There's no belts, or doors, or...a frame, Padfoot."

"Yes, that usually defeats the purpose of them."

"What...is the purpose of them?"

"Well, they look cool, and they're fast." Sirius is grinning at him. He looks
so fond. Remus wants to peel off all his clothes and lick all of his tattoos
again. "I thought you were excited about this. What happened to being riled
up about it?"

"I've given it some thought," Remus admits, his voice getting a little high in
his throat, "and the complete lack of safety involved does overshadow the
sex factor of it all."

Sirius barks a laugh and reaches out with one hand to hook his finger in
Remus' belt loop by his hip, slowly reeling him in until they're pressed
together. Sirius is still propped up against the bike, while Remus leans into
him, hands sliding into his open jacket. "Listen to me, Remus. I've been
driving this for years. I know what I'm doing, and I'm always careful when
I'm bringing along precious cargo. You are undoubtedly the most precious
thing I'll ever have on this bike, so rest assured that I'll not let anything
happen to you, yeah?"

"I bet you say that to all your passengers," Remus says weakly, his heart
thudding hard in his chest.

"Technically, yes," Sirius murmurs, his voice soft. "You're the only
passenger I've ever had."

Remus stares at him. "What?"

"I don't let just anyone ride my bike, you know." Sirius reaches up to push a
stray wavy lock of hair behind Remus' ear, tilting his chin up to hold his
gaze. His hand has a thin scar on the palm, perfectly lined up on the other
side, not overly obvious unless someone is really paying attention, and
Remus is always paying attention to Sirius. "It's—really important to me.
The first thing I ever did for myself that I was never allowed to do. I've
broken this bike down and put it back together; I know it inside and out. I—
well, I've let my best friend drive it before, but that hardly counts because
he's practically my other half."

"So not only is the bike the love of your life, but your best mate is your
other half? Frankly, Sirius, I'm not sure where that leaves me at all," Remus
teases, lips twitching.

Sirius twitches his nose at him, grinning. "You're the moon to my stars.
You're my Moony. I can only have one of those."

"Suppose you have a point," Remus murmurs.

"I promise you you'll be safe," Sirius tells him, not teasing at all now.
"You'll have fun, but you won't get hurt. Trust me?"

Remus slips his hands around Sirius' waist with a hum, pressing in closer to
him, huffing out a laugh when Sirius' gaze almost instantly falls to his
mouth. "Yes, I trust you. Perhaps foolishly, but I do."
"Ah," Sirius whispers, his gaze snapping up to latch onto Remus', "that's
good to know. If it helps at all, you get to hold onto me the whole time."

"Sirius."

"Hm?"

"You should have led with that," Remus declares, earning another punched-
out laugh as he pushes away and snags the helmet off the seat by Sirius'
hip.

"Here." Sirius reaches up to help him put the helmet on correctly, and
Remus dutifully ducks his head, as he's taller. He kisses that scar on Sirius'
palm, then looks back up as Sirius does the clasps, his mouth curling up
fondly in one corner. "You look ridiculous."

"Thanks oh so much. What a charmer, you are."

"No, it's cute. You're cute."

"And I imagine you look perfect in your helmet," Remus says grudgingly,
resigned to it, and he's only proven correct when Sirius deftly puts on his
helmet with a grin. Remus heaves a sigh. "Of course you do."
Sirius laughs again, warm and bright, striking the earth and making Remus
quake. With ease, he turns and swings one leg over the seat, kicking the
stand up and settling down. It's so terribly attractive that Remus wants to sit
down for a minute with his head between his knees to calm down.

A beat later, the bike starts up with a growl, rumbling loud and powerful
between Sirius' legs, and he grins as he revs it, eyes bright. "Alright,
Remus. Hop on and hold on."

Remus exhales a short, shaky breath and steps forward to catch Sirius' face
in his hands, tilting it up so he can duck down and kiss him. Their helmets
knock together, and the bike almost instantly sputters out as Sirius drops his
hands from it to grab onto Remus and yank him closer instead. In the
aftermath of the snarling engine, the world around them almost seems too
quiet, so the soft noise that Sirius releases into Remus' mouth sounds loud.

It very quickly evolves into a fierce snog, the both of them trying to curl
into it. As usual, Remus misplaces all of his common sense, not caring
about anything else but Sirius' mouth against his and Sirius' body under his
hands. It's electric, making the hair on his arms stand on end, sending a
shiver down his spine. This is what it is to capture lightning in a bottle and
draw it out into your palm.

Remus feels like a god.

Sirius pants into the kiss, and Remus groans, and then the bike is leaning
precariously to the side, causing Sirius' boot to skid across asphalt as they
both stumble. The kiss breaks as Sirius curses hoarsely and scrambles to
grab the bike, tipping it back up and settling back down on it, breathing
hard.

"Sorry," Remus blurts out, blinking rapidly.

"Bloody hell," Sirius croaks, "what was that for?"

"Just…" Remus clears his throat, his face growing hot as he reaches up to
right the lopsided helmet on his head. "Well, you know already that it riles
me up. I don't know. The way you look while on it, especially when it's
actually on…"

"While I absolutely adore that, more than I can ever say, you will be able to
keep your hands to yourself while I'm actually driving, won't you?" Sirius'
lips twitch. "I'm good, even when distracted, but I'm not that good. You'll
kill us."

Remus huffs at him and reaches out to grasp his shoulder for leverage as he
swings his leg over to settle in behind Sirius. It's a strange sensation, only
because it's new, but he does quite like being pressed right up behind him.
"I think I'll manage."

"Pity," Sirius teases. "I wouldn't complain if that's how I went." He smiles at
Remus over his shoulder, hands falling to grab Remus' and tug them all the
way around, bringing them closer together. Remus' front is flush with his
back. "Alright, don't stuff your hands down my jeans when I start up,
yeah?"
Remus pinches his side, making him laugh. "Shut up."

"Pick up your legs when I do," Sirius tells him, then the bike growls to life
once more. Sirius raises his voice. "Ready?"

"Yeah," Remus says, but it comes out thin and high, breathless with nerves
and excitement. He just squeezes Sirius a bit and hopes that gets the point
across well enough.

It must, because in the next second, they're pulling off. Remus feels his
stomach swoop, and he's not really sure what happens for the next five
seconds, but he blinks and they're on the open road, gaining speed, wind
whipping at their skin. Sirius' bark of laughter drifts along the breeze, and
Remus clings tighter to him like an instinct, stuck in that pinpoint lock
between utter terror and pure exhilaration.

With the road blurring under the bike, Remus feels like he's flying. With
Sirius in his arms, Remus feels like he's falling.

The fear and joy are exactly the same.

Chapter End Notes

Remus, to Regulus: my boyfriend isn't your brother, don't be mean

Sirius, Remus' boyfriend: *is Regulus' brother*
James: i wanted to kill my best mate's whole family
Regulus: understandable, have a nice day

If you can't tell, I'm having a laugh while writing all this.
 Chapter 3
Chapter Notes

Mild warning for spice. It's nothing explicit, but it's not just hinted at.
See the end of the chapter for more notes

Regulus thinks this is the most ridiculous thing he's ever done, and then
thinks that he'll come to regret thinking that, because he's sure that being
with James will just further invite even more ridiculous things to do into his
life.

"James, is this legal?" Regulus hisses, grimacing as James tugs on his hand
a little more, pulling him further up the stairs. He'd reached back and
snagged his fingers, tangling his own with them, about three flights ago,
and Regulus has been doing an awful job of working out how to ask him to
let go.

"Well, yes and no," James shoots back over his shoulder, and finally, they've
reached the top. He still doesn't drop Regulus' hand as he digs out a set of
keys and unlocks the door to the rooftop, winking as he pulls them through.
"I wouldn't worry about it, Regulus."

Narrowing his eyes, Regulus mutters, "Oh, I shouldn't worry about doing
something illegal that could end with us both in trouble; no, of course not,"
but he's also very easily distracted by the bruised blush of the sunset and
bustling sounds of the city far below. Up here, he feels closer to the sky
than he does the ground, and it's better than he could have ever imagined.
"You won't get in trouble. I promise." James tugs him around the corner of
the doorway, and all Regulus sees is a strange stand and a pile of harnesses.
"This isn't the last stop anyway."

"Not the—" Regulus' gaze snags on the line from the stand, the sturdy
pinpoint of black shooting out across the roof's edge. A zipline. He looks at
James. "You're joking."

James' eyes sparkle. "I'm not."

"You—oh, I refuse," Regulus blurts out, eyes bulging in pure disbelief, but
James is already pulling them over to the pile of harnesses. "James, I'm not
—what are you doing? I just told you no. Are you mental? A zipline?
Alone? I—"

"No. With me," James murmurs, dropping his hand in favor of picking up
the tangle of harnesses.

Regulus makes a low, choking noise. "Oh, and you just do this all the time,
do you?"

"Yes, actually. It's professionally installed and passes all inspections and has
the top safety measures. I've done it plenty of times, and I'm certified.
Regulus, you honestly couldn't be safer doing this with anyone else."
"Wait, you're—"

"It's like flying," James tells him breathlessly, stepping into the tangle of
rope like he can actually make sense of which limb is meant to go in which
open space. "It's—it's honestly brilliant, you have no idea. Thrilling."

"What about me suggests I'm much of a thrill-seeker?" Regulus asks,

struggling to keep his voice level. His eyes keep darting to the stand.

James laughs loudly, head thrown back, bright enough to make the world
glow even as the sun sinks down past the horizon line. "There's only one
way to know, isn't there? You won't die, if that's what you're worried about.
You won't be alone, because I'll be right there with you. If you hate it, we
never have to do it again."

"Yes, but I can't very well stop and get off in the middle of it if I do hate it,
can I?" Regulus bites out.

"It'll be over before you know it," James says, his face softening. "Look, I
won't force you to do it. Say the word, and we'll stop, take all those stairs
back down, then get where we're going next the more traditional way.
But...if any part of you does want to do it, then we'll give it a go, me and
you. All you have to do is trust me, yeah?"

James holds out his hand in offering, and Regulus wavers, his heart
thrashing wildly in his chest. He's got this queasy feeling in his stomach,
like he might vomit, but also… Really, it's strange, because as much as it
does terrify him and go against nearly all of his instincts, there's this
yearning underneath it all that threatens to forever send a pulse of regret
through him if he doesn't take the chance. He takes a deep breath, then
blows it out and lifts his hand to slide his fingers over James' open palm,
soft and rough simultaneously.

"Fine," Regulus whispers.

"There's a love," James says softly, beaming, and he reels Regulus in.
Doesn't he always?

There's a whole process that goes into this that Regulus honestly doesn't pay
attention to, a little too busy trying not to cough up his racing heart; it feels
like it's about to surge up and thump its way right out of his throat. James is
startlingly efficient in any case, easily getting most of the harness set up on
both of them, then ushering them up the stand.

Once up there, James steps out on the attached platform to tug on a rope
connected to the line, pulling in a large contraption that does at least look
industrial and safe. The clamp is very sturdy, it seems, and the whir of the
pulley against the line makes Regulus' head spin. He tugs at one of the
straps that's firm but not strangling around his waist.

"You've done this a lot?" Regulus checks warily.

James flashes him a smile as he drops one hand to hold it out to Regulus,
wiggling his fingers. "Loads of times. Come here, I need to finish hooking
us up."

"If I die," Regulus starts as he shuffles forward, very pointedly not looking
out past the platform.

"You're not going to die," James tells him, amused, hands busy between
them as he starts strapping them together. He has to pull them close, side-
by-side, and then his hands are all over Regulus as he tugs straps around his
side, in between his legs, over his shoulder—it's enough to make Regulus a
bit dizzy, but James isn't lingering; it's all business to him.

"If I die," Regulus repeats, his voice coming out higher, which makes him
immediately drop his voice lower, "I'm going to spend the rest of your life
haunting you."

"Well," James says cheerfully, "at least I'll get to spend the rest of my life
with you." He chuckles like that's not at all a mad thing to say to someone
on your second date, then straightens up and starts clamping clasps together,
pulling the line in to connect them to it. While Regulus is still reeling from
such a comment, James apparently finishes up and smiles right at him.
"Now we step onto the platform, and as soon as you're ready, we'll go—and
not a moment before. I'll wait however long you need, alright?"

Regulus doesn't want to be shaking, but he is as they shuffle forward, and

his knees almost immediately lock when they get to the edge. "Oh. Oh,
that's...far…"
Honestly, he can't even see that far past the roof's edge, but he can see the
distance farther out, and it is not comforting. He's connected to James by his
hips, but their arms are free, and there's a strap wrapped around their backs
so it's almost like they will have a seat when they step off into the air.
Regulus is already clutching at the ropes for dear life, and he doesn't even
remember James putting a fucking helmet on him, but he's suddenly aware
of the weight of it when he looks over and sees that James has one on as
well.

"Take your time," James offers kindly, not teasing in the least. He looks at
Regulus with affection, mostly.

"I'm not—James, I'm not going to be able to do it," Regulus informs him,
his voice thin.

James just nods. "Alright. I can unhook us and—"

"No. I meant—I—I'll do it, but I'm not going to be able to step off,"
Regulus says in a rush. "Don't ask me if I'm ready. I'm not. I'll never be. But
I—want to, so just...just help me."

"I can do that," James murmurs. He curls out his arm closest to Regulus to
tuck it around his lower back, hand warm and broad against Regulus' side.
"Alright, then. Close your eyes and try to relax. I've got you."

Regulus blows out a deep breath and does something stupid because James
makes him stupid, and also this is a very stupid situation to start with, so
he's allowed some space to do things he wouldn't otherwise. What he does,
in fact, is turn his head and tuck his face into the open crook of James' neck,
all but hiding there as he squeezes his eyes shut and inhales the smell of
him. He smells like roasted caramel malts and the smoky spice of burning
applewood, mingled with sweat and something underneath it all that's
distinctly alive, human, a man with a life that has scents of the world
clinging to him in wisps. It has Regulus inhaling again without even
meaning to, distracted by it and pushing in closer.

He doesn't realize James is inching them forward until the arm around him
tightens and James breathes out a soft warning, and then Regulus is being
tugged forward as the world drops out underneath him, the harness catching
their combined weight, wind whipping immediately as they rush forward.

Regulus starts to yelp, but it catches in his throat at the flurry of sensation
that crashes through him, and it all but dissipates on his tongue when he
tentatively peeks out from James' shoulder. He lifts his head, a strange
feeling of weightlessness passing over him, and he peels his hand off the
rope to cup his fingers around the roaring wind. A laugh tumbles through
the seam of his mouth, and this is—it is like flying. Regulus is flying, and
the thrill of it might possibly be one of the most exhilarating things he's
ever experienced, second only to how he feels whenever James touches
him, or smiles.

He leaves his hand out, waving his fingers to feel the air slip through them,
weaving in and out of his grip. Looking down gives him a little swoop in
his chest and a bit of a headrush, because it's so far and everything is
moving so fast. Another laugh spills helplessly out of him as he tilts his face
up, feeling the air nip at his skin, so refreshing it almost hurts.
It isn't until they start to slow—he can feel the change in the whipping wind
—that Regulus looks over to find James pulling on a line to, presumably,
get them to safer speeds as they head right for another stand on a different
roof. However, that hardly even registers because of the look on James'
face. He's staring at Regulus with wonder, his eyes wide, his lips parted. He
looks like he's caught sight of the divine.

Regulus doesn't know what to do with that. Can't do anything with it. He
stares back and wants so many things, none of which he's sure he should get
to have. And then it's coming to a close, James looking forward as they
gradually slow until they're abruptly halting on the platform, back on their
feet.

"Fucking hell," Regulus chokes out, shaking for an entirely new reason
now, and James busts out laughing as he immediately starts unclipping
them.

"Amazing, isn't it?" James says, grinning. "I've done that so many times I've
lost count, and it never gets old."

"I feel like I need to sit down, but also as if I could run five miles without
stopping," Regulus admits, his fingers trembling as helps push off some of
the straps.

James chuckles and kneels down in front of him to start removing the
harness on his thighs. "Yes, that'll happen. It's bloody invigorating, yeah?
Like flying. I love it."
"I can see why," Regulus breathes, staring down at him, and he hasn't felt an
adrenaline rush like this since the night he ran from home, and that one
hadn't felt like this one. He knew when he came down from it, everything
would be awful. This one? He can only see it getting better.

That makes it easy for him to drop a hand into James' hair, fingers slipping
into the coarse, dense strands that split and tangle around his knuckles.
James goes still, fingers pausing on the inside of Regulus' thigh, and then he
tilts his head back, face angled up, open and laid bare, eyes dark behind his
glasses. He's biting his lip, and his throat is a begging curve offered up and
presented, waiting and wanting, vulnerable.

"Regulus," James rasps, his chest swelling as he sips in a quick inhale while
Regulus drags his hand down over the curve of his skull, sliding around the
line of his jaw and back up to cup his cheek and press his thumb to the
corner of his mouth.

Regulus can't help but sweep his thumb over James' bottom lip, lingering at
the center of it where it's fullest, and he feels it when the heated seam of
James' lips part further and teeth delicately scrape over the pad of his
thumb. He feels it all the way in his bones, and he shudders with it, exhaling
shakily as he fights the temptation to just press forward, to slide his thumb
in further where it's wet and hot and his for the taking if he wants it,
because James is waiting, he's just waiting, and it's hard, so very hard, for
him to pull his hand away.

But he does. And he croaks, "Thank you. For—for showing me that. It

was… I love flying, too, as it turns out."
"Welcome," James says, strained and winded, his pupils huge and
everything about him dazed as he sways forward, only to jerk back and
duck his head quickly. He clears his throat and goes back to releasing
Regulus from his harness, though he notably fumbles more than he did
before, his hands faltering and stumbling as he struggles.

Regulus would find it amusing if he wasn't in the same predicament. He

works on his breathing.

Shortly after, they're both free from their restraints, and James holds out his
hand to help Regulus down the stand, but he doesn't let go after Regulus
takes it. This is obviously a premeditated choice, because James is not as
sneaky as he thinks he is, but Regulus lets him get away with it for the
simple reason that he doesn't really...mind.

James tugs him along, and Regulus follows, slowly coming down from the
rush of the zipline. He does feel good, however, as predicted. If he were
someone else, he would be grinning. In fact, James is grinning. He usually
is, though, and it's awful when he's not. That grin only brightens as they
come to a halt on the other side of the roof, and oh.

Oh, this idiot. This lovely, bright, perfect idiot. He would do something like
this. Something like setting up a small basket with a spread of fruits and
cheese and bread, sitting atop a layered pile of fleece and linen, a little over
prepared with blankets and pillows, a cozy spot to settle into. There's even a
whole bottle of champagne on ice, because of course there is.
Regulus looks over at him. "Are you still trying to impress me, James? Is
that what this is?"

"Yes and no," James answers, smiling that crooked smile that almost flashes
a dimple. "Is it working?"

"You can't impress me. Nothing impresses me."

"The flying did."

"That's...an exception," Regulus mutters.

James hums, satisfied, and he pulls Regulus over to the padding, kicking off
his shoes and waiting for Regulus to do the same before unceremoniously
pulling him down with a bright laugh. "Noted. To impress you, I have to
take you flying. A rooftop spread, complete with all the comforts, doesn't
quite do it—but flying? That does it."

"Shut up," Regulus says dismissively and snatches the champagne up. "You
drink champagne?"

"Nope," James chirps. "I'm a beer man myself, but Mum says champagne is
romantic and should please an excellent chef, and she's never wrong, so…"
Regulus fixes him with a flat look. "You told your mother about me?"

"I...might've rung her up in a panic because I didn't really plan past the
zipline and had no idea what to feed a chef—"

"I'm not a chef."

"Yet. You're not a chef yet. Anyway, my mum loves to cook and host
parties, but the fun kind where everyone is nice and warm and happy to be
there. She's not the type to ask too many questions if I don't want to talk
about something, so I didn't tell her very much."

"What did you tell her?"

"Just that I'm seeing an up-and-coming chef and needed to know what to
feed him on a second date, please help, Mum?"

"Really, James?"

Chagrined, James smiles. "I don't know what to tell you. I'm close with my
mum, and my dad, but I knew she'd help. Was she wrong? Do you not like
champagne?"
"I—" Regulus glances down at the bottle, his eyebrows rising as he reads
the label. He flicks his eyes to James, who has a tiny smile. "Yes, I like
champagne; your mother was correct. I haven't had any in years, honestly.
Not anything good, I mean. Haven't the funds. But this… James, this is very
good, very expensive champagne. Did you know that?"

"Er, no, not really," James admits. "Is that...okay?"

Regulus sighs and starts to open the bottle. "I can't exactly tell you how to
spend your money, can I? Just seems like an odd thing to waste it on."

"It's not a waste if it's you," James murmurs.

"James."

"Sorry. I just—I don't know. I like it when you're happy. So, really, it's
making me happy. Two birds, one stone. It's self-indulgence, yeah? You
can't fault me for that."

"You're ridiculous," Regulus says, tipping his head down to try and smother
his smile. "Do you have glasses?" When he looks up, James is reaching up
to touch the glasses on his face, a genuine furrow of confusion in his brow.
Regulus can't help but roll his eyes. "Glasses for the champagne, James.
The kind you drink out of, not the kind you wear."
"Oh." James' eyes get wide, and he immediately looks out of sorts, a little
lost. "Oh, fuck me. I forgot the—" He groans, looking around like he can
summon two flutes for the champagne out of thin air. "Bugger. Regulus, I'm
so—"

Regulus leans over to him, leans in so close that his mouth snaps shut, and
he sucks in a sharp breath through his nose as Regulus brushes his lips over
James' cheek. He rocks back and looks away, lips curled up. "You're alright,
James. I think we can just share the bottle, can't we?"

"Yeah." The word comes out on a soft sigh, and James is smiling at him,
hazy around the edges with affection and delight. Nothing in the world
could be warmer than his eyes.

"You said you were close with your mum? Your dad, too?" Regulus asks,
tipping the bottle up for that first bubbly sip.

James smiles wider. "I am. Most people, you know, they get annoyed with
their parents at times, but I don't know if I ever have, really. They're
just...really lovely. Like I said, my mum loves to cook. She's taught me a
few things, mostly homemade dishes and such; the more extravagant things,
she usually cooks on her own. She has an insane eye for detail. Honestly,
nothing gets past her, inside and outside of the kitchen. My dad, on the
other hand, has always been a bit more oblivious, but in an endearing way,
you know? Not like he doesn't care, because he'll always listen when you
need him to."
"It sounds like you grew up in a very loving home," Regulus says softly and
tries not to yearn. It shouldn't still sting after all these years, but it does. It
always does.

"I did, yeah," James replies quietly, his smile softening into something
tinged with a bit of sadness, something knowing. He knows, of course he
does; he's seen it before and he's making a career out of it and Regulus all
but told him. Regulus still feels exposed and has to drop his gaze. "My
mum would adore you, I'm sure."

Regulus' eyes snap up. "Why do you say that?"

"Well, for one, you're a chef—"

"Not a chef."

"—so you'd appreciate food the way she does. She could learn from you,
and you could learn from her, and she loves things like that. But also, well,
she'd probably see you as a bit of a challenge. In a good way, I mean. Mum
likes making people laugh, and you don't laugh easily," James explains.

"My mother would absolutely hate you," Regulus blurts out and
immediately wishes he hadn't. He grimaces.
James pauses, then snorts. "Maybe it's my intuition, which has never steered
me wrong, but I get the feeling that's actually something of a compliment."

"Well, actually…" Regulus' face warms. "Yes, I suppose it is."

"Then good," James says simply, reaching out to take the bottle and
watching as Regulus drags the basket over. He takes a swallow of
champagne, his face screwing up, then he smacks his lips. "Oh, that's…"

Regulus chuckles, not meaning to. "It's not for everyone. I recommend
sipping it."

"I'll keep that in mind. What are you making?" James asks.

"Mm, the fig jam with the smoked gouda cheese is a good combination.
Have you had it?"

"No. I've had apple and cheddar, which was nice."

"This is better," Regulus murmurs. He slices a thin, careful strip of the

cheese and neatly lines it on the cracker, then spreads the jam. When he
looks up, he finds James watching him, rapt. "Do you want to try it?"
James nods, holding his gaze, and Regulus bites off half with a hum of
approval before offering the other half to him. He's expecting James to
reach out and grab it; he's not expecting James to lean forward and dip
down to eat it right from his fingers, mouth briefly wrapping around the
very tips, hot and wet, before drawing away. Regulus curls his hand into a
fist, his face prickling and tingling—his whole body, in fact.

"You're right. It's good," James tells him, calm as anything, holding out the
bottle with a tempered smile.

For one moment, Regulus entertains the fantasy of smacking the bottle
away and just climbing right into James' lap, feeling the inside of his mouth
with his tongue instead. His heart thumps almost painfully at the mental
imagery, so vivid that he gives a full-body twitch from the impulse. Then,
clearing his throat, he bats the fantasy away and reaches out to take the
bottle, downing a deeper swallow than he needs.

Somehow, they fall into this pattern. This torturous pattern where they talk
while Regulus puts something together for them to share, taking the first
bite for himself before offering the next without saying a word every time
James leans in closer and closer to scoop it right out of Regulus' waiting
hand with his warm mouth.

They waste hours like this, and Regulus feels bewitched. Enraptured. A
snake charmed and calmed from the desire to lash out. James does it slowly,
carefully, and with no subtlety whatsoever, but he does end up with his head
resting against Regulus' leg, staring up at him as they talk, gesturing
broadly and excitedly. He always pauses long enough to reach up and
gently capture Regulus' wrist when he offers a bite, drawing his hand down
to eat the offering out of his hand before letting go and returning to talking
as if it's not making Regulus actively go mad. Regulus lets him do it,
though, every single time. Can't imagine doing anything else.

As the sky gets dimmer, the lights from the city surrounding them down
below reach them, but Regulus would swear that James shines on his own.
He's the sun, Regulus can't help but think yet again, not for the first time,
and likely not for the last. Because he is. Bright and magnificent and almost
painful to look at for too long, but it's worth it. Regulus would go blind just
so he wouldn't have to look away.

At some point, James has his hands threaded loosely together on his
stomach, and when Regulus next offers him a bite, he simply holds
Regulus' gaze and opens his mouth. Waiting. Daring. A beat passes, then
Regulus finds his hand moving down to feed him, his breath stuttering out
of him as James' mouth slips over the tips of his fingers. Somehow, he
manages to draw his hand away, and that becomes the new, more agonizing
pattern—now, Regulus feeds him. Brilliant. Regulus has lost control of this
entire...everything. He's not convinced he had any control to start with,
actually.

"When I was in school, we had this beautiful tree out on the grounds that
we all called the Whomping Willow," James is saying, a tiny smile on his
face. "Never did think to ask if it even was a willow, but I imagine it
couldn't have been anything else, yeah? Anyway, the blasted thing had all
these thin branches that would just break off and whack you in a storm, and
I remember, once, that I'd walked around the whole day with a rather large
stick in my hair, and no one told me. Not my mates, not the teachers, not
anyone at all."
"You didn't realize when they were laughing?" Regulus asks, rolling the soft
innards of a piece of the loaf of bread into a tiny ball, then spreading it in
the raspberry jam and wrapping it in a thin layer of cream cheese.

"I thought they were laughing at my jokes," James tells him with a grin. "I
told many jokes when I was younger, you see. Everything was about having
a laugh, really. I didn't find the stick until—well, someone I didn't like
pointed it out, so I refused to be embarrassed. I just pulled it out and stuck it
behind my ear, or randomly twirled it around when I was bored. Actually
ended up quite attached to it, and before long, everyone else was carrying
around sticks, too—girls using them in their hair, boys using them to tap on
tables and such. I suppose if you do anything with enough confidence, it'll
seem like a good idea to everyone else. Dangerous, that."

"It is," Regulus agrees, hovering his hand over James' mouth, watching him
cross his eyes to appraise the offering. He makes an inquisitive noise
because Regulus has yet to feed him this, but he almost instantly opens his
mouth to accept it. Regulus counts in his head for his breathing—in, one
two three four, hold, one two three four, out, one two three four —then slips
his fingers forward. He doesn't even bother trying to speak.

James hums in approval, chewing slowly, and his eyes are hooded with
satisfaction as he murmurs, "S'good."

Regulus waits until he can breathe normally without it hitching before he

responds. "Yeah, raspberry and cream cheese combine really well. You have
a bit of—" He finds himself dropping his hand to swipe his thumb at the
corner of James' mouth, wiping away the small pink smudge there, then
immediately—like a fool—lifting his hand to pop his thumb in his own
mouth. James watches, gaze zeroing in on the movement, and Regulus is
slow to pull away. "Yes, very good. In any case, you were right before,
about that being dangerous. Starting trends is one thing, but if you're
charismatic enough, you can get a lot of people to do nearly anything. All
you have to do is make it sound like a good idea."

"Especially if you're popular," James says quietly.

"You were, weren't you? I hardly need to ask."

"I absolutely was, and at the same time, I...wasn't. It's strange. I had two
really close friends, and we were like this—this closed circuit, I suppose.
Sure, we could charm the masses and such, but it was always like everyone
was aware that we were never theirs, really, because we were too busy
being each other's. But we were charming, and awful, and I personally
played rugby really well, so—"

"Of course you did," Regulus interrupts, huffing out a soft laugh. "So did I,
James."

"Yeah?" James' face lights up. "You like sports, then?"

Regulus can feel his laughter bubbling up even more, and he looks away as
it spills free, keeping himself busy with making another combination for
James to taste. "It's complicated, that is, but I do. Or, I liked rugby, at least.
I wasn't exactly praised for it like I imagine you were, though."
"No? Why not?"

"Mm, different schools, different rules."

"Were you popular?" James asks curiously.

"Also complicated," Regulus admits, watching his own hands as his

laughter fades. "I didn't really have friends, just people who wanted what
they thought I could offer them, or those who thought I was someone I
wasn't."

James squirms a little bit to strain his neck, dumping more of himself in
Regulus' lap to catch his eye. He's frowning, a sad tilt to his eyebrows.
"Surely you had one friend. There had to be at least one person at your
school who wasn't…"

"I wouldn't say we were friends," Regulus says slowly, and James makes an
encouraging noise. "I was too—I had too much going on back then to really
befriend anyone. When you spend all day, every day, pretending to be
someone you're not, you don't really have the time to allow yourself to
make a real friend. But there was someone who was—different than all the
rest. One girl who knew something about me that no one did, and she was
so very kind about it. Her name was Pandora. I think we could have been
friends."

"Did you lose touch with her?"

"Well, we were never in touch, really."

"You could always befriend her now," James suggests, raising his eyebrows
with a warm smile. "It's never too late to make friends, Regulus. Is Lupin
your only friend?"

"Just about," Regulus admits, lips twitching. "I don't need very many. One
exhausts me already."

"Oh, stop it." James lazily swats his knee, his eyes crinkling with his
growing smile. "Lupin is wonderful, and very nice to look at, don't deny
it."

Regulus lifts one shoulder in a half-shrug and hovers a bite over James'
mouth, sliding forward as soon as he parts his lips, letting him in. "I'm not
arguing with you."

"Mm, that's—mm," James mumbles as he chews, then he swallows and

laughs. "So, you and Lupin… Anything there?"

"Oh, like—no," Regulus says simply. "No, never anything like that. We've
just never felt that way, I suppose."
James hums. "Fair enough. Well, if he doesn't have a boyfriend, or a
girlfriend, or whatever suits his fancy—then we'll just have to fix that, won't
we? Return the favor. Bring some love into his life, and then go on double-
dates. If my best mate was available, I'd suggest him. He'd go mad for
Lupin, if I know him well enough, and I do."

"Ah, no, he has a boyfriend," Regulus murmurs. "It's fairly new, but he's
pathetically smitten."

"Good for him, then." James curls his hand out to grab around for the bottle
of champagne, twisting a little to prop himself up, bringing their faces
closer together as he drinks some. He holds it out to Regulus after, who
takes it. "I wasn't joking about Pandora, you know. Just...if it's something
you think about again, look her up, meet her for coffee or something."

Regulus passes the bottle back and says, "Maybe."

"What about your classes now?" James asks, sitting the bottle aside but
staying propped up over Regulus' lap, hovering close to him. "No friends?"

"I'm quiet and focused in class," Regulus tells him, reaching over to feel
around for the bundle of grapes, fumbling to pop one off the stem, heart
racing in his chest.

James' lips curl up. "Of course you are."

"I'm not upset about it. I don't mind keeping my circles small, James,"
Regulus whispers, his voice gone soft as he lifts a grape to the pull-apart
seam of James' mouth, feeding it to him with his eyes locked onto every
inch of the process.

"Maybe I just think you deserve to have more people adore you," James
says, rolling the grape between his teeth before deliberately biting down on
it.

Regulus swears it's like James has bitten into him and broken the skin. He
jolts, exhaling harshly and only just managing not to curse out loud. When
he starts to snatch his hand back, James' fingers snap up to catch his wrist,
holding him in place, their eyes meeting. "Maybe I don't."

"You're wrong. You do." James sways forward, his thumb rubbing gentle
circles over Regulus' fluttering pulse in his wrist. "Christ. Can I—Regulus,
can I kiss you?"

"No," Regulus breathes out, his fingers twitching forward, reaching out to
brush James' cheek.

"Do you want me to?"

"Very much."
James groans and turns his face into Regulus' hand, dropping soft kisses to
the lines on his palm, hungry and reverent at the same time. "God," he
chokes out, practically nuzzling into his hand, peppering kisses down
further until he's at the bend of Regulus' wrist, brushing sensitive skin.

"James," Regulus croaks, curling his hand up to delve his fingers into the
mess of hair on top of James' head. He strokes through, and James sighs
softly as he relaxes into it, his eyes fluttering shut. It's easy, guiding him
back down, pushing fingers through his hair as he melts into Regulus' lap,
turning into dripping wax from the flames of himself, blatantly content to
rest right there with Regulus' hand on him.

"We shouldn't—it'll get cold, you'll get cold, so we shouldn't stay too long,"
James mumbles, and he sounds so sad about it.

Regulus gently cards through a mess of hair from root-to-tip and shushes
him before saying, firm, "We'll stay as long as you like. I'm plenty warm."

And he is, because James is the sun.

James breaks out into a grin, but he doesn't open his eyes. All he says is,
"Yeah, alright. Can I have another grape?"

"Mm," Regulus hums and grabs another grape. What else is he supposed to
do? The whole world rotates around the sun, so Regulus doesn't stand a
chance of doing anything else.
Around and around James he goes.

"Like I said, I have no idea who's here," Sirius tells Remus as he pushes
open the door and holds it open for them both to step through. "You might
get to meet Prongs."

Remus looks amused. "Do people just go in and out of your flat as they
like?"

"Well, it's not just my flat, you see. Prongs lives here, too. So did Wormtail
for a bit before his mum hit the roof because she'd paid for him to have his
own flat. He lives there now, but he comes over to ours all the time. It's
practically still his, if I'm honest," Sirius explains.

"Wait." Remus goes pale. "You mean—do you mean to tell me that those
nights when I was—when we were...here, your mates could have also been
here?"

Sirius grins at him. "Not Wormtail, he's been sick. But Prongs, yeah. He
congratulated us on the fantastic sex, by the way."

"Oh, fuck off," Remus groans, his face turning red instantly.
"You're fine, Remus. It's fine." Sirius chuckles and drags his hand down
Remus' arm to catch his fingers, pressing his own in the open spaces,
locking them together. He gives a tug and calls out as they walk. "Oi!
Anyone here?"

"Jus' me," comes the muffled shout from Peter, whose head pops up from
behind the sofa as they step into the room. He blinks. "Prongs is out. Who's
this?"

"Well, Wormtail, you'd know if you haven't been gone for ages, wouldn't
you?" Sirius complains.

Peter huffs and stands up, dragging a cord for his charger over the back of
the sofa. "It hasn't even been two weeks, Sirius, and I'm so sorry I was busy
hacking my lungs up and seeing the inside of my own stomach. I'll do my
best to keep being ill to just a few days next time for your convenience,
yeah?"

"Good. As you should." Sirius nods and drags Remus over to the sofa,
plopping down in the middle as Peter climbs over the back and flops down
on his open side. "This is Moony. We like Moony. We're keeping Moony."

"Remus," Remus says dryly, offering his hand over Sirius.

"Peter," replies Peter, smiling as he reaches over to shake Remus' hand. "Is
Moony a yes, or is Sirius just being an idiot?"

"Moony is fine," Remus muses, much to Sirius' delight. He shoots a

triumphant look at Peter. "Sirius calls me that so much that I've started to
answer to it. Someone made a comment about the moon yesterday, and I
looked up."

Sirius barks a laugh, squeezing Remus' hand. "Oh, that's brilliant."

"Stuff it, Pads, the adults are talking," Peter mutters, leaning forward to
look at Remus. "How'd you two meet, then?"

"In a bookshop," Remus replies calmly.

"Buying books," Sirius adds helpfully, beaming when Remus rolls his eyes,
but there's a faint smile at the corners of his mouth. "In any case, Pete, it's
all lovely and wonderful and I've a boyfriend now, but you missed it."

"I was ill!" Peter squawks in offense. "Would you have liked me to meet
him while sick? It was disgusting!"

"Don't listen to him; he's just being dramatic," Remus assures Peter. "I've
not met any of his friends, and he hasn't met mine, so it's not that serious."
Peter groans, and Sirius says, "Actually, I'm—"

"It is nice to meet you, though," Remus continues, as if he hasn't just darted
his hand up to clamp it over Sirius' mouth, effectively shutting him up. "I've
heard a lot about Wormtail and Prongs. A great deal of it was funny."

"Oh, I'll bet. We were menaces in school." Peter cocks his head, eyeing
Remus' hand over Sirius' mouth and Sirius' uncharacteristic pliant response.
"You know, we've all tried that, and it's never worked for us. He'd just lick
us like a bloody dog. Isn't he licking you?"

Remus hums. "Yes, but my hand is hardly the first thing he's licked of
mine."

"What else did—" Peter chokes, then he laughs. "Oh! Oh, right. Goodness,
how did Sirius snag you?"

"Well, as I said, my hand is hardly the first thing he—"

"Oh my god."

Sirius' laughter goes muffled into Remus' palm, but he sinks to the side far
enough that the hand slips away. Instead, Sirius just drops his face into
Remus' shoulder, still laughing, and Remus chuckles warmly into his hair.

Peter and Remus get on well enough. The telly is on in the background, so
they chat about whatever plays, but Sirius barely pays attention. He's quite
comfortably draped against Remus, one leg hooked over his, curled into
him so his head can rest on Remus' shoulder. It's even better because Remus
is gently tugging on the short whorls behind his ear and at the nape of his
neck. Sirius feels content. Settled.

They've had a long day, the two of them. As far as second dates go, Sirius
thinks they had an eventful one. They'd had breakfast together, then
just...didn't stop from that point on. They went everywhere they could think
to go, doing whatever suited them—paddle-boating on the water, strolling
through a street art tour, dragging each other into various storefronts, taking
one of those carriage rides and necking in the back as the horse hooves
clomped along cobblestone. As the day tipped over into the afternoon,
they'd ended up on a bench at the park, eating ice cream and chatting for
hours.

It's good with Remus. Talking to him is sometimes so simple, even if he

makes Sirius feel things that make it difficult. It's worth it, though, every
time. Just to see his eyes light up, or soften, or roll with exasperation. Just
to hear him laugh, or click his tongue, or murmur Sirius' name like it's made
of velvet. Just to make him smile, just to matter enough that he pays
attention, just to be with him.

They're still discovering each other. Sirius has learned that Remus is almost
finished with school, and he's going for teaching, which makes so much
sense and had Sirius teasingly calling him Professor Lupin for the next
hour. He'd been visibly intrigued to find out that Sirius wasn't in school at
all, having graduated with only an associates before giving it up and
throwing his lot in with the studio he works at now and has all intentions of
buying when the current owner retires. Remus had been utterly delighted to
find out that Sirius is an artist over a wide range of mediums, from drawing
and painting to pottery and sculpting, and the additional other areas he's
dabbled in from time-to-time.

He does well for himself, considering he works by commission and his cut
of the sales of his products sold in Mrs. Delby's shop next door to the
studio. Most importantly, it's something he loves to do, not something he
feels pressured to do. Oh, his mother hated it and expected many other
things from him, which is just an additional reason for him to be pleased
with his life. There's nothing quite like going into the studio, turning on
music, and losing himself to creation.

Remus had been so charmed by it, almost shy when asking if Sirius had any
pictures of something he'd made that he'd be willing to share. Sirius loves to
show off, usually, but he'd had that nervous, fluttery feeling at the base of
his throat as he'd passed his phone over and let Remus scroll through his
gallery. His heart had jumped when Remus had smiled and said, on a soft
sigh, that it made sense for someone so beautiful to create such beautiful
things. Sirius had lost his breath, and kissed him, and kissed him, and kissed
him trying to get it back.

If Sirius is honest, this is his favorite part of someone new. This open space
in the beginning where you trade out learning the best parts of each other.
Long before the worst parts start to leak through the cracks, before things
start to sour, before it gets complicated because this isn't all Sirius is.
He's not just booming laughter and broad smiles, the bright streak of sunrise
hues across a painting, a burst of unending energy that can power a house
trying to go quiet. He's also scowls and brooding, a dark blot misshapen on
a canvas that promises something bleak in its curves, the hollow bones of a
house already abandoned and trapping ghosts that have no desire to be there
either. He gets in his moods, and he can be a right wanker at times, and he's
not ready for Remus to find out. To see him in his entirety. To know that
there's more, and it's not as good as this. It only gets worse, and Sirius
dreads it.

But, for now, he'll bask in this. He does just that, in fact, snuggling in closer
to Remus with his eyes shut, breathing in the secret, hidden smell of him
under the hinge of his jaw. That's for Sirius alone, no one else. And no one
in the world knows how strong the scent there is after a shag, when his head
is tipped back and he's breathing hard, a lazy grin stretched across his face
that makes Sirius want to crawl inside his skin and live there. He smells like
those cinnamon spice biscuits with the sprinkled honey crumbs in those tins
Effie always keeps to throw sewing needles and thread into once they're
empty. He smells like that and patchouli, like home and earth, and so
fucking good that Sirius wants to inhale him forever, lightheaded from it.

It's nice getting to relax a bit and just spend time with Peter, who Sirius is
happy to catch up with from the curve of Remus' neck. Peter's been shut
away in that flat for nearly two weeks now, and every time Sirius and James
have been over, they've fussed over him like they're his parents, so he
finally banned them and resorted to sending updates by cell. It's good to
have him back, and getting to hear about the neighbor he has a crush on is
always a delight. The poor sod has fancied her going on a year now, but
every time he tries to ask her out, she always misinterprets it as him asking
for recommendations for places to go, or even giving her one. It's a bit of a
train wreck made for romcoms, honestly, and Sirius finds it adorable.
"Oh, bullocks," Peter mumbles when his phone is finally charged enough to
turn on again—his phone is always dying; it's just one of those Peter
Pettigrew things. He grimaces at the screen and stands up. "Right, so I'm
twenty minutes late to a meeting, apparently, which means I'm going to get
fussed at when I get back to the office. Shit. Alright, lads, this has been fun,
but I have to go. Padfoot, I'll see you later, yeah? Tell Prongs I said hello.
Nice to meet you, Moony."

"Same to you," Remus says, lifting his hand from Sirius' hair to wave as
Peter starts frantically gathering his things.

"Bloody hell, Pete, don't forget your charger," Sirius calls, and Peter groans
as he skips back, climbing precariously on the sofa to lean over the back of
it. "Oi, get your arse out of Moony's face, mate."

"Sorry," Peter gasps out, emerging victorious with his charger, beaming as
he scrambles back off the sofa. "I'm off now."

"Love you!" Sirius yells.

"Love you, too!" Peter shouts back, and the door slams shut.

Remus goes back to stroking his hair and says, "He was nice."
"He can be, but don't let the act fool you. Wormtail has his faults. His phone
is always dead, he has no sense of direction whatsoever, and he can't keep a
secret to save his life, or anyone's life, honestly," Sirius says fondly.

"Well, we all have our faults, don't we?"

"Suppose so. What's yours?"

"Mm, I don't wait for hot drinks to cool down before I drink them, and I
ache like an old man if I'm too active, and I might have a bit of a...pride
issue," Remus muses. "Personal pride, in any case. What's yours?"

Sirius presses closer to him, something twisting in his gut. His faults are…
He has too many, he knows that, he doesn't want Remus to find out about
any of them. He swallows and forces cheer into his voice. "Haven't a clue
what you mean, Moony. I'm perfect."

"Are you?" Remus asks, amused.

"Oh, absolutely," Sirius says, tipping his face up to press gentle kisses to the
line of Remus' throat. "And does that mean you're aching like an old man
after our active day?"

Remus snorts. "Not yet. Tomorrow, I'll creak with every step, though. I'm
an old soul, and my bones took note."
"I rather like your bones."

"What an odd thing to say."

"You're right, but you see, it's true because I like every part of you," Sirius
tells him, humming in satisfaction when Remus shivers against him from
the drag of his teeth.

"I thought you were being a gentleman on our second date," Remus
breathes out, head tipping to the side.

Sirius raises up, crowding closer to follow, eager as heat unfurls slow under
his skin. "I was a gentleman on our second date. That's over now, and we're
on date two-and-a-half. Come on, Moony, let's go to my room."

"You've made valid points," Remus says, following easily when Sirius
drags him off the sofa and down the hall.

They're all over each other as soon as the door shuts, and Sirius is never
going to get enough of this. Never going to get enough of the strength in
Remus' hands, the way he groans loud and shamelessly when Sirius mouths
at that dip between his clavicle, tonguing at it. Never going to get enough of
his own name in Remus' mouth, soft and breathy, or the way his eyes aren't
brown, not really, but amber. Never going to get enough of the freckles on
the bridge of his nose, or the quiet pop of his knee bending, or the scar on
his thigh.

"Beautiful, gorgeous, mesmerizing thing, you are," Sirius chants

breathlessly, shoving his hands up under Remus' sweater to push it up,
trying valiantly to get the damn thing off. "Remus, Moony, be a love and
—"

Remus tuts at him, but it's fond, and his face is flushed. He puts his hand
against Sirius' chest and starts walking him back towards the bed. They
separate long enough to snatch off clothes, and then they're falling into bed
together.

It's a rush of skin and sweat after that, something Sirius falls into with ease
and force every time. It's like watching a wave come in from the horizon
and still being startled by how massive it is when it reaches you, crashing
down and taking you on a ride. There's nothing quite like losing himself to
Remus, and it's never been like this for Sirius before.

Everything is slick skin and symphonious moans and the blur of bodies, the
both of them caught in the crashing tide. The peak of it steals Sirius from
his very body, a hook in his spine that snatches him up, up, up until he's not
sure he'll ever come back down, but he does. Slowly. Shaking. Clutching at
Remus like he's the lighthouse leading him to land.

"Fucking shit," Sirius gasps out hoarsely, unspooled and unraveled, melted
down and refusing to move. His throat is raw, which means he got loud at
some point, though he honestly couldn't pinpoint when. It's all just a streak
of blazing pleasure in his mind.

"Christ," Remus pants, "I always want a smoke after."

Sirius blinks over at him lazily. "You smoke?"

"When I'm stressed. Or, when I've had a good shag, apparently. Crave it
every time," Remus admits, tossing his arm over his eyes. The sweat at his
temple has a bit of his hair sticking to his face—Sirius, inexplicably, wants
to lick it.

"Have one, then. Just open my window."

"Haven't brought any."

"In my stand," Sirius murmurs, and Remus lifts his arm to blink at him.
"I'm a social smoker. At parties, or if someone else is, or if someone's
peeved me off."

Remus hums and sits up, leaning over to dig in Sirius' stand, pulling out a
pack and a lighter. "Want one?"
"If you are," Sirius says, sitting up to crawl out of bed and go open his own
window, pulling on his pants on the way. Remus follows, back in his
sweater and nothing else, the bottom only just covering the proper bits.
Sirius is ridiculously interested by the sight, even though they've only just
shagged.

They lean against the ledge next to each other in comfortable silence,
smoking and flicking ash, the rain-soaked breeze cooling the heat of their
skin. Sirius blows out smoke rings, his mind blissfully blank. He rolls the
smoke over his tongue and closes his eyes, revisiting flashes of what
happened only moments before. He never gets enough.

"You know," Remus says idly, "you never told me before what your faults
are."

"I told you, I'm perfect," Sirius mumbles, opening his eyes to watch smoke
drift out and dissipate along the wind.

Remus hums skeptically. "No one actually is, Sirius. Go on, then. At least
tell me one."

"A bit dodgy, that," Sirius says sharply, hearing the edge to his tone and not
being able to stop it. "Trying to find a problem with me so soon, Moony?"

"Not all faults are problems," Remus replies.

Sirius scoffs and inhales harshly enough that his cheeks hollow in. On the
exhale, he mutters, "Suppose you've never had to tolerate faults like mine,
then."

Remus sighs. "Sirius—"

"Leave it, Remus," Sirius cuts in, his jaw clenched. "I don't really want to
talk about it. I'm—tired. Let's just...sprawl about, yeah?"

"You can't tell me one thing about yourself that isn't making you out to be
perfect?" Remus asks, not leaving it.

Sirius glances over at him, and Remus is staring at him, studying him,
waiting. "I think I've just worked out another one of yours. You don't know
how to back off."

"Is that right?" Remus flicks his gaze over Sirius' face, then stands up a
little straighter, blowing smoke towards the window. A neutral expression
falls on his face, placid and diplomatic. "No, actually, I do know how to
back off."

"What are you doing?" Sirius asks, watching Remus stub the filter and flick
it, moving casually around to start gathering his clothes, dragging them on.

"Backing off," Remus says mildly.

"Oh, really?" Sirius huffs out an incredulous laugh that could cut, eyes
tracking Remus around the room as he gathers his things. "Christ. You're a
passive-aggressive prick, aren't you?"

"Like I said, we all have our faults," Remus tells him, shooting him a tight
smile as he slides his phone into his pocket.

"You're leaving, then?" Sirius asks.

Remus' eyebrows twitch up. "Do you want me to back off, or not?"

"I want—" Sirius huffs, then flicks his filter and instantly wishes he had
another smoke. Ah, Remus has gone and peeved him off. Lovely. "Well, I
wanted to laze about naked in my bed, but I can see that's clearly not going
to happen."

"Nothing gets past you, does it?"

"So let me see if I've got this all figured out, yeah? I won't answer a stupid
question, and you're hacked off about it?"

"Sirius," Remus says flatly, "I don't make it a habit of dating people I'm not
allowed to know. We're all entitled to our secrets, to privacy, that's fine—
but you nearly bit my head off because I asked a simple question trying to
know you better. In the last two minutes, you've called me a passive-
aggressive prick and insinuated I'm too pushy. Far be it from me to stick
around and upset you further."

"Look at that," Sirius grits out. "Problems already. Have you considered
that maybe, just maybe, I don't want you to know me better when it comes
to—that? To what's wrong with me?"

"Wrong?" Remus blinks at him. "Sirius, I don't think there's anything wrong
with you. It's not—you can have flaws, you know. Everyone does."

Sirius presses his lips into a thin line. "Yes, well, my flaws ruin things,
especially the good things in my life, so I don't particularly fancy letting
them have a go at the best thing that's happened to me in a long time."

"The best thing," Remus repeats, his mouth wrapping around the words like
they taste sweet.

"You are," Sirius mumbles, because he is. It's terrifying how Remus is just
the best thing. It's terrifying right now, too, because he might leave. Sirius
doesn't want to muck this up; he's going to, he just knows it, he always does,
but he desperately doesn't want to. "Are you—are you still going?"

Remus' eyes sharpen on him. "Do you want me to?"

Sirius swallows thickly, feeling every inch of where Remus' eyes drift over
him, like a tangible trail of heat. His heart tries to climb up his throat, and
when he finds his voice again, it's rough and raspy. "I want you to get me
off again."

"Even though I'm a passive-aggressive prick?" Remus asks as he starts

stepping forward.

"Especially because you're a passive-aggressive prick," Sirius croaks,

tracking Remus' progress.

Remus hums, drawing closer. "Despite that I'm too pushy?"

"Push more," Sirius breathes out, practically vibrating, burning up all over
again.

"But I've upset you," Remus murmurs, close enough to touch now, and he
fucking does, thankfully. His broad hands settle on Sirius' hips, pushing him
back towards the window.

"Honestly," Sirius whispers, "I think you could toss me out the bloody
window, and I'd still want you."

"I'll keep that in mind," Remus says, low and amused, and then he turns
Sirius around and pushes him against the ledge of the window, making
Sirius scramble to brace himself on his hands as Remus presses right up
behind him, strong hands on heated skin. His lips brush the shell of Sirius'
ear. "And what makes you think that there's anything you can do, anything
you can be, that's going to make me stop wanting you?"

Sirius would be ashamed about the moan that spills out of his mouth if it
didn't make Remus press closer into him. He drops his head forward,
breathing hard, his mind in an uproar. Oh, Remus is dangerous. He's so
dangerous, making Sirius feel like this, applying sexy logic to all these
wriggling insecurities under his skin like splinters. God, he's brilliant.

Shagging beside an open window is a bit mad, but they do it anyway, and
the breeze is a dream on Sirius' burning skin. Remus has to clamp a hand
down on his mouth to muffle the loud noises that he can't stop himself from
releasing, and he buries his face into Sirius' hair to muffle his own.

By the end, Sirius' eyes are rolling back, and he'd be a puddle on the floor if
it wasn't for Remus dragging him over to the bed, where they laze about
naked just like Sirius wanted.

Sleepy and soft, Sirius whispers into Remus' skin, "I get a bit defensive
sometimes. That's—that's one."

"Oh? I never would have guessed," Remus says, laughing so hard that the
whole bed quakes.
Sirius tucks himself into Remus as far as he can go, inhaling the cinnamon
and patchouli smell of him, holding onto the very best thing and desperately
hoping to never lose it.

Chapter End Notes

Okay, hear me out. I'm aware that you can't just go ziplining off of
rooftops, but I simply Do Not Care. I wanted James and Regulus to fly,
so they did. Let me have this.

Also, Peter, a scatter-brained king!!!

 Chapter 4
Chapter Notes

Mild warning against for a hint of spice. Again, nothing explicit. Also,
to all those that create art out there, just know that I am in awe of you
and intimidated by your excellence.
See the end of the chapter for more notes

James waves his hand at Lupin as Regulus breaks away from him and heads
right for James instead. Lupin waves back, smiling, but then he's quickly
distracted by his phone.

Regulus isn't smiling when he draws closer, but he's rarely smiling,
honestly. That makes it all that more special when James manages to draw
one out of him. Even still, there's something—off about Regulus, something
a little extra tense. There's an unhappy set to his shoulders that makes James
automatically want to reach out and rub the strain away.

"What's wrong?" James asks, watching him closely.

"Can we—" Regulus works his jaw, the cutting hinge at the bolt flaring out
as he turns his whole head to look away. He starts walking, and stiffly
continues talking. "I know we had plans, but I'm not—I can't—"

"Regulus," James murmurs, reaching out carefully to curl his fingers into
the bend of his elbow, "we can cancel. If you're not feeling well, or you
just...don't want to, then we won't. I can leave you be, if you like. Is it
alright if I walk you home?"

"Yeah," Regulus says softly. "Yeah, that's fine."

"Do you want to talk about it?" James asks.

Regulus keeps staring straight ahead. "No."

"Alright," James says, tucking his hand a bit firmer into Regulus' arm,
which manages to capture his attention. In fact, with a furrow in his brow,
Regulus looks down at where James has his hand folded into his elbow, and
then he blinks and sort of shifts his arm better so James can hang off him
properly, pressed right up against his side, almost escorted. Something
about it smooths some of the tension in Regulus' frame.

It's cold and rainy out today, so their planned date being on the inside was a
good idea. A musical that James had picked out—the kind that's supposed
to be funny and tragic, because he'd argued that if he was going to be made
to cry, then he should get to laugh, too—and the restaurant that Regulus
picked for afterwards. And, yes, it all sounds fun, but James was looking
forward to spending time with Regulus above all, so if he's not feeling up to
it, they'll just do it some other time.

Regulus doesn't say one word all the way to his building, but he does
frequently glance down at where James' hand is curled around his arm, as if
he's checking to make sure it's still there. James thinks he likes it, or maybe
just appreciates the proximity, and he's learned by now that Regulus will
make it very clear when he doesn't want to be touched. He also won't ever
ask to be touched when he wants it, or likes it, so James has to walk that
tightrope as carefully as possible.

When they do reach the building, James slows to a stop, but Regulus keeps
right on going, so they pull apart, hand slipping out of arm. Regulus turns
with the motion, and the look on his face is like a punch straight to the gut,
so unexpected and heavy that James loses his breath and would hit his
knees if he wasn't so bloody surprised.

He's never seen that look on Regulus' face before. It's more emotion than he
usually lets shine on his face, and all of it tugs at every single one of James'
heartstrings. Just this abundance of confusion as he turns and looks at
James, a hint of betrayal, as if he doesn't understand why James has stopped
and pulled away, like James is the only person in the world he trusts, only to
be let down. His eyes are soft and sad, and though they're dry, it looks like
he could cry. James has never had the urge to apologize this quickly in his
life, and he has no idea what he's done, but he knows he'd do anything to fix
it.

"You're not coming up?" Regulus asks quietly, staring at him with wrinkled
eyebrows, all doe-eyed and sad innocence.

James wants to take his face in his hands and kiss every inch of it. He
nearly trips over his own tongue to say, "What? Of course—of course I will,
Regulus, if you want. I just—I only thought that you didn't...want, you see.
I said I'd leave you be, if you'd like, so I—I thought—"
"Oh." Regulus frowns. "Well, I wouldn't like, actually."

"Oh," James echoes, nodding quickly. "In that case, yeah, I'll come up with
you."

Regulus waits, staring and frowning, losing some of that heartbreaking

disappointment as James steps forward to reach out and grab his arm again.
They go inside in silence.

In the flat, Regulus pulls away to unravel his scarf and hang up his coat, and
James peels out of his own, slipping out of his shoes as Regulus does the
same. James isn't that surprised when Regulus goes right to the kitchen, so
he follows and leans up against the counter, watching curiously as Regulus
pulls down two mugs.

"Do you like hot cocoa?" Regulus murmurs.

"Yeah," James answers.

Humming is James' only response, and he watches as Regulus goes about

making two mugs of hot cocoa for them. It was cold enough that James'
fingers are still a bit stiff, so he's actually quite delighted by the promise of
a hot drink to warm him up. Regulus spares no extravagance, even bringing
out the squirty cream and chocolate shavings.
Regulus passes him a mug and leads him over to the sofa, which they both
sink down on. James has to scoot over a bit because he accidentally almost
sits down on Regulus, just from following so closely, but Regulus hardly
even seems to notice. He curls into himself on the sofa, one leg folded
underneath himself, his other propped up so close to his chest that he can
rest his chin on it. He cradles his mug between his hands, but he doesn't
drink any of it.

The silence is comfortable, outside of James worrying about Regulus, who

seems deep in thought—and not in a good way. Sort of like Sirius when he
gets in his moods, actually, except less angry and more...somber. Now that
James is thinking about it, he's pretty sure he's seen Sirius shrink down on
himself just like Regulus is. He's just more withdrawn, unreachable because
he's hidden away; not unreachable because he'll lash out, like Sirius.

James nurses his hot cocoa. It's really quite good. He'd seen Regulus add
something to it, and whatever it was, it makes it the best hot cocoa he's ever
had. He's not too terribly surprised by that either, seeing as Regulus makes
his coffee every morning and makes it better than anyone. Somehow, he
knows exactly how much sugar James adds, and also knows that James
likes the squirty cream and caramel drizzle, even though James has never
said it out loud before or ordered it.

Alright, so James does feel a bit spoiled. It doesn't take very much to please
him, though, not really. He likes that Regulus notices these details about
him. It makes him feel warm and wanted. It makes him think about how
much effort he used to put into getting noticed in the past, only for this
lovely man to see him when he's not even trying to be seen.
"Are you disappointed?" Regulus asks suddenly, lifting his head off his
knee to look over at James.

James blinks. "What? About what?"

"That we haven't gone out," Regulus says, leaning forward to sit his
untouched mug down. "We had plans."

"We did, yeah, but that's alright. No, I'm not disappointed at all," James tells
him honestly, taking a deep swallow of his drink before sitting his half-
empty mug down, too. "Why would I be?"

"We had plans," Regulus repeats.

"Yes, I know," James says fondly, "but as nice as those plans were, what I
really look forward to is being with you. I'm with you now, aren't I, so what
do I have to be disappointed about?"

Regulus stares at him, and then he abruptly unfurls from his hunched
position on the sofa, twisting in place to reach out and catch James' jaw,
turning his head as he leans in. Their lips brush in the middle, a kiss as soft
as it is short, just a whisper of Regulus' mouth against his own.

James stops breathing. Forgets how to, for a moment, his heart stumbling in
his chest before it's off to the races, running wild and free in the cavern of
his chest. He stares at Regulus, his mouth feeling warm, as does the cheek
Regulus is still cradling. Regulus has only pulled back just a bit, searching
his eyes as if asking if it's okay, as if it could ever be anything else.

"The things you say sometimes, James…" Regulus shakes his head, and a
tiny smile flickers across his face, slipping in and out but a real visit all the
same. His thumb strokes across James' cheek. "You're precious, you know."

Before James can get his wits about him, Regulus slips his hand down to
the side of James' neck and ducks his head forward, curling in closer to
press his face into his throat. James has to shift and adjust some, but then he
has an arm around him, fingers resting against that small strip of skin where
his shirt rides up on his hip. Regulus' legs fold over his lap, still cradling
James' neck with one hand while the other lies limp on his own thigh, and
James lifts his free hand to grab it, loosely threading their fingers together.

"What could ever be disappointing about you?" James mumbles into

Regulus' hair, turning his face into it.

"Give it some time. You'll find out." Despite his words, Regulus relaxes
against him with a soft sigh, content. His breath puffs out over James'
calming pulse. "I've had an awful day, you know, and you've gone and made
me feel…"

"What?" James murmurs.

Regulus huffs. "Better."

"You sound absolutely disgusted."

"You've too much power, James."

James chuckles, and Regulus presses his palm against the front of his throat
like he wants to feel it. "Well, I'm clearly using my power for good if I'm
making you feel better. You deserve to feel better, Regulus."

"I saw someone today," Regulus says quietly.

"Alright," James replies carefully. It takes a lot of effort not to ask who, but
he manages.

"My ex-fiance," Regulus informs him anyway.

"Your—" James rears back and to the side a bit, craning his head down to
stare at Regulus with wide eyes. "You were engaged?"

Regulus tilts his head back, still resting on James' shoulder, just with more
space to look up at him. "I was. Briefly."
"Oh." James studies Regulus' infuriatingly neutral expression, trying not to
frown. "Was it—did it end badly? Did they hurt you? I know it's not easy
seeing an ex—"

"James, no, nothing like that." Regulus' lips twitch slightly, even if his eyes
are tired. "I was engaged, yes, but not really by choice. My mother chose
my spouse, and I was expected to marry. Instead, I… Well, I left."

James processes that, then murmurs, "That's still a difficult situation,

Regulus. Having to see them again. Did they—was there anything said to
you? Something tells me Lupin isn't as unassuming as he looks; I bet he'd
hurt someone for you. If there was anything left after you were done with
them, in any case. And, well, you know I'd—not that you need it, but—"

"I wasn't recognized," Regulus cuts in, chuckling when James' eyebrows fly
up in disbelief. He can't imagine ever missing Regulus, even just by a
glimpse of him, even if it was decades since he laid eyes on him. "I look a
bit different from when I was eighteen. It's been five years."

"I'd know you no matter how long it's been."

"Trust me, you wouldn't recognize me at eighteen."

"Hm," James says skeptically, squinting, and Regulus smiles again.

Fleeting, yet lovely. "I can't believe your mum tried to marry you off. Is this
the 19th century? That's mental."
"Not the pinnacle of sanity, my mother," Regulus says dryly. It reminds
James so starkly of Sirius when he talks about his mother that he can't help
the way his lips twitch a bit, but it's not really funny, is it?

James sighs. "Did you at least love them?"

"We met the day I was informed we were to be married," Regulus admits,
smiling harder when James' face scrunches.

"Mental, absolutely mental."

"You sound so appalled, but really, I knew the day would eventually come.
Didn't know what I'd do about it, not until I suddenly found myself running.
It was…"

"Brave," James whispers. "It was really brave, Regulus. You chose your
own path in life. Do you—regret it?"

Regulus tucks his face down and presses a senseless kiss to James' cloth-
covered shoulder, gazing at him from under his eyelashes. "What do I have
to regret? It ended with me here, with you, didn't it?"
"Oh," James says, strangled, a rising flush of delight and emotion searing in
his chest, "I see what you mean about the saying things and such."

"Do you?" Regulus asks, laughing softly, like a secret.

"I really do," James breathes out, feeling fit to burst from all the joy
pressing in at the seams of himself. He sways in closer, ducking his head,
gaze dropping to Regulus' mouth. His heart jumps when Regulus tilts his
face up, accommodating, waiting with unspoken acceptance. "Can I kiss
you?"

"You do seem to want to," Regulus says, the tease.

"I do." James leans in, breathless. "Regulus. Please."

Regulus' breath audibly hitches, and he mumbles an almost distracted, "Yes,

James, yes," as he lifts up to meet him as James immediately ducks in as
soon as he has permission.

It's soft again, but not nearly as short. James tightens his arm around
Regulus, pulling him closer, and their tangled hands break as he lifts up to
cup Regulus' cheek. Regulus' hand stays at his neck, cradling it, while the
other that was just freed darts forward to fist the front of James' shirt,
grasping the fabric tight enough for it to wrinkle and tug.
The kiss is slow, sweet, a come-and-go pressure of warmth that breaks
away and meets over and over again, driving James a bit mad. It makes him
want more, but he waits, and waits, and waits, and is finally rewarded for
his patience by the swipe of Regulus' tongue. Regulus' mouth is a slash of
heat against James' own as he deepens the kiss, pressing into it, a quiet
sound rising up his throat that makes James' head spin and his lips throb.
James groans and shudders at the sensitive drag of tongues, followed by a
quick test of teeth, an almost playful nip at his bottom lip that has him
panting.

He forgets everything outside of Regulus, and Regulus' mouth, and

Regulus' body. Easily caught up in it. Like a storm washing him away, the
hair-raising impression of energy building as thunder rumbles through the
sky and lightning threatens to strike. He chases after it helplessly, a sound
so close to a whine escaping him when it outruns him, when Regulus rocks
back, turning his head, chest heaving.

"Alright?" James checks once he gets enough sense about him to actually
find his voice, which is lower than usual, husky.

Regulus abruptly laughs—and it's a loud laugh, sudden and real, almost like
it's bursting forth from the very depths of him. A bark of laughter. It's so
familiar that James is nearly sure he could work out who it reminds him of
if he weren't currently rendered useless by that truly lovely snog. It cuts off
quickly anyway, Regulus' hand untangling from James' shirt to clap over his
mouth. He looks so startled by his own laugh that James can't help but grin
at him.

Clearing his throat, Regulus drops his hand back to James' shirt, smoothing
out the spot he was gripping. "Yes, I'm—I'm quite alright, James. I've
wrinkled your shirt."

"It's fine," James says, still grinning. Regulus' laugh rings in his ears. So
carefree. Elated. Giddy, even.

"Right, well, that's enough of...all of that for today, I've decided," Regulus
tells him, clearing his throat again. He pulls away and keeps pulling away,
scooting across the sofa until they're not touching at all.

James tries not to pout about it. He knows that Regulus is like this,
withdrawing when he feels that he's shown too much of himself, pulling
back when he thinks he's revealed something by accident, before he was
ready. He likes control, Regulus does, so when he feels that he's lost it…
Well, he retreats to a place where he has it, just him and him alone.

That's fine. James will coax him out again and again forever if he must. It's
a bit like getting blood out of a stone, but every drop is worth it. The more
comfortable Regulus gets, the farther he comes, and the safer he feels.
James just wants to make him feel safe. James wants to keep him safe.

"Do you want me to go?"

"Might be best."

"Not what I asked, Regulus."

"I—no, not really."

James smiles. "Can I stay, then? Maybe finish the hot cocoa? It's bloody
brilliant, that. What did you put in it?"

"A bit of nutmeg and a dash of cardamom powder," Regulus lists off
instantly.

"I don't even know what cardamom is," James tells him, chuckling, and he
leans forward to grab his mug.

Regulus copies him, a faint smile passing over his face before it's gone. "It's
a spice. It has the added benefit of being good medicinally—helps with
nausea and such—but it also tastes good with certain things."

"Well, you've converted me," James declares cheerfully and takes a sip as if
to prove it.

"Ridiculous," Regulus mumbles, staring down at his mug. They're silent for
a bit, and then Regulus glances up and stares at him. "James, you said
before that you know it's not easy to see your ex again…"

James grimaces slightly. "Yeah?"

"You don't have to—I'm not asking for a list of all those you've ever been
with, James, settle down." Regulus rolls his eyes and leans back against the
arm of the sofa. "I suppose I just want to know who it was that made you—
cautious. Which one hurt you, because someone certainly has."

"Noticed that, did you?" James fiddles with the mug, his leg jumping up
and down anxiously. Oh, this is not going to reflect on him well. He dreads
it, but. Well, how can he expect Regulus to open up, if he won't? "First, you
have to understand that I was—I could be a nasty, little snot back in
school."

Regulus snorts. "No, surely not. Not you, James. The popular golden boy
who played rugby and started trends just by being charming enough. I can't
believe it."

"I—yes, alright, I was a bit of a cliche," James admits with a sheepish grin,
though it fades quickly. "When I was eleven years old, I met Lily Evans."

"Ah," Regulus says softly, watching him.

James swallows and looks down. "I also met her best friend, Severus Snape.
It was like we looked at each other and it was instant mutual hatred.
Frankly, I was awful to him. Made his life a living hell for seven years. Me
and my mates—we bullied him. That's not to say that he didn't give as good
as he got, because he was and likely still is an awful person, and he
certainly never hesitated to have a go at us. It wasn't like we were attacking
him unprompted, but even still… He was a creep. Didn't have a lot of
friends, and none of them were real the way mine were, except for Lily, so I
can see now that he had it worse."

"Go on," Regulus prompts.

"My friends and I were popular, so when we made a fool of him, the whole
school laughed. The only person who made a fool of me was Lily, and
people laughed, sure, but not like they did with him. That could be because
Snape was so horrible to so many people, and the things he did, the things
he said… A lot of it went beyond schoolyard rivalry and bullying. He made
younger years cry, and he was a bigot," James explains bluntly, lips pressing
into a thin line. "We were both horrible to each other for years, but I was the
popular, rich boy who was generally very kind to everyone, except for him
and his mates. So, everyone always sided with me. Except for Lily."

Regulus hums and takes a sip of his drink. "Lily again. I take it she didn't
appreciate the slander towards her best friend."

"No, she didn't," James says with a weak laugh. "God, she despised me, you
know. She once called me an arrogant toerag. It was amazing."

"James, you really should examine this quirk of yours where you like it
when people are mean to you," Regulus tells him, lips twitching.

James' face gets hot. "I'd rather not, thanks. Anyway, I did not impress her,
and she wanted nothing to do with me, but I was completely in love with
her. Convinced she was going to be my wife and the mother to my children
one day—all the way from the age of eleven, which is...a lot, I know, but
you couldn't tell me any different. No one could. Not even her."

"Bit presumptuous of you."

"Yes, I know. I just—I was so sure. I was in love with her, and I believed
that it'd all work out, because I thought she was the one. I really tried, you
know. Outside of Snape, I wasn't awful. I was just loud and brash and
confident. I tried to show off in front of her, which only annoyed her more.
I liked it, in a way, I think. The challenge of it. But it was also just her. She
was fierce, and beautiful, and always quick to face a problem down with
demands that it be fixed, even if she had to find the solution herself. And
she would, too. Very capable, that one."

"What happened?" Regulus asks.

"When we were fifteen, Snape said something awful to her. He was already
so… By then, even Lily found it hard to defend him, even if she was loyal
enough to do it every time, at least until he ruined that." James clicks his
teeth. "Lily let him have it, then never spoke to him again, not as far as I
know. The things he did were always on the side of the unforgivable, you
see. He took it too far every time, and when he did with her… Well, that
was it. She was done."

Regulus hums. "You were just a stupid boy doing stupid things. He was
growing into cruelty. True cruelty, the malicious kind. I saw it a lot in my
house. I was the same."
"Cruel?" James asks.

"I could be. I was. I still can be, and will be, and am," Regulus tells him
without blinking. "But I don't—I don't have to be anymore. It's not expected
of me. I'm always so hyper aware of that now—that it's my choice when I
do it."

"And you choose to be?"

"Sometimes I do. Sometimes I don't."

James regards him with a frown. "I don't think you're cruel, Regulus."

"Give me a reason to choose to be," Regulus says simply, holding his gaze,
"and you'll change your mind."

"I won't, though."

"We'll see. Now, go on. Tell me about Lily."

"Right." James blows out a deep breath and buys himself some time by
finishing off his hot cocoa. He turns the empty mug over in his hands
afterwards. "Right, well, I thought she and I would be something with
Snape out of the picture, but her feelings towards me didn't change very
much. It wasn't until we were sixteen that I realized I was a bit of a prat."

"You'd only just realized?" Regulus asks, amused.

"Yes," James admits, sighing. "In any case, I tried to be better. I thought if I
was the best version of myself, then Lily wouldn't hate me so much. And,
well, it's not exactly a nice feeling to mature and look back with—shame.
Thinking about it all now, I just wish I'd been the bigger person, but I can't
go back. I could only move forward, so I did, and—"

Regulus raises his eyebrows. "Yes?"

"It worked," James says softly. "I stopped treating Lily like some sort of
conquest and actually got to know her, truly know her, and let her know
me...and it worked. I asked her out when we were seventeen, and she said
yes. It was—really good. Really very good, and I could see it, how I'd loved
her for so long and she finally loved me, and it was all going to go just as
I'd thought, it was all going to work out."

"But it didn't," Regulus murmurs.

"It didn't," James confirms. "We dated for two years. When we were
nineteen, I proposed to her."
"Oh, James." Regulus bites his bottom lip. "At nineteen?"

James hums. "Yes, well, I'd thought she would be my wife since I was
eleven. I figured we'd spend the rest of our lives together, so we may as
well get started as soon as possible. She said no, of course. I remember it,
kneeling there, how gently she tugged me to my feet. I was so confused.
She told me, she said, we have a future, James, we shouldn't live like we
don't. She didn't want to rush, and she didn't want me to wait."

"Did you? Wait, I mean."

"Oh, absolutely. I spent the next three years waiting and slowly coming to
realize that there are a lot of ways to love someone, and it's not always
going to be the way you originally thought it would be. Because we became
friends, you see, and that was—better, somehow. It was bittersweet for a
long time, and I was absolutely heartbroken when I finally faced reality."

"Which was?" Regulus murmurs.

"Reality was...she wasn't the one. She wasn't going to be my wife. She
never was, not in this life," James says. "And there was nothing I could do,
no way I could change, that would alter reality. What I thought was meant
to be...wasn't." He blows out a deep breath. "It was embarrassing. I had to
tell my mates to stop asking me what plan I had next to get her back. I had
to come to terms with the fact that I pushed too hard, fought for things that I
shouldn't have, and chased after love so relentlessly that I smothered it."
Regulus tilts his head. "You think it's all your fault?"

"No. Lily would have my head if I did," James admits with a chuckle. "I
just—I know my part in it. So, that's why… I suppose that's why I'm so
cautious."

"Are you and Lily still…?" Regulus trails off.

James grins. "We're friends. I moved on quite a while ago now. No need to
be jealous. She wouldn't have me even if she could, and she can't, because
I'm spoken for, you see."

"I'm not jealous," Regulus says tightly, very obviously jealous, and James
busts out laughing. "Shut up, James. I'm—"

"Lily's going to adore you," James cuts in lightly, twisting on the sofa to
prop his arm along the back of it, leaning forward to scoot closer to
Regulus, who arches an eyebrow at him. "I know that may seem strange,
but she will. I just need you to promise me that you won't leave me for her
when you meet her."

"I'm gay, James."

"Yes, well, chances are you'd leave me for her before the opposite. And
you're gay. That's how sure I am."
Regulus narrows his eyes. "I don't need you to—reassure me. I'm not
jealous. I don't care enough to be jealous."

"Love," James says gently, tenderly, a spark of warmth glowing in his chest,
only getting brighter when Regulus softens right on up at the endearment,
his face turning red.

"We're not together, you know. You're not technically spoken for," Regulus
mumbles.

"Aren't we? Aren't I?" James just shrugs and shifts closer again, smiling.
"The thing of it is, what I've learned from all these lessons is that when it
comes to love, we'll believe anything if our heart believes it first. And my
heart is quite sure about you."

"James," Regulus snaps.

"It's true," James says softly. "I'm all yours, really."

Regulus curses under his breath, swiveling to plop his mug down before
surging back around, pressing James into the cushion and kissing him hard.
James melts into instantly with a sound suspiciously close to a whimper, his
hands flying up to grip Regulus' hips as he swings himself into James' lap,
fingers diving into James' hair.
The kiss is dirty, and hot, drawn-out between them. A steady rumble of
desire builds in James' veins, making his blood surge and pump faster, a
storm brewing in his skin. Regulus raises up on his knees, snogging James
at an angle from above, these soft, defeated groans tumbling from his
mouth, muffled into James'. It's so easy to drag Regulus closer, to wrap his
arms all the way around Regulus and hold on.

"You're so much," Regulus chokes out when he breaks away to breathe.

"You're too much."

"I know, I know, I'm sorry," James chants breathlessly, mouth slipping
down the side of Regulus' neck to taste skin.

Regulus fists a hand in his hair, holding him there, and breathing hard, he
sounds almost angry when he hisses, "You do not apologize, James. Don't
you dare. You've—you're perfect, you've done nothing wrong, do you
understand? She was a fool—a fool to have refused you anything, to have
made you so cautious. Don't be anything other than who you are, and her
loss—oh god—" One of his hands darts down to clamp on James' shoulder,
nails digging in, and he releases this broken sound high in his throat as
James sucks a bruising mark into the curve of his neck. His head falls back
as a whimper falls out, but he manages to finish his sentence, the words
rough. "Her loss is my gain."

"Yours, yeah," James mumbles into his skin, then finds his way back to
Regulus' mouth again, drunk on him.
"Mm, mm, this—James, this is—" Regulus tugs on his hair, then tugs
harder to get him to hang his head back. James does, gazing up at him with
a swollen mouth, his glasses lopsided on his face. Regulus stares down at
him, breathing hard, lips bitten-red. "We're stopping."

"We are?" James checks, not entirely sure.

"I—yes, we are," Regulus says, somehow managing to sound firmer that

time. His grip loosens in James' hair and he settles down slowly, sinking
onto the platform of James' thighs. They stare at each other as their
breathing calms. "I'm going to finish my cocoa, and then you're going to
go."

"Drink slowly," James whispers.

Regulus huffs a laugh, rolling his eyes, and he swings off of James' lap and
settles right next to him. His eyes are bright, his cheeks are flushed, and he's
so lovely that James can hardly breathe for looking at him.

It takes nearly an hour for Regulus to finish his drink.

Remus wonders if he'll ever get used to the swoop in his chest, the catch in
his ribs, when he lays eyes on Sirius. It takes place no matter what they're
doing, or where they're at, but it's particularly loud today with the sunlight
framing the doorway of the shop as Sirius steps out, his hair tossed up with
a few wisps drifting down around his face, a streak of turquoise paint dried
across his cheek.

"Oh, Moony," Sirius calls, hanging off the doorway with a broad grin,
swinging on it a bit.

"Afternoon, Padfoot," Remus greets as he strolls forward.

Sirius looks affronted. "Afternoon? Are you mad? It's morning, really. I
haven't been awake long at all."

"I've been up since five," Remus informs him flatly.

"Disgusting. Terribly sorry for you," Sirius says with a grimace and a pout,
reaching out to hook two fingers in the front of Remus' sweater at the neck,
dragging him in. "Let me distract you from such agony."

"Oh, please do," Remus murmurs, smiling as Sirius leans in and kisses him,
which makes it a bit hard to do much kissing at all, but Sirius is quite
persistent when he wants to be. He clearly wants to be, because he keeps
going until Remus is kissing back too much to smile, and he only pulls
away once they're deliciously rumbled, looking pleased with himself.

"Lovely to see you as always, Remus," Sirius says.

Remus smiles and reaches up to brush his hand along the blue smear on his
cheek. "You've a bit of paint."

"Do I? Shit." Sirius scowls briefly, scrubbing his hand along his cheek with
a huff. "Oh, honestly. I never leave the studio without paint somewhere. I
thought I did once, then found a bit of green on the back of my knee. The
back of my knee, sweetheart, can you imagine? In any case, I hope you
don't mind if you get a bit on you. Comes with being an artist, you know, or
at least shagging one."

"A sacrifice I'm willing to make," Remus assures him, chuckling when
Sirius flashes him a grin and pulls away to usher him inside, shutting the
door.

The front of the shop is almost bare, and it's quite small, as if this isn't the
part that matters. There's only a desk with a computer and an open sign-in
book, but there's no one in the chair. Sirius leads them right past and down
the hall, turning at the end and pushing open one of the only two doors, the
one on the left across the hall.

The studio is large. So large, in fact, that it seems to be in sections. Remus

can make out an area for sculpting, and pottery, and what he thinks lends
itself to glassblowing. All the ovens and such, the odd tools, plus the
displays for figurines and shapes made from clay, glass, wood, and stone.

Sirius winds further in, and the other side of the room is clearly meant for
painting and drawing. There are canvases of all shapes stacked along the
wall like leaning books, only slips of artwork peeking out. Trays upon trays
of various pencils and different sized and textured charcoal; a counter
dedicated solely to seemingly endless bottles of paint; blank canvases and
open drawing pads; one drawer among many open with piles of brushes in
it. There's an easel out with a wooden slat along the back and a blank
drawing paper clipped to it, a thin tray of pencils and charcoal in front of it.

"You really are sure, yeah?" Sirius asks him as he moves over to grab a
stool from the corner. "You have to sit still for quite a bit. I mean, you can
move and have breaks, but—"

"I told you it was fine," Remus says, amused, "even though I still can't work
out why you want to do this."

Sirius had seemed so hopeful when he'd asked, and Remus is learning that
telling him no is something of an impossible feat. It's not as if it's a
hardship, really. Remus just has to sit still and wait, and he has the added
benefit of getting to see Sirius in his element, spending time with him all
the while. Honestly, why would he even say no to that?

"You're an inspiration, Moony," Sirius tells him casually, as if it's not a

terribly impactful thing to say. "I can't work out why you think I wouldn't?
I'll never get a more beautiful muse. Now, come here and get comfortable."

"What were you painting before?" Remus murmurs as he moves over to the
stool, watching Sirius move away.
"Mm, someone commissioned a spangled cotinga," Sirius declares
cheerfully, pausing to grab a canvas and swivel it around with a grin.
There's a lovely bright blue bird on it, looking so alive that it seems like it
might hop off the painted branch and take flight. "Just finished before I set
up for you. I'll hate it tomorrow, but for now, it's rather decent, I think."

Remus stares at him. "Sirius, that's bloody amazing. Hate it? How could
you hate that?"

"An artist's curse." Sirius shrugs and gingerly sits the canvas down,
skipping over to the easel. "But thank you for saying so, in any case.
Alright, get naked now."

"Absolutely not," Remus retorts.

Sirius pouts at him, but the glimmer in his eyes betrays him for his humor.
"You won't model in the nude for me, Moony?"

"No."

"I can't paint you like one of my French girls?"

"No."
"What if I get naked with you?"

"Then I'm quite sure no drawing will get done at all," Remus says, arching
an eyebrow, and Sirius leans up against the easel, biting his lip around his
smile. Apparently, it's actually easy to tell Sirius no when he wants to. He
does so again. "And no, we're not doing that either."

"Would you bet your life on it?" Sirius asks, raising his eyebrows.

Remus purses his lips. "Also no."

"Ha!" Sirius barks a laugh and pulls back, the tray clattering as he grabs
something. "Oi, Moony, my lovely Moony, go pick something to listen to
from my phone on top of the stereo, yeah? It's already synced up, and it
should create a playlist around whatever you choose. Nothing too upbeat
and nothing too solemn; that tends to affect the mood of the art."

"What era?" Remus asks as he pushes himself up to go strolling for Sirius'

phone.

"Whatever you like," Sirius calls out distractedly, and Remus is warmed by
the trust. They've the same taste in music, mostly, with a few minor (but
serious) disagreements they had to come to terms with. Sirius insists there
are two types of people in this world—those that like Taylor Swift, and
those that only pretend not to—and he's right, but Remus doesn't want to
talk about it. In any case, they don't disagree much about music.
Remus chooses something calming, a bit slow, and still catchy. He sits
Sirius' cell back down, trying to press the side button, only for his palm to
exit out of the music app, revealing his home screen—which is just a
picture of Remus. Oh, that's… Well, Remus didn't know he'd done that.
Didn't even know he'd taken the picture.

It's from their second date, Remus standing at a stall in the market, smiling
as he bends over to smell a bundle of flowers. There's something intimate
about it, just how candid it is, taken as the sunlight catches his eyes and
turns them molten, a moment captured when he had no idea he was being
seen at all. The sight of it makes his heart flutter a bit ridiculously, only
growing stronger with the knowledge that Sirius did this entirely of his own
volition, completely for his own enjoyment because he, what, enjoys seeing
Remus every time he looks at his phone? People look at their phones a lot
these days.

Remus draws his hand away, smiling helplessly as he shuffles back over to
the stool. Sirius is bobbing his head along to the music as he bustles around,
grabbing more things as he goes and comes back. Remus just watches him,
feeling the glow of an ember tucked under his ribs, a steady pulse of
affection for this wonderful, complex man he's enamored with.

"Oh, look at you, Moony," Sirius murmurs when he looks up, his lips
parting. For him to be so bloody beautiful, he looks at Remus like he's the
first encounter with beauty he's ever had.

"I'm just sitting here," Remus says.

"Absolutely gorgeous, you are," Sirius announces, huffing out a laugh as he
picks up a pencil and starts flicking his gaze between Remus and the paper.
"How was work?"

"It was quiet today," Remus murmurs. "Better than yesterday. My best
friend was in a better mood today, at least."

Sirius hums. "Must be nice, working with your best mate."

"It is sometimes, yeah. The other times...well, you know there's something
wrong, but there's nothing you can do about it. I found out he was
technically engaged once only recently, and then his ex-fiance popped up in
the shop yesterday. But he only told me after his ex-fiance was apparently
long gone, so I never saw, and his ex-fiance didn't recognize him? I don't
know." Remus blows out a deep breath. "You've a best mate."

"That I do," Sirius agrees, amused, but he's glancing at him curiously in
between sketching.

"Do you ever feel like you actually know Prongs? Really know him, I
mean."

"There's no one I know better. I know him better than I know myself,
honestly. But, well, we grew up with each other, really, and I've lived with
him since I was sixteen. We've known each other for over a decade,
though."

"Suppose that makes sense, then," Remus says with a heavy sigh. "I've only
known my best friend for three years, but I do know him. Maybe in a
strange way. It doesn't—we never really need words. Like, if we sat in
silence in a library every day and never spoke, he would still be one of the
most important people in my life. I would still—he would still mean
something to me. He's always going to, but I just—well, he's very private,
so he doesn't open up easily—"

"Ah, I see why you two get on," Sirius teases.

Remus arches an eyebrow at him. "Are you terribly sure you want to make
that observation about me, Sirius? What's that saying about stones and glass
houses?"

"Oh, piss off. I'm only saying that maybe you appreciate someone who you
matter to unconditionally. No requirements to be open, but enough trust to
do it anyway if you want. That sort of friendship where you don't know
each other's birthdays, but you would absolutely help each other bury a
dead body," Sirius explains.

"Is it not always like that?" Remus asks, startled.

Sirius pauses to stare at him, then cackles. Head thrown back, fingers
smudged dark, the spilled ink of his hair trickling down the side of his neck.
"Oh, Moony, my gorgeous, lovely Moony—no, sweetheart, it's not always
like that. I, personally, am a very loyal person and would absolutely help
any of my friends bury a dead body, but most people aren't like that, no.
Some friendships are just—superficial, you know. That person you chat
with, or that mate from work, but not someone you know you can show the
ugly underbelly of yourself to and still receive acceptance in return. That…
Remus, that's special. You don't find that every day."

"I should call him," Remus says wistfully, and Sirius cracks up all over
again.

"All I'm saying is," Sirius tells him, once he's calmed down and focused on
drawing again, "you don't have to see it as a bad thing that you're still
learning about him, and he's still learning about you. I'd known Prongs for
five years before I ever learned he was allergic to bees. Seems like the sort
of thing you should know about your best mate, doesn't it? Some things just
take time, that's all."

Remus hums. "You're incredibly wise at times, did you know?"

"Of course. My wisdom is unmatched," Sirius quips, sticking his tongue out
as he leans back and squints at the paper. He clicks his tongue and leans in
again. "You know, this is a bit of a trend with you, I've noticed. You want to
know people. The worst and best of them. Hungry for knowledge, or maybe
just connection, or both. I find it charming." He tilts his head, humming
thoughtfully. "Terrifying, but charming."
"I suppose I was always a lonely child," Remus says quietly, averting his
eyes when Sirius looks up at him, pausing to give him his undivided
attention. "I didn't—I've never known anyone, really. Not even my own
parents. There's more to people and life than I've ever been a part of, I know
there is, and it's bloody exhausting never getting to experience it."

"Oh," Sirius murmurs.

"I was always on the outside of things. I never had anything that was really,
truly, indisputably mine," Remus admits slowly, eyebrows drawing together.
"Nothing real, in any case. Before I had a best mate, I didn't matter to
anyone. And, even now, it still sometimes feels like I don't belong
anywhere."

There's a clatter, and Remus' gaze darts up as Sirius moves around the easel
to step right up to him, grey-dusted fingers reaching out to grasp the front of
his sweater and abruptly snatch him into a surprisingly sturdy hug. Remus
blinks, startled, and then he presses his face into Sirius' shoulder and wraps
his arms around him, melting into the embrace.

Sirius fiercely whispers, "You matter to me. You have me, you know—
really, truly, and indisputably. You belong with me, Moony, you always
will."

"This is our third date," Remus mumbles.

"It's been true since I saw you in that bookshop," Sirius replies softly. "The
moment I saw you, I knew you belonged in my life, one way or another. It
was like I was waiting for you."

"You just wanted to shag me," Remus says with a weak laugh.

"Well, yes, that too," Sirius admits, squeezing him.

Remus pulls back and looks at Sirius from up close, taking in the perfect
line of his nose, the beautiful plump set to his mouth, the outright pretty
flutter of his eyelashes. He sighs and says, "I did alright for myself, really. I
just—I always knew there was more. I still know."

"I'll give you more," Sirius insists earnestly. He leans in, his eyes wide and
gentle with no hint of humor at all. His voice softens with promise. "I'll give
you everything, Remus."

Remus doesn't know what to say to that, so he just leans in and kisses Sirius
as tenderly as he ever has, careful about it like either of them could break if
he isn't. In a way, that's how it feels. The whole moment is fragile, the
stillness that takes over everything after lightning cracks the earth and
charges the air, as if the whole world is holding its breath.

Remus has never been in love before. He's quite sure that's what this is,
even if he knows he'll never experience it like this again. He could search
the seas of people across any universe and would never again feel the way
Sirius makes him feel. People can be in love many times, so this, with
Sirius, goes far beyond that—because Remus will never have this again
with anyone else. It's only Sirius. It will only ever be Sirius.

"Sirius," Remus breathes out as they break apart. Warm lips brush his
cheek, then each of his closed eyes.

"Stay just like this," Sirius murmurs, slowly pulling away, his voice
reverent. "Don't move. This. This is what I want to capture. Stay right there,
Moony."

It's an easy request to fulfill. Remus just has to sit right where he is and
bask in how good it feels to know Sirius, to be with him, to have him. He
keeps his eyes closed and breathes, hanging in some kind of liminal space
where he drifts, the music distant in the background, the faint sounds of
pencil on paper, the glow in his chest.

Time must pass. It has to. He's just not aware of it, not until there's a hand
cupping his jaw, and it's almost like he wakes up a little, but in his soul, in a
way. Distantly, as he blinks, he thinks he might have been meditating or
something. He feels ridiculously calm, and also as if he's misplaced time.

Sirius smiles at him, and Remus mumbles, "You're done?"

"For now." Sirius reaches down to grab his wrist. "Come on, I've something
to show you."
"Yeah, alright," Remus says agreeably enough. He stands and immediately
has to stretch with a groan, his body shaking with it. He can feel the minor
aches and stiffness in his joints from where he hasn't moved. One leg is
asleep, shooting pins and needles through his foot, so he has to shift and
shake out some of his limbs. He blinks. "Christ, how long was I sitting
there?"

"A few hours. I was going to give you a break, even tried, but you didn't
even react when I called your name. Sort of went into a trance, honestly,"
Sirius tells him, tangling their fingers together as he pulls him to the other
side of the room, away from the painting area.

Remus tries to crane his head and see the drawing, but it's not on the easel
anymore. "Sorry. I didn't mean to."

"No, it was fine. Good for referencing." Sirius drops his hand as he stops in
front of a large cabinet that he pulls open before reaching in to shift around
different little statues on a shelf. Remus peers inside curiously, taking in the
various small figurines spread out along sheet-paper. Most of them are
animals, but some are objects like flowers or random shapes with beautiful
colors painted on them.

"What's this?" Remus muses as Sirius pulls back out and swivels around to
hold up a figurine small enough to fit into his palm.

Sirius presses it into his hands and chuckles. "What does it look like?"
"A...dog?" Remus tries, holding it higher to take in the details of it. Upon
closer inspection, he can set it apart from a dog as a wolf, just in the
differences of the snout and ears. It's cold and obviously made with care,
the head thrown back in a howl. Its eyes are the color of amber. "No, this is
a wolf, isn't it? This is nice, Padfoot. Where did you find it?"

"I made it," Sirius tells him.

Remus blinks and looks up. "Oh. Sirius, this is incredibly detailed." It is,
too. Each individual piece of fur on the wolf is painstakingly carved and
painted. It's so life-like that Remus almost expects it to be soft when he
drags his thumb over the length of its back. "This must have taken ages. Are
you selling it? Because it must go for a good price. It's lovely."

"For you to be so smart, you can be a bit of an idiot sometimes, you know."
Sirius grins, shaking his head. He leans in and laughs softly, eyes sparkling.
"I made it for you, obviously. It's yours, you ridiculous, lovely thing. Hello?
Wolf; howling at the moon; my Moony?"

"What? Why? Sirius, I can't take this." Remus stares at him in surprise.
"This is really, very well done; it must have taken so much of your time and
resources. I can't just—"

Sirius huffs. "Oh, shut up and have it, would you? I made it. I get to decide
what to do with it, and I made it for you anyhow. Don't be a git; just take
the bloody gift."
"It really is lovely," Remus says softly, curling his fingers around it and
pressing it to his chest.

"It ought to be. I put my blood, sweat, and tears into it," Sirius grumbles,
then barks a laugh when Remus frowns. "Oh, relax. I want you to have it,
yeah? If it helps you feel better at all, I have my own that represents
Padfoot, while I made a stag for Prongs and a rat for Wormtail."

Remus' lips twitch. "So you do this often?"

"Mm, only for my favorite people, though." Sirius snorts and reaches out to
tap the wolf. "I do make some that people can buy, but nothing meaningful
like this is. In any case, it's yours. Keep it out of reach of children if you
know any."

"I do not," Remus says, chuckling. "Do you?"

"I have a cousin—one of the few people in my family worth associating

with—and she has a daughter." Sirius shrugs and looks away, would-be
casual if not for the frown that twists his lips. "We see each other around the
hols, mostly for some pretend sense of family, I suppose. She's really
wonderful, far better than any other relative I have, but it's always a bit
awkward between us. Just sort of this—constant reminder of a family we
both want nothing to do with and have a much better time not thinking
about."
"I...didn't have the best home life either," Remus offers with a grimace, and
Sirius raises his eyebrows. "My parents weren't awful, really, not in any
traditional way. Just very—detached. Emotionally unavailable, you could
say, to each other and especially to me. I reckon I could have run away and
never come back, and they might not have noticed."

"Is that what you did?" Sirius asks.

"No," Remus says quietly. "I endured. I...went along with it. My mum died
when I was eighteen, and my dad was even more distant than she was, so
that was that, basically. My dad left first, really. Just sort of—never came
back to Wales. Still owns the place, probably, but he never goes there. I had
a bit of savings and some funds my mum left me, so I stopped waiting for
someone who was never coming, who wouldn't have anything to offer if he
even did, and I moved here."

"That's what you meant by being a lonely child, isn't it?"

"Yeah. Sometimes I wish my parents would have had another child, so at

least I'd… But, well, they never would. They'd planned to when I was very
young, I remember, but I—I was a bit of trouble."

Sirius looks briefly delighted. "You were?"

"Not how you're thinking," Remus tells him, rolling his eyes and shaking
his head. "I didn't get into trouble; I was the trouble. Maybe a bit more than
I was worth."
"No," Sirius declares immediately. "Never."

"I was a sickly child. Fell ill when I was four. Nearly died. My parents were
never the same after that," Remus murmurs, ducking his head to stare at the
wolf in his hand.

"Well," Sirius says softly, "I, for one, will forever be grateful that you
recovered. I'd hate to wait for you for my whole life, only for you to never
come. The world would be a duller place without you, Remus Lupin. My
life certainly would be."

"You can't keep getting away with saying things like that, Sirius," Remus
whispers, reaching up to rub his hand across his heated cheek, his gaze
downcast.

"Watch me," Sirius whispers back, swaying forward to grin at him

playfully, but with earnest affection.

Remus huffs out an amazed laugh and reaches out to curl his hand around
Sirius' hip, dragging him in until they're pressed together with the wolf
caught in Remus' hand between their chests. "Sometimes I don't mind being
alone. Sometimes I prefer it. Being lonely is different. Do you know what I
mean?"

"Yeah," Sirius answers, "I really do."

"Is your cousin—the good one—much older than you? Did you grow up
with her?" Remus asks.

"She's older. I saw her some growing up, but not very much."

"Oh. Well, were you an only child? Any siblings?"

Sirius stiffens against him, so tense that he's made of something even colder
and more fragile than the wolf. His eyes flash, and his nostrils flare. "No."

"No?" Remus asks quietly, tentatively. "To which question?"

"Both." Sirius looks away, something grim on his face, and he starts to lean
back like he's about to pull out of Remus' grip.

"Sirius—"

"I really don't want to talk about it, Moony, okay? So just—"

"That's not—no, look, I only wanted…" Remus sighs and uses his free hand
to cup Sirius' cheek, turning his head, even though he's stiff. "I want to
thank you. For the wolf. We don't have to talk about that anymore. Just—
thank you. It's a lovely display of craftsmanship, and I'll keep it always."

"Yeah?" Sirius whispers, a light tinge of pink rising to his face, and all the
dark clouds rolling in pass over in a sudden flash of blooming hope and
something unbearably sweet. He gazes at Remus like he really, really wants
him to love the gift. It's very important to him, Remus realizes then, and
there's something soft and innocent about that.

"Yeah," Remus confirms and ducks in to kiss him. He pulls away quickly,
making Sirius chase after him, his eyes fluttering open with naked want.
"Don't look at me like that. We're not shagging in your studio. Why not
show me the drawing?"

"I can, but it's not done. It's just the sketch, really," Sirius tells him, some of
his nerves bleeding through, even as he tugs himself away to lead Remus by
the hand again.

Remus watches Sirius grab the drawing from where he'd tucked it away,
bringing it over cautiously, the clean back facing him. "Sirius, what on earth
do you have to be worried about? You're a brilliant artist."

"No, I know," Sirius mutters, and it's all bravado, because of course it is.
Some of his insecurities are so easy to see, no matter how he tries to
overcompensate for them. "It's just… I mean, I know this is a drawing of
you, but it's—it feels a bit personal, oddly enough. I don't know. It's just that
it's you, and you're obviously the most beautiful thing I've ever tried to
translate into any medium, so it's all very—"
"Alright, that's enough of that," Remus interrupts, reaching out to deftly
(and gently) pluck the thick, textured paper out of Sirius' hands, turning it
around while Sirius audibly sucks in a sharp breath and holds it.

Remus stares at it, blinking only once, then being unable to rip his gaze
away to do it again. He almost can't recognize the person depicted on paper.
Yes, his brain knows that's him, but he can't quite fathom that he's seen this
way. It's just that art is on the same frequency as love, or simply emotion,
and to be the inspiration, or muse, or target audience makes it hard to
breathe. Artists are overflowing, too much inside to be kept there, and
Remus is dizzy with the thought that he causes such chaos in Sirius.

It makes use of negative space, smudging the angles like the soft cut of
every feature brings the lines of him to life in a breathtaking monument. In
this, Remus is larger-than-life, the presence of him heavy and heartfelt
through the paper. But there, at the curve of his lower lip, it's gentled with a
shadow. The sweep of his eyelashes, soft and sloped with cherished
scribbles. The small spot erased in each eye, the negative space allowing for
a sparkle, something unbearably tender and human about it. Remus isn't
breathing either.

Because this—what Sirius has created—strikes him directly at his center. It

makes his heart thump harder, makes his stomach swoop, because this is
how he sees me, Remus thinks, awed by it. He hasn't really considered his
own vanity, but he's very sure he's never felt as lovely as he does at this
moment.
Remus carefully turns and approaches the closest counter with open space,
and he gingerly lays the paper out before sitting the wolf down next to it.
For a beat, he just takes them both in, and then he turns around.

"Do you hate it?" Sirius rasps.

"I've changed my mind," Remus says hoarsely. "We are absolutely shagging
in your studio."

Sirius has enough time for his breath to hitch, for a smile to grow on his
face, and then Remus is on him, crossing the room for their inevitable
collision, a lightning strike breaking the surface of the earth, the world
shifting beneath their feet. With a breathless laugh that transitions smoothly
into a soft moan, Sirius clutches at him, and they both go down with a solid
thump in the next moment, never breaking the kiss.

Chapter End Notes

Remus: do you have any siblings? are you an only child?

Sirius, without elaborating: no

Regulus: 😑

EDIT 03/31/22: I've done a little editing on this chapter, particularly

the section when describing Snape, as I originally wrote him how he's
depicted in canon, but it's been brought to my attention that the
descriptions JKR gave are rooted in antisemitism, perpetuating
harmful jewish stereotypes. I have absolutely NO desire to promote
that or be associated with doing it, because it's fucking disgusting and
wrong, actually. I genuinely wasn't aware (thankfully someone told
me), so I'm sorry to anyone who saw it before I was educated on the
subject. There was one sentence here in this chapter, and there's
another section in chapter ten that I will be editing out as well.
 Chapter 5
Chapter Notes

Alright, this is where some of the warnings get a bit heavier. For this
chapter:

Warnings for child abuse (Walburga, who should come with her own
warning honestly, and don't worry, it's not in real time), blood mention,
brief description of injury, and some angst.

Despite those warnings, the chapter is sweet overall, and hopefully

funny in some places.
See the end of the chapter for more notes

Regulus feels his heart jump when the door to the coffee shop opens with a
jangle—not his and Remus' shop, but one further across town, just to be on
the safe side.

Pandora steps in, and Regulus recognizes her instantly. She still has that
same eccentric taste in clothes, but there's something more stylish about it
after all these years. Her hair is a thick, messy blonde braid over her
shoulder with small flowers woven in and out of it. There's a pink flush in
her cheeks, likely from the cold, and her eyes are bright and startlingly
sharp as she scans the room.

Regulus takes a deep breath and forces himself to stand up and wave his
hand to get her attention. Her face clears when she sees him, recognition
lighting her eyes after a beat, and then she's smiling as she heads right for
him. He's just about to step back and sink down into his seat when she
moves right into him for a hug. He's a few inches taller than her, but he was
back in school, too.
"Oh, it's lovely to see you," Pandora says as she draws away, squeezing his
arms. A laugh tinkles from her throat as she palms along his arms. "Lovely
to feel you, too. Goodness, you've grown since school."

"Thank...you…?" Regulus offers, face scrunching, and Pandora laughs

sweetly again before pulling away entirely.

As they sit, Pandora beams at him. "I was so happy when you reached out,
you know. I don't see anyone else from school at all. Mostly by choice."

"Well, most of them were awful," Regulus mumbles. He pauses, then

coughs. "So was I."

"You only thought so." Pandora rolls her eyes and waves a hand carelessly.
"Being cold and distant doesn't always mean awful. You certainly weren't
like Ivanna."

Regulus can't help but wrinkle his nose. "No, but no one was like her. I
wonder how she gets on these days."

"Mm, she's married to a doctor. Very rich." Pandora smiles as she snags his
tea, taking a sip while he stares at her like she's mental. "Oh. That's nice.
But yes, Ivanna lives quite comfortably in a mansion with anything she
could ever want to buy. No children, but she never wanted those."
"It sounds like she got everything she wanted," Regulus points out.

"Yes." Pandora shrugs. "Even awful people do, sometimes."

"Do you—do you—" Regulus watches her take another sip of his tea. "Ah,
would you like me to get you one of those?"

Pandora grins. "Oh, would you? Here, let me get my card."

"I can buy it, it's fine," Regulus murmurs as he stands up.

"Such a gentleman," Pandora says brightly, and Regulus feels his cheeks
flush with heat. "Yes, alright. I'll just pay the next time we see each other,
then."

Regulus shuffles off, glancing over his shoulder at her repeatedly as he

waits in the queue. She keeps sipping on his tea, staring out the window
with a peaceful expression on her face. It's so strange to see her again, to
see what's changed about her, and what hasn't. He wonders what she sees
when she looks at him, then stops wondering, for his own sake.

"Here you are," Regulus says quietly when he gets back, sitting down and
offering the drink to her.
"Oh, I'll just have this one." Pandora leans forward and dives right into
talking as if that's not strange at all. "So, I've been thinking recently about
how certain houses are powered through solar panels, and how we could do
that with cars instead of using petrol. Thoughts?"

Regulus blinks. "Um."

The next two hours might honestly be some of the strangest of Regulus' life,
but he's not entirely sure what he was expecting from Pandora, really.
Something different, something worse, something painful—he really should
have known. Pandora has always marched to the beat of her own drum,
never one to do what anyone would expect of her.

Regulus didn't really know her very well in school, despite the few in-depth
moments they had. He learns more about her now. Her career—scientist.
Her love life—she's been seeing a bloke who sounds even more eccentric
than her with an odd name he forgets almost immediately after he's heard it,
except for the last, Lovegood. Her favorite movie— Who Framed Roger
Rabbit, which he's never seen. She talks about the weather, the drama at her
work, what she did that morning, and what her plans are for tomorrow.

Almost against his will, Regulus is caught up in it, partially just because she
refuses to leave him behind. She asks his opinions, argues kindly or agrees
with relish, and she always waits to see what his response is to something
she's said.
He tells her a little bit about himself, because she has no shame in showing
that she's genuinely interested. Just that he's a barista and he's going to
school to be a chef and maybe open a restaurant one day, but he doesn't get
much further than that for a while because she wants to know all about it,
and it turns out he can get a little lost in rambling about food. As someone
who loves food, Pandora insists, this conversation is very interesting and
not something he has to apologize for.

"No, that's lovely," Pandora tells him when he explains that he wants to own
a restaurant that serves high quality food at affordable prices. "No one does
that."

"People care too much about status," Regulus says with a quiet sigh. "The
truth is, you can eat very well, seemingly expensive food you'd think you
could only find in fine-dining for quite a reasonable price. You just have to
know how. Why shouldn't the poor get to eat like royalty? Because they're
poor?"

"To the rich, I imagine so," Pandora muses. "Seems such an odd thing to
care about, doesn't it?"

Regulus hums, then eyes her. "You were rich, if I recall."

"Oh, I meant rich as a state of mind, more so than a reflection of wealth. I

was rich, though."

"Not anymore?"
"No. When Mother died, I gave it all away."

"Gave...it...away? Your wealth?"

Pandora smiles. "Yes. Others had more need for it than I, in any case. I kept
enough to survive until I could find my own way and let the rest do better
elsewhere. You were rich, too, I remember. Are you still?"

"No, not since I was eighteen," Regulus admits. "I'm actually quite poor."
He laughs a little, because there's something so terribly ironic about it. He
honestly thought it would bother him more than it does, being
comparatively poor to how he grew up, but he's doing alright for himself,
mostly. "Well, I suppose I'm not as poor as I was at the start. I work, I have
a flat, and I've a bit of savings."

"Rich in other ways, then," Pandora says, her eyes bright with delight. "In
the ways that matter. You look happy, Reggie."

"Regulus, please," Regulus says softly.

"Sorry. Habit," Pandora murmurs gently. "You do look happy, though. Far
happier than when you were in school."
Regulus strokes his thumb along the lid of his tea, chewing the inside of his
cheek, not meeting her eyes. "I suppose I am. You're the only one who
would see the difference. You're the only one who has seen me since I left."

"The only one?" Pandora asks. "You never saw your brother again, then?"

"No."

"Haven't you thought about meeting him again?"

"No," Regulus repeats, just as firm.

Pandora considers him for a long moment, and then she just nods. "Well,
I'm lucky, then."

"I did see Barty, though, once," Regulus says.

"Oh?" Pandora muses. "How did that go?"

"It didn't, really," Regulus admits, and Pandora laughs, snorting without any
shame whatsoever. It tugs at his lips until he's actually smiling, helplessly.
"Oh, shut up."
"It's funny," Pandora insists, still giggling. She leans forward on her elbows.
"So, tell me, Regulus, are you rich with love, too? Is there a boyfriend?"

Regulus is surprised. "You…"

"Oh, honestly, I never doubted you were gay," Pandora says easily, rolling
her eyes.

"Of course you didn't. You always know things," Regulus grumbles, and
Pandora waggles her eyebrows at him. He sighs heavily. "Yes, there's a—
well, not exactly, but—I mean, I'm dating someone."

"So, yes."

"I… Well."

Pandora's eyes shine with humor as she repeats, "So, yes."

"His name is James," Regulus murmurs, resigned to the heat that

immediately floods his cheeks.
"Strong name, James," Pandora replies, amused. She nods at him. "Well, go
on. Tell me about him."

Regulus does, and also—doesn't. Not like he does, or would, with Remus.
There's just some things he'd never tell anyone other than Remus, no matter
how kind Pandora is and has always been. But it is easy to talk about James
in abstract, describing him, his qualities, and some of the less detailed parts
of some of their dates.

Like she can sense that there's someone he holds in even higher regard than
her, she asks about his other friends, which is how ends up talking about
Remus, who she insists she needs to meet as soon as today.

"Well, I can see if he's free," Regulus offers awkwardly.

"Marvelous. Let's all get drinks!" Pandora chirps.

So, Regulus calls Remus while Pandora leads him out into the bustle of the
city, blathering on about a bar she loves. Remus answers with a, "Yes, what,
Regulus?"

"Are you free?" Regulus asks.

"If I say yes, do I have to put on trousers?"

"You do. I've a friend who wants to meet you."

"No, you don't. You don't have friends," Remus tells him bluntly. "I'm your
only friend."

Regulus rolls his eyes. "Not anymore."

"I feel—oddly betrayed?" Remus sounds like he's frowning.

"Best meet us, then, or else I'll just replace you."

"No, that would end my suffering, and you'd never go for that. Where am I
going?" Remus mutters.

Not even an hour later, Pandora is forcing a hug on Remus, who looks
startled by the fact that Regulus wasn't making the whole friend thing up.
He accepts the hug easily enough, polite if not bemused.

"It's lovely to meet you," Pandora informs him sincerely, pushing a drink in
front of him. "Let's get drunk!"
Remus arches an eyebrow at Regulus. "Well, I like her. Where did you find
her?"

"Oh, we've known each other since school," Pandora says.

"You were friends, then?" Remus asks curiously.

"Not at all, but we could have been," Pandora declares easily, bluntly,
because she knows things, "and we are now."

"What was he like in school?" Remus presses, leaning forward with a broad
grin, and Regulus tenses up.

Pandora only smiles and says, "Not like this."

"Alright, leave her be, Lupin," Regulus murmurs, gaze fixed on his drink. "I
believe we're meant to be drinking."

"Especially you," Pandora orders. "It's your birthday tomorrow! Not

drinking in preparation just isn't the done thing."

"Is it?" Remus blurts out, staring at Regulus with wide eyes. He chokes out
a laugh. "Oh, bloody hell, we are the friends that don't know each other's
birthdays."

"Your birthday is March 10th."

"Why do you know that?"

"Because I'm your best friend."

"Why didn't you ever get me anything?"

"Because I'm not a very good best friend." Regulus hides a smile behind a
swallow of his drink, and Remus just snorts and shakes his head fondly.
"Isn't my friendship gift enough?"

"Torture, more like," Remus says. He points at him, narrowing his eyes.
"I'm taking you for lunch tomorrow, yeah? My treat."

Regulus rolls his eyes and ignores his own pulse of fondness in his chest.
"Yes, alright, if you must."

"For now," Pandora croons, "drinks."

Which is how Regulus finds himself quite drunk only a few hours later,
because Pandora and Remus—lovely, wonderful people that they are—have
kept a drink in his hand at all times, never leaving him in short supply.

The evening lends itself closer and closer to night, and it all started going a
bit fuzzy around the edges an hour ago. Regulus is as loose as he ever gets,
practically spilling out across the table with his chin hooked on Remus' arm,
occasionally rubbing his cheek against the sleeve of his sweater. He's
always wearing the softest, most worn sweaters, and they're always so
bloody warm. Regulus briefly entertains shoving his head underneath it,
maybe crawling right into it and drifting off to sleep, and it's such an
amusing mental image that he starts giggling.

"Alright, Regulus?" Remus asks with a chuckle.

"Can I have your sweater?" Regulus mumbles, flopping his head over to
gaze at him through glazed eyes. "It's my birthday, Remus. Can't tell me
no."

Remus grins. "It's your birthday tomorrow, and I do need something to wear
now, you know."

"Oh, but I'll just wear it with you," Regulus suggests, which makes sense to
him, but Remus starts laughing like it's a joke. Regulus is not joking. He's
about five seconds from crawling into Remus' sweater with him. Why
shouldn't he? He wants to be warm. James would let him. James would
warm him.
That thought has him bolting upright so abruptly that he nearly falls out of
his seat. Pandora has to steady him, but he bats her hand gently away in his
haste to get to his phone. He blinks rapidly at the screen, then starts tapping
rapidly.

"Regulus," Remus says carefully, "who are you texting?"

"James," Regulus mumbles.

"Oh no you don't," Remus blurts out, surging across the table to try and
snatch the phone, and Regulus yanks it back with a gasp of offense. Remus
narrows his eyes. "Regulus, you'll never forgive me if I let you speak to him
in this state. Hand it over."

Remus is using his stern teacher voice, which Regulus just laughs at and
ignores, focusing back on his cell. Remus leans forward again, trying to
grab it, and he almost manages it before Regulus yelps and ducks out of the
way. Grunting, Remus throws himself out of his seat, starting to come
around the table, so Regulus goes limp and sinks down until he's under the
table, snickering when Remus curses, then groans.

Obviously, Remus is not going to let this go, which is made clear by how he
kneels down like he's about to follow him under the table, so Regulus just
calls James.

"Hello?" James answers.

"'Lo, James," Regulus says smugly, smirking right at Remus, who briefly
covers his face with his hand. He has to scramble back with another laugh
when Remus stoops down and reaches out to try and swipe the phone
again.

"Regulus?" James asks, sounding tentative.

"James. Oh, hi, James," Regulus sighs out, grinning. "I'd very much like to
see you now, James. Where are you? I'm cold, and you're warm. Won't you
come?"

"Regulus, mate, I'm trying to help you," Remus hisses.

"Lupin? Is that Lupin?" James murmurs. "Regulus, are you alright? You
sound… Wait, have you been drinking?"

"Might've done," Regulus mumbles. "Where are you? I miss you, James."

James' voice is muffled when he speaks next. "Yes, sorry, I just need to go,
Pete. No, no, everything's fine. Yeah, let him know, would you? Either way,
I'll be back tomorrow, at the latest."
"Who's Pete?" Regulus asks, wrenching back when Remus strains forward
more and tries to grab the phone again.

"A mate," James says. "I'm on the way. Where are you?"

"Are you really?"

"Of course. You asked me to."

"James, James, oh, James," Regulus chants, laughing breathlessly all the
while. He's still giddy and giggling as he tells James where to go, steadily
scooting backwards as Remus follows him further under the table. He
briefly bumps into Pandora's leg and rests his head on her thigh. She runs
her fingers through his hair. "Oh, Pandora, you're going to meet James. The
one I told you about. Strong name James."

"Your boyfriend?" Pandora checks, her head popping underneath the table,
eyes glassy and cheeks flushed from how many drinks she's had.

Regulus proudly says, "Yes, that's the one," and James makes an odd noise
through the phone. Maybe he swallowed a bug.

"Give me that," Remus grunts, lunging forward.

"Have to go, James, see you soon," Regulus says quickly and hangs up,
twisting to shove himself out the other side of the table, laughing as he
stumbles to his feet.

Remus pops up on the other side of the table a few moments later,
exasperated, and he jabs a finger at him before he mutters, wry, "You don't
get to be upset with me tomorrow, Regulus. I tried to stop you."

"I'm never upset with you, Remus," Regulus tells him with a frown,
swaying against the side of the table. "I only pretend to be sometimes, but
you're my best friend. My very best friend. I'll always forgive you. Always,
always, always."

"He will," Pandora whisper-yells. "I can sense it."

"Alright, come on, that's it," Remus fusses, coming around the table to
usher him back in his chair. He has to swat Regulus' hands away from his
sweater, where he keeps repeatedly trying to take it off. "Stop trying to strip
me, would you?"

"Sweater?" Regulus tries again hopefully, and Remus huffs a weak laugh,
reaching up to ruffle his hair, which makes Regulus grin at him. Remus
blinks, a furrow forming between his eyebrows. Regulus' smile fades.
"What is it?"

"Nothing. You just…" Remus reaches up to scratch the side of his head.
"Can't quite put my finger on it, but for a moment, you reminded me of
someone. Dunno who."

Regulus considers that, then tries to take Remus' sweater off again, which
takes all of Remus' focus.

Less than an hour later finds Regulus spilled out across the table again,
laughing into the crook of his arm. The three of them have been talking
about knitting patterns for the past twenty minutes, and Pandora has just
told the most hilarious joke about cross-stitching that made absolutely no
sense, and they're all just the most brilliant people in this establishment,
obviously. Regulus is sure of it.

Then James is suddenly right beside him, gently touching his arm, and
Regulus changes his mind so very quickly. Because James is more brilliant
than them all.

"Oh, you're quite pissed, aren't you?" James murmurs, looking down at him
with a small smile, his gaze warm.

"James," Regulus breathes out, shoving himself up eagerly, the whole world
tilting out of focus, but not James. He comes across Regulus' attention so
clearly. "Oh, hello, James. Hello, James. You're here. You came. Hi."

"I am. I did. Hi," James replies, his smile curling up further, his hand
squeezing Regulus' arm. "How are you?"
"Better now that you're here," Regulus tells him. "I've missed you terribly,
James."

"Have you?" James asks, a laugh trembling in his voice.

Regulus bobs his head. "All the time, really."

"Christ, Regulus," Remus mumbles, wheezing a laugh. "It's nice to see you,
James. Please don't tease him too much for this, yeah? He—he gets sweet
when he's pissed."

"Nice to see you again, Lupin, and I can see that." James glances over and
offers his free hand to Pandora. "I don't think we've met. I take it you're
Pandora?"

Pandora reaches out to smack her palm against his and point finger-guns at
him. "Yes, and you're the boyfriend?"

James' smile broadens and turns sweet, bashful. "I suppose I am, yeah.
James is fine as an alternative, though."

"James," Regulus says, rocking over closer to him with such determination
that the chair comes up on two legs. Happy accident, that is, because James
immediately moves in closer to gently push him back on all legs. Regulus
turns into him, pressing closer. "James, you'd let me take your shirt off,
wouldn't you?"

"Absolutely, I would," James says immediately, catching both of his hands

to hold them, "if you were sober."

Regulus just hums. "Yes, I knew you would. My own best friend won't. I'd
like his sweater. He won't give it to me."

"Ah, right, you're cold." James drops his hands to lean back, shifting to
remove his coat, thankfully leaning back in to swing it around Regulus'
shoulders. He smiles as he helps stuff Regulus' arms into the sleeves, then
unravels his scarf to put that on Regulus, too. "There you are. Better?"

"You've bundled him all up," Remus murmurs with a lopsided smile,
chuckling.

"Fulfilling your boyfriend duties," Pandora coos, wiggling her fingers at

them before poking Regulus' cheek. "The whole point to you, really. It's not
you we want, actually, just your clothes. Yours are quite nice, James."

"Oh, I want his jacket," Remus moans, dropping his head down to the table
with a thump. He sounds close to tears when he slurs out, "It's leather, you
know."
"Call him. You should absolutely call him. I've done it, and James just—
showed up. I wanted him, and I got him. Like magic," Regulus says,
reaching out to pat Remus' head.

"He loves his jacket, though," Remus mumbles, lifting his head to squint at
them. "He'd never—"

"You have to try," Regulus insists. "Have him come get you. James is taking
me home. He's taking me home, and we're going to shag."

"We will not be shagging," James says mildly.

Regulus frowns. "Alright, we are not going to shag, but he's taking me
home." He peeks at James. "You are doing that, yes? I'd really like it if you
would."

"Yes, Regulus, I'll take you home," James murmurs, his hand coming up to
sweep over Regulus' hair, gentle, affectionate. There's so much adoration in
his eyes that Regulus wants to bury his face into James' chest and hide away
from it.

"Xenophilius is on the way to get me," Pandora adds.

"Bless you," Regulus mumbles politely.

Pandora ignores him. "He'll be here any minute."

"I'll—I'll just text him," Remus blurts out, his bottom lip caught between his
teeth as he goes for his phone. He sends the message off quickly, then lays
his phone down and doesn't look at it. His fingers tap on the table.

"Have you asked him for his jacket?" Regulus asks.

Remus eyes him. "Obviously."

"Still setting trends," Regulus muses, turning his head to press his smile
into James' shoulder, curling into him. The chair rocks precariously again,
so James has to shuffle in even more, just wrapping his arms around him.
Finally.

"I don't think I set this trend, love," James tells him quietly, speaking
directly into his ear. "Any good boyfriend would do it, you know. Wouldn't
want their person to be cold. Would love to see their person in their clothes.
It's rather common."

"Am I your person?" Regulus whispers.

"You are," James confirms softly. "You always will be."

Regulus curls his arms loosely around James' waist, fingers linked and
tucked up under the bottom of his shirt to lazily stroke at the warm skin of
his lower back. "Did your heart tell you that? Is that what it believes?"

"It knows," is all James says.

"My heart likes your heart very much. So much," Regulus informs him very
seriously.

James chuckles against him. "Does it?"

"Oh, that'll be Xenophilius," Pandora announces suddenly, stumbling to her

feet with a bright laugh as a very tall, very beautiful man with pale-gold
hair comes winding over to their table. Pandora beams at him.
"Xenophilius, my love."

"She keeps sneezing," Regulus comments sadly.

"Pandora, and friends," Pandora's boyfriend greets, only to grunt as she

twirls around and abruptly falls backwards right into his arms, where he
catches her immediately as if they do that all the time. "Careful, darling."

Pandora beams up at him. "Take me home?"

"Whatever you like," he replies warmly, nodding at all of them distractedly.
"Sorry, friends, I'll have to meet you all next time. Pandora assures me I'll
be seeing you all more often."

"Bye, Pandora," Regulus calls as he starts leading Pandora away. "Bye,

Pandora's boyfriend."

"Xenophilius," Pandora's boyfriend calls back.

"Bless you!" Regulus bursts out, but they're already gone.

The table vibrates, and Remus dives for his phone almost immediately, then
blinks at the screen and seems to melt a little bit in his seat. "Oh."

"Is he magic, too, like James?" Regulus asks eagerly.

"He's coming to get me, if that's what you mean," Remus replies, amused,
smiling. "And he says he can loan me his jacket for tonight."

Regulus pulls back to look up at James, who takes one look at his face and
murmurs, "You can keep it, the coat and the scarf, and honestly whatever
you bloody want."
"You?" Regulus asks.

"Me," James agrees immediately. "Please do, in fact."

"Can we go to my flat now?" Regulus breathes out.

James darts a glance over at Remus. "Do you want us to wait with you,
Lupin? Just until your boyfriend gets here?"

"No, no, it's fine." Remus waves them off. "He's not far. Anyway, Regulus
is far more pissed than I am. I'll be fine, James, but thank you. You're—
you're really good for my best friend, you know. Really, very good. Take
care of him."

"I will," James says, because he's a lovely, wonderful person who means
things like that. "Come on, then, love."

"Be safe," Remus tells Regulus, and he reaches out the second that Regulus
reaches for him, lips twitching as Regulus grabs his hand and squeezes it.
"Alright, alright, get out of here. Go home. Sleep it off, yeah?"

"Yeah," Regulus agrees and squeezes his hand again before tucking himself
back into James' side. "Happy shagging."
"Oh, piss off," Remus calls after him, laughing.

"He's my best friend, you know," Regulus informs James as they make their
way outside, though James seems to be doing the most of the work with
that. How is he not affected by how the ground ripples under their feet?

"I know," James tells him.

Regulus sighs and leans into him, closing his eyes. They're halted on the
sidewalk. The breeze is nice. "I'm so pleased that you came when I called,
James."

"You've mentioned."

"I like when you're around. I like being around you. Do you know that? I
don't think I've ever told you that, have I?"

"Not in so many words," James says, "but I know."

"That's good. You should know. You should always know I want you
around and miss you when you're not." Regulus lifts his hand and pets at
the side of James' hair, brushing his thumb along the curve of his ear.
"You're sunshine, you know. You're the sun, James. So bright. So warm.
The center of it all. Around and around I go."

"I want you to know, if you're upset about this tomorrow, you have
absolutely no reason to be," James tells him, and his lips brush Regulus'
forehead.

"Around and around and around," Regulus whispers and holds onto him
tighter, feeling light enough to fly away.

James just kisses his forehead more firmly, and they stand there for some
undetermined amount of time before they move again. James helps him into
the back of a car, murmuring to the cabbie, and Regulus needs
approximately ten seconds before the blur of lights and swaddling shadows
around them sets the mood. James' neck is right there, and he smells as
wonderful as he always does, so of course Regulus isn't going to pass up the
opportunity to mouth at his skin.

This makes James stifle a groan, and he spends the rest of the ride trying to
gently convince Regulus to calm down a bit, which he only succeeds in by
half. Regulus does rein it in to just peppering kisses along his throat and
jaw, satisfied like a cat that got the canary by the repeated hitch in James'
breath, humming in approval every time James' hands spasm on him.

Eventually, they get out of the car again, and James keeps an arm around
him as they make it to his flat. Regulus locates his keys, but fumbles with
them too much to get them to work, so James gently takes them and opens
the door for him.
"Alright, where's your room? Haven't been there yet," James says, and he
chuckles when Regulus points down the hall and blinks at him owlishly.

Regulus is pliant and relaxed as James pulls them into his room, flicking the
light on. He peers around curiously as he reaches out to unravel the scarf
from Regulus' neck, hanging it on the doorknob. Next is the coat that he
peels off and neatly drapes over the dresser in the corner. He walks Regulus
over to the bed and carefully pushes him down to sit on the edge of it,
kneeling down to start untying his shoes.

"You're absolutely sure we can't shag?" Regulus asks, reaching out to push
his fingers into James' hair.

James takes a deep breath, then slowly lets it out, then looks up at him as he
tugs the first shoe off. "Believe me, I'd love to. Just—only if you were
sober, only if I could be sure that you want it, but I can't be certain right
now."

"But I do," Regulus insists.

"Thing is, love, you're pissed," James tells him gently, not without a touch
of fond amusement. "So, I can't quite take you at your word, especially
when we've never shagged before."
"You're so sensible." Regulus feels his eyebrows draw together and thinks
he might be pouting. "So noble. Why is that so attractive? You're making
me want to shag you more."

"Sorry?" James wrinkles his nose playfully and starts in on the next shoe.
"Don't pout, Regulus. We'll get there."

Regulus melts a little bit. "You're not upset about me taking it slow? There's
—I have my reasons. I can't actually recall them now, but I have them."

"Whatever they are, I respect them," James assures him, smiling as he sits
the shoe aside. "And you may not even remember this tomorrow, but I hope
you know it in any case. Regulus, that's not what this is about. I'm here. If
we never get there, I'm here. If we get there tomorrow, I'm still here. It's
about you. All of this is about you, for me."

"One day," Regulus says, hiccupping, "I'm going to shag you so well that
you're never going to be able to take any pleasures from life without
thinking of me. Every time you feel good, you're going to think about how I
made you feel better."

James' eyebrows fly up, and he tips his head forward to peer at Regulus
over the rim of his glasses, considering him. A beat, two, and then he
reaches up to knuckle his glasses back up, a spark in his eyes. He clears his
throat. "Right. Yes, well, I'll just obsess over this new information until that
day comes. Today is not that day, though, so let's get you into bed, yeah?"
"I thought you weren't getting me into—"

"To sleep, love."

"You have to clarify these things for me, James." Regulus sighs and flops
back on the bed, gazing wistfully up at the ceiling, listening to James stand.
"Epic highs and lows."

"How was I to know you're naughty?" James mutters.

Regulus hums and casually says, "I'm a slut, really." There's a choking
noise, followed by a thump, a low curse, and then a groan. Regulus
chuckles. "This is good for you, as the person I'm dating. We're going to
have wonderful sex."

"Regulus, please," James says, strained.

"A lot of it, too," Regulus adds, grinning.

"Can you—" James blows out a deep breath, and Regulus hears one of his
drawers open. "Not that this isn't—marvelous news, but maybe save it for
when I can do something about it, yeah?"
"Yes, alright," Regulus mumbles. "What are you looking for?"

James is quiet for a few more moments of rustling drawers, and then he's
standing by the bed, holding out clothes. "Just something for you to change
into so you're more comfortable. Couldn't really find anything made for
sleeping, but—"

"I sleep naked," Regulus informs him, blinking up at him, and James' face
twitches. "Will you stay over?"

"While you're naked?" James asks, distressed. "Regulus, I am flesh and

blood, love, and while I'd never take advantage—"

"Oh, I'll wear clothes," Regulus cuts in, shifting up so he can stand. "Grab
something that will fit you and get out so I can change. You can use my
loo."

"I…" James purses his lips. "Honestly, I can't work out if this would be
taking advantage or not. Maybe I should take the sofa, yeah? I'll stay, but
—"

"I'll just come out and join you. My bed is better." Regulus blows out a
heavy breath. "Please, James? I just… It can be perfectly innocent, but I—I
want—"
"Alright," James murmurs, his face softening. "Yeah, Regulus, whatever
you want. Give me a moment."

Regulus nods and turns around, hiding his tiny smile of triumph as James
goes digging in his clothes again. A moment later, James leaves the room,
so Regulus stumbles through changing as quickly as possible. He really
does sleep naked, so he doesn't actually have pajama sets, really. Just a too-
big shirt that he's had for years, one he never pulls out to wear, and a pair of
loose shorts that he bought for himself with his very first bit of his own
money.

For a second, drunk and stupid, Regulus catches the fabric of the shirt in
between two fingers, squeezing his eyes shut. He turns his face into the soft
collar, inhaling deep, aching for some lingering scent that will trigger a
memory he never lets himself revisit. The shirt just smells faintly of
detergent and the stiff musk of wood from how long it has been in his
drawer, untouched. A lump forms in his throat, and he has to blink tears out
of his eyes as he turns his head and relaxes his hand. He breathes, in then
out, then forces himself to forget.

He's crawling into bed just as James comes back in the room, still in his
own shirt, but wearing a pair of Regulus' joggers that are short enough to
ride above his ankles. He's on his phone, saying, "Passed out in your bed, is
he? An angel? You're besotted, mate." A pause, and James looks at Regulus,
smiling. "Yeah, I know. Alright, well, I have to go. Yes, yes, tending to my
own drunk angel. I'll see you tomorrow, alright? Promise." He lowers his
voice, more intimate. "I know it's a hard day for you. Yeah. Yeah, I love
you, too."
"Everything okay?" Regulus asks quietly as he settles back against his
pillows.

"Yeah. Just my best mate. It's funny. His boyfriend got pissed and asked
after him, too," James says, amused, as he moves over and puts his cell
down on the stand by the bed.

Regulus hums and swings the blanket back in invitation, slow-blinking at

James. "Suppose it is common. Are you getting in, or are you going to stare
at me all night?"

"You're beautiful," James tells him frankly, his voice soft, and he puts one
knee on the bed to lean over and press a firm kiss to Regulus' forehead.

"No, you," Regulus mumbles a little stupidly and surges up to press their
mouths together as James starts to pull away.

James collapses down on one elbow, inhaling sharply, and he kisses back
for a moment. It's not a sloppy snog or anything, just a warm press of lips,
soft and steady. He does pull away, though, way too quickly, and huffs out a
short breath, shaking his head. "No, none of that, or I'm on the sofa."

"Just wanted the one," Regulus grumbles, flopping back down on the bed
with a scowl.
"Cute," James says with a chuckle, propping up to give him yet another
chaste kiss on the lips, a warm peck, and Regulus feels his scowl melt away.
"Now, there's two. Let's sleep, yeah?"

"The light," Regulus reminds him.

"One second." James flicks on the lamp, then stands up to turn off the other
light, using the lamp to see his way back to the bed. He slides back in and
leans over to switch off the last light, dousing the room in darkness, flipping
over to face Regulus. "Fancy a snuggle?"

"No," Regulus says, then scoots across the bed to press right up against him,
twining them together as close as they can get in any way possible, their
limbs draping over each other.

"Mm, of course not," James whispers fondly, holding him close, burying his
face into Regulus' hair.

"Right." Regulus shoves his face into James' neck, breathes him in, and
exhales a soft, "Goodnight, James."

"Goodnight, Regulus." James sweeps a gentle hand down Regulus' back,

fingers smoothing soothing circles in the cloth of his shirt. "This is a nice
shirt. Soft and big. Why was it shoved so far in the back of your bottom
drawer?"
Just before Regulus drifts off, he manages to mumble, "It was my
brother's."

Sirius wakes up to an empty bed and a note on his pillow that reads: I didn't
want to wake you, but I had to go. Promised my best friend I'd take him out
to lunch. Call me when you wake up.

Sighing, Sirius sits the note on his nightstand, reaching up to scrub both
hands over his face. He knows he shouldn't feel upset about it, but he does
anyway. A part of him just wants Remus here, in his bed with him, a
distraction to get him through this day. He hadn't anticipated seeing Remus
at all, last night or today, so he's just being dramatic.

It's actually adorable. Sirius' arms flop down, a small smile lighting his
face, which is a minor miracle on this day. He can't help it, though, when
thinking about how last night went. A pissed Remus had reached out with
demands for his jacket, apparently missing it. When Sirius had gently
suggested that it was less the jacket he missed and more who wore it,
Remus had denied it profusely in one breath and asked for Sirius to come
see him in the next, belligerent and fussy.

Sirius had found it charming, really. Remus had lit up the second Sirius
came into the bar to help him stumble out, only to pretend that he didn't
care if Sirius was there at all, though he didn't pull that off well. He'd
beamed when Sirius actually let him wear the leather jacket, then refused to
separate an inch from Sirius at any given moment in the journey from the
bar to his flat. He told Sirius he was absolutely not infatuated with him, not
one bit, then caught one of his hands and kissed each of his knuckles and
fingertips, then the back of his hand, deliberately brushing his lips over the
tiny, thin scar that most people don't even see, banging on about how lovely
and talented Sirius' hands are.

It was cute, how hard he tried to act as if he didn't fancy his own boyfriend,
only to contradict himself at every turn. He'd passed out drooling on Sirius'
shoulder, clinging to him in sleep, and Sirius had stroked the side of his face
with careful, tender fingers and thought this one, this is the one I want,
forever; let me keep him, please let me keep him.

Sirius just hopes this morning isn't a bad omen, with that in mind. He won't
entertain the worries, not today. This day is for doing nothing, for hiding
under the sheets and waiting for it to be over, hoping—and trying so very
hard—not to think. Not one thought. If he could make it through this day
without one thought, he'd be better off. He'd be fucking grateful.

There's a tentative knock on the door before it gingerly slips open, and
James' head pokes in, eyebrows already furrowed with concern. "Morning,
Padfoot."

"Morning, Prongs," Sirius mumbles.

"Hungry?"

"No."
"Sirius," James says with a sigh, "you have to eat. Come on, mate, I'll make
you some toast."

"It's not even morning, is it?" Sirius asks, glancing over at his window. It
looks about mid-day. "D'you know what time Moony slipped out?"

"Not sure. I only just got in myself." James reaches up and ruffles his hair,
smiling sheepishly.

"Oh?" Sirius raises his eyebrows as he sits up. "Good night?"

"Yes. Not like that," James says, pointing at him when he starts waggling
his eyebrows.

"Did you shag the mean barista, James?"

"The mean barista was very pissed, Sirius."

Sirius rolls his eyes and pushes himself up from bed, trying not to think
about the reason he wants to roll back into it and hide there all day. "When
will you tell me about this mean barista? It's obviously going well."
"Cooperate with me today, and I will," James says, tossing an arm around
his shoulders and tugging him into the kitchen, pausing briefly to smack a
kiss to his temple with an exaggerated mwah! Then he gently shoves Sirius
into a chair and starts shuffling around. "Alright, toast it is. Do you want
coffee this morning, or maybe tea?"

"Whatever is fine."

"Sure, sure. I'm inviting the girls over today, by the way. It's been ages since
we saw them."

"Mhm."

"Peter will be over, too. We'll make a proper day of it, everyone from
Hogwarts getting together."

"Brilliant," Sirius says, no enthusiasm.

James clucks his tongue gently like a concerned mother, because that's what
he is on the inside, really, and he drops a plate of toast in front of Sirius.
"Eat. And every bite, Sirius, I mean it. I'm going to call everyone, let you
get a shower and such. Your hair, mate—no offense, but it's like someone's
hands have been in it everywhere."
"Someone's hands have been," Sirius admits, picking up his toast. "Moony
kept fussing with it before he passed out. I think it soothed him. He's right
obsessed."

"That's cute," James says, lips twitching. "Oi, invite him over, yeah? Let
him meet everyone. I still haven't met him."

"I haven't met your mean barista."

"That's different."

Sirius arches an eyebrow. "Is it? How?"

"Well, I—I don't know, really, but it is," James sputters, pushing away from
the counter. "This isn't about me. You should invite Moony. Might even
cheer you up."

"Best not. I won't be in a very good mood." Sirius shrugs and stares down at
his toast. "Moony doesn't need to have to deal with that. I think he has plans
anyway, so it's fine."

James sighs and reaches out to tap his wrist, nudging the toast closer to his
mouth. Sirius rolls his eyes and takes a bite, chewing with his mouth open
because he's obnoxious and it's always fun to watch James' inner concerned
mother go to war with his inner child. James snorts, his eyes lighting up
with humor, so the inner child has won this battle. Lovely.

After he finishes his toast, Sirius gets a shower and does not think. After his
shower, Sirius goes into his room and does not think. After he pulls out
clothes, Sirius gets changed and does not think. After he's ready, Sirius
stands in front of the vanity, gazing in the mirror, and he does not—

"What's this for?" Reggie asks.

"Your birthday. I always leave for school before, so I got this for you early."
Sirius holds it out, ridiculously proud of it, having spent hours in
McGonagall's personal studio, under her supervision, making it entirely
from scratch. Each tiny link on the necklace, connected by him; the coiled,
silver snake pendant, painstakingly detailed down to every scale by him.

Reggie catches the snake, fingers brushing it. "It's pretty. Did you buy
this?"

"I made it," Sirius admits.

"Sirius, this is very good," Reggie whispers, looking up at him with wide
eyes. "I didn't know you could do anything like this."
Sirius laughs quietly. "Neither did I, until I tried for you. Turns out, I've an
eye for detail, and I rather like it, you know. I like it quite a bit, making
things. Wouldn't have known it if I didn't want to make something for you.
Don't tell Mother, yeah?"

"Of course not," Reggie says simply, thumb swiping delicately over the
snake with a tiny, rare smile. "You hate snakes."

"You don't," is all Sirius says, and Reggie's smile grows.

Reggie grabs the necklace and vows, "I'll never take it off."

Sirius squeezes his eyes shut, ducking his head forward as he clamps his
mouth together tight, fighting against the strong urge to vomit. His stomach
roils unpleasantly, and he swallows thickly. It's been years. It hurts as if it
was yesterday.

It's always worse on this day, out of every other day in the year. Sirius was
just a baby himself the day his mother came home from the hospital, baby
bundled in her arms, and he'd tripped over himself twice trying to see past
all the cloth, eager to catch a glimpse of his new best friend. Someone to
grow up with and go on adventures with. Even that young, he'd been so sure
that there would be adventures in his life, and he was just as confident that
he no longer had to be alone, his companion shielded in the safety of their
mother's arms.
Of course, the years warp such things. It turns out, Sirius went on all of his
adventures without the companion he was most sure of, finding that in
James instead. And safety is the last thing that can be applied to his mother,
arms or otherwise.

There's a gentle knock on his door, and Sirius looks up, only to jolt when
Lily pokes her head in.

"My god, you got here fast," Sirius blurts out.

Lily chuckles and slips into his room. "Marls, Dorcas, and I were actually
out for lunch a few blocks over when James called. I hear Mary, Frank, and
Alice are on the way."

"Pete, too," Sirius adds.

"Peter's already here," Lily murmurs. "Came in right behind us, really.
Apparently he was already on his way."

Sirius feels a faint smile tug at his lips about that. Of course Peter was
already on his way. He knows the date just as well as James, and he's never
too far. "Sounds like the flat will be fit to burst. We should have made it a
party."
"Oh, James is handling it. Ordering loads of takeout, last I saw. Loves a
problem he can solve, our James," Lily says fondly, moving over to lean up
against the ledge of his vanity, hands braced on the edge of it. She lifts one
and tugs on a lock of his hair, watching him. "How are you, love?"

"Been better," Sirius admits, but only because it's her. Out of everyone,
she's the one who gets it the most.

Lily smiles sadly. "Why don't I do your hair, hm?"

"Would you?" Sirius asks softly, and Lily immediately pushes forward to
swing around behind him. "Lily?"

"Yes?" Lily murmurs as she leans forward to grab his brush.

Sirius meets her gaze through the mirror. "Thanks."

Lily just holds his gaze for a beat, smiles, then starts brushing his hair. He
closes his eyes and lets her do whatever she likes. It's almost funny how far
they've come in friendship. He'd thought she was a bit of a swot when they
were younger, too uptight, even if she was fierce and quite scary at times.
He knew exactly what James saw in her, but that didn't mean he truly knew
her, or even liked her beyond teasing her playfully.
Really, they'd bonded when Sirius found out she had an awful older sister.
He'd found her crying one day when they were seventeen, only a few
months after her and James started dating, and he'd been a bit panicked,
thinking James should have been dealing with it, not him. Only, James was
at rugby practice, and Sirius was the one who was around, and he couldn't
just leave her there, so he'd gone into the belly of the beast that was his best
mate's girlfriend softly crying.

That's when he'd found out about Petunia, and it resonated so deeply that he
sat right there and told her about Reggie. He's aware, even to this day, that
their bond formed at that moment, only strengthening through the years.
Honestly, Sirius had been almost as heartbroken as James when he and Lily
split; a part of him had held a small kernel of hope that they'd rekindle their
romance for a while, but he gave that up when he saw they were both better
off as friends.

It's nice that they're the type of people who can be friends after all of that,
because Sirius would have missed her when he inevitably chose James, if
there were sides to pick.

"You know, Petunia called me," Lily says abruptly, and his eyes snap open.
"Did I tell you about that? No, it's been almost three weeks, and I haven't
seen you in at least that long."

"Not exactly something you share over the phone, I take it?"

"Not at all. She was calling to have a go at me for missing a payment for
Dad's funeral costs. I had a mix up with accounts, so the usual withdrawal
didn't come out, and I've been so busy that I forgot. Never missed a
payment in half a year, you know. She rang me up just to blather on about
how I was a terrible daughter going nowhere in life."

"Lovely," Sirius drawls, wrinkling his nose.

"Isn't it?" Lily does something intricate to the top part of his hair that she's
pulled up, reaching up to grab a pin from her own hair and slide it neatly
into his. "We got into a row, of course, and I sent the money in after, but it
was bloody awful. Hadn't seen her since Dad's funeral, and hadn't spoken
with her for nearly three years before that. But it was like a day hadn't
passed since our last fight." She tilts her head, drawing her hands away to
examine Sirius' hair. Her gaze is a little distant, though. "In a way, it was
nice to hear her voice."

"I know," Sirius mumbles, reaching back to cover her hand resting on his
shoulder. He squeezes it, and her gaze runs into his in the reflection, the fog
lifting. She looks at him and nods, because she knows he does know, even if
he'd never say it. Sometimes, Sirius thinks he'd give a lot of things just to
hear Reggie's voice again, even if he had to be yelled at for it to happen.
Sort of pathetic, that, but family is complicated.

"Come on, Marlene is asking after you," Lily tells him, leaning over him to
kiss the top of his head, and then she's ushering him out of his room.

It's a good distraction, honestly, getting to see everyone again. At the very
least, it keeps him busy. Mary, Frank, and Alice arrive a bit before the
takeout, bringing in drinks with them, and it's not long before they're all
sprawled out everywhere all over the sitting room, crowing with laughter.

These people—Sirius has known them in various ways since he was eleven.
Since school, they don't get to all meet up like this as often as they thought
they would while they were in school, but that's life. They get on well
enough despite that, the same exact support and warmth and good humor
they've always had, a thread between them all that keeps them connected
when so many would usually lose touch.

It's not that Sirius doesn't ever see any other people from school. He does. A
few months back, he went out for drinks with Gideon and Fabien, and
subsequently shagged Gideon in the loo of the pub for old time's sake.
Months before that, he bumped into Kingsley at the market and spent nearly
two hours chatting with him over a bundle of turnips. Before that, he saw
Emmeline stuck in the rain and used his umbrella to shield them both as he
walked her home, talking casually the whole way, and she'd ended up
ordering a painting from him a few weeks later.

It's just that these people—these particular people—aren't those that Sirius
can ever imagine losing touch with. It's not as bad as he is about James and
Peter—he'd honestly go mad if he didn't hear from them at least once a day,
even if it's just a message—but he's quite sure they'll always be in his life.
He keeps up with them, and they keep up with him, and it's just comforting
in a way he never expected when he was seventeen and scared of what was
coming next. He can count on them, sure they'll always be around,
especially when he needs them.

"I hate it when you go," Reggie murmurs, standing in his doorway,
watching him pack with baleful eyes.
"I know, but I'll be back in time for Christmas. No, stop, look at me,
Reggie," Sirius says, because Reggie has started to turn away. It takes a
moment, but Reggie turns back and looks at him. "I'll always be around,
yeah? Don't I always come back?"

"I wish you wouldn't leave at all," Reggie whispers.

Sirius sighs and stands up, moving over to place both hands on Reggie's
shoulders. "As long as you need me, I'll be here."

"That's a weak platitude." Reggie grimaces and fiddles with the snake
pendant. "You know how she—you know how horrible it is. I have to come
home at the end of the school day. You don't. I need you when you're gone,
Sirius."

"And that's really the only reason I come back." Sirius pokes Reggie's nose,
which scrunches under his finger. He catches a quick flash of a smile, and it
eases some of his guilt. Reggie doesn't know it, but Sirius isn't lying. Reggie
is the only reason he returns. Reggie is the only reason he hasn't left for
good.

Mary's bright burst of laughter as she jostles Sirius' side makes him blink
and look up. Peter is an unfortunate shade of red, and Alice has snorted
some drink out of her nose. He manages to slap on a broad smile just as
James looks over at him, still laughing, wanting to share the humor of
whatever joke Sirius just missed as they share so many things.
His smile must not be very convincing, because James' laughter falters, and
concern flares to life in his eyes again. Sirius waves him off, shaking his
head, and he picks up the drink closest to him—Dorcas', he thinks—and
starts nursing it, trying to focus enough to enjoy the company.

Sirius can't help it, though. Can't help the way he obsesses over it,
especially today. Can't figure out when it was exactly that Reggie stopped
needing him. Somewhere, along the way, it all changed so fast that Sirius
couldn't even keep up. Timid smiles in private turning into a blank
expression worn like a mask, a shield, turning into sneers. Unwavering
warmth catching and growing into burning resentment. What happened to
you, Reggie? Sirius used to think.

He never really got an answer.

He knows, though. He knows what happened. That horrible house and their
horrible family—it all sunk its claws in deep. Sirius took the wounds, bore
the scars, and freed himself. Reggie didn't. Reggie never would. Out of the
two of them, Sirius was always the bravest, the most defiant. He's not sure
why he ever expected Reggie to get out in the first place.

But he knows that, too. He knows why it stings so deep, even to this day.
Because he'd hoped—he had so much hope—that he'd be enough. All Sirius
could offer was himself as a reason, needing Reggie to come to him that
final time, and Reggie wouldn't. Sirius had wanted to be enough, and he
wasn't.
"Oh, is that so?" Marlene says, tossing a cap at Sirius' head, earning a glare
that she just laughs at. "You've a boyfriend, Sirius? Is he real? Has anyone
actually met him?"

"Oh, he's real," Sirius replies with a genuine grin.

Peter snorts. "He is, and I've met him. He's brilliant. Made Sirius shut up for
a bit. Neat trick, that."

"Piss off," Sirius grumbles half-heartedly while half the room roars with
laughter.

"I have not met him yet," James announces, "but Sirius is absolutely mental
about him."

"Have you shagged him?" Mary asks, eyes brightening.

"Well, that's how we met, you see," Sirius says.

"You said you met him in a bookshop!" Peter squawks.

Sirius rolls his eyes. "Don't get your knickers in a knot, Pete. I did meet him
in a bookshop, and then a few hours later, we were shagging."
"Why were you even in a bookshop?" Frank asks.

"Oi, I read!" Sirius pauses, then grins sheepishly. "I was buying a book for
Effie, though."

Alice laughs and kicks her feet up into Frank's lap. "Well, when you're
telling your grandchildren the story of how you met, a bookshop sounds
innocent enough, but you might want to leave out that bit where you
shagged after."

"Oh, but that's the best part," Marlene teases.

"Alice, my dear, I do hate to be the one to inform you of how male anatomy
works if you think I'll have grandchildren with him, but if you're trying to
get Frank pregnant, you're missing crucial information."

"You could adopt, Sirius."

"It's too soon to be thinking about all that," Sirius says, rolling his eyes.
"We've only been dating for a little over a month. I don't even know if I
want kids."
"Trust me, you'd know if you didn't," Marlene assures him, holding up her
drink with a nod. "You're all going to start popping out sprogs anytime now,
and I'm going to be the cool aunt who gets to give them back at the end of
the day."

"We will babysit, though, gladly," Dorcas offers.

James hums and leans back on his hands, staring up at the ceiling with
careful, wistful consideration. Sirius knows he's thinking about his mean
barista; he always looks so tender when he is, just like this. "I want
children."

"Oh, I know that look," Lily breathes out, her face splitting into a grin as
she reaches over and shoves James' shoulder, her eyes dancing. "James
Potter! Sirius isn't the only one dating someone, is he? So are you!"

"He has a mean barista," Sirius teases, waggling his eyebrows as James
groans and hangs his head back.

"A mean barista!" Lily crows, practically bouncing in place, genuinely

excited. That would probably seem odd to most, seeing as they used to date,
but the truth of it is that they've been friends longer than they've dated, at
this point, and Sirius knows—even if she never says it—that Lily wants
James to find confidence in love again. More importantly, just like all of
them, she wants him to be happy. "Tell me everything."
"It's—it's still very new," James says carefully, but a small smile has settled
on his face. "I don't want to jinx it, is all."

Lily huffs, but she doesn't push. "Alright, but you can't outrun me forever,
Potter. I want details some time soon, yeah?"

"Me first," Sirius cuts in, sticking his tongue out at her. "He promised, and
he loves me more than you."

"He loves you more than everyone," Lily replies, unimpressed, and James
grins as Sirius blows a kiss at him. James catches it and presses it to his
chest while Sirius bats his eyelashes.

"You two are still as ridiculous as ever," Mary muses.

Sirius stretches his leg out and kicks James lightly in the thigh, relaxing a
little when James reaches down to wrap a hand around his ankle, gently
squeezing. They look at each other for a moment, and Sirius feels it, that
sense of home that James always gives him. He smiles and says, "Always."

Marlene makes fake-gagging noises, and Peter shakes his head as he

mutters, "Do you see? Do you see what I put up with?"

The room fills with laughter, and Sirius settles into it, finally able to with
James' hand resting on him, a steady point of contact that keeps him from
retreating into his own head.

Easy and calm, the conversation flows from one topic to the next, full of
laughter and heated debates as the day slips further and further away. Sirius
is right in the midst of it, launching rather vigorously into a debate on
whether or not immortality is actually a curse or an opportunity, which lasts
for hours and doesn't end with anyone really changing their minds, but it's
fun anyway.

Frank and Alice leave first, giving out hugs before rushing out, and Peter
has to go next because he has to be at the office early tomorrow. Mary goes
with him since they're going in the same direction to start, and she makes
everyone come to her to accept the hugs and kisses on the cheek, getting
Peter swept up in all of it before she drags him out the door.

Marlene, Dorcas, and Lily linger for an hour longer, but then Lily really
needs to go, and they're her ride. James and Sirius both get up to walk the
girls to the door, hugging each of them. Sirius gets a kiss on the cheek and
forehead from Lily, who promises to answer if he calls, much to his
chagrin.

When they're gone, the flat is quiet again, and it's late. James looks over at
him as he shuts the door, eyebrows furrowed. He doesn't say anything, but
he reaches out and lays his palm along the side of Sirius' neck, a grounding
touch.

Without talking about it, they start cleaning up all the empty takeout
containers and such, tidying up a bit. James hums under his breath to an
unspecified tune, just a mindless background noise that is really quite good
—James has always had a beautiful voice. It's comforting, really, and Sirius
puts all his focus on listening to him, rather than thinking.

It's not until the place is neat again that Sirius realizes he has a lot more of
the night left and not very many distractions to fill it with. The knowledge
makes him jittery, puts an itch under his skin, so he begs off to go have an
emergency smoke. He pushes his window all the way up and props against
the ledge, slumping down to smoke and stare at the moon.

He ends up chainsmoking to try and evade his own thoughts, even though
he knows it's no use. He's a Black; he has that same curse the rest of them
have. The family madness. His own mind turns against him, and how do
you escape that? There is no escape. He's just like them.

"The family legacy lives and dies with you, Sirius," Walburga hisses,
slamming her hand down on the table. "I won't stand for your insolence. I
never have, and I won't start now. You've been nothing but a disappointment
to this family! It is time you grow up and know your place. I raised my
children to be—"

"Your children? Ha!" Sirius barks a loud, bitter laugh. "You never saw us as
children! You don't even see us as people! You're a miserable excuse for a
mother, do you know that?" He catches her wrist when she snaps her hand
out to slap him, knowing it was coming, and he jerks her by her arm,
getting in her face. She doesn't shrink back, even when he squeezes her
wrist hard enough that he'll likely leave bruises. "This family? Have this
fucking family! I don't want it. I never wanted it. Reggie doesn't even want
it!"
Walburga's head snaps over, eyes blazing, and Sirius follows her gaze to
where Reggie is sitting at the table, watching them, pale and wide-eyed.
"This family, Sirius, is your family. No matter where you go, no matter how
far you go, you cannot change where you come from. You're more like us
than you can stand."

"I'm nothing like you," Sirius snarls, flinging her hand away. He steps back
and looks right at Reggie. "Tell her, Reggie. You hate it here. You hate her
as much as I do. She should know!"

Reggie says nothing.

"I've had enough of this," Walburga says.

Sirius braces both hands on the table, staring at Reggie, at the blank
expression that always sends a chill up his spine. His voice comes out low
and pleading. "Reggie, please. There's more than this. Every hit I've taken
for you, those were hits you would have suffered if I didn't. This is no way to
live, Reggie. This isn't a family. Please."

Again, Reggie says nothing.

"Enough, Sirius!" Walburga spits out.

"What happened to you, Reggie?" Sirius whispers, his voice gone hoarse
with emotion. "I don't know who you are anymore. I can't even recognize
you." Reggie doesn't so much as twitch. "You didn't want this before.
Everything she put on you, on both of us—how can you just accept that?
Why won't you fight?! Bloody fight, Reggie!"

Reggie stares at him, pale and small and silent, never saying a word, never
taking the mask off, never even trying to fight. Reggie was never going to,
though. Too busy trying to survive.

There's a sharp clatter, and then Sirius is releasing an agonized shout as

Walburga stabs a table knife down through his hand, burying it so far with
such force that it imbeds itself through his flesh into the wood. He hits his
knees beside the table with a raw scream, his hand still caught, the pain of
it shocking and immediate. Tears blur his vision, and he's left groaning
through clenched teeth as he clutches at his wrist with his free hand, chest
heaving.

When he lifts his head, he gets one second to see Reggie looking at him in
pure horror, and then Walburga is snatching his head around by the chin.
She slaps him hard enough that his lips bleed, then grasps him by the face,
digging her nails in so deep that she scrapes open his cheeks in neat gashes
dotted with blood. Her eyes gleam as she stoops down over him, mouth set
in a firm line.

"Take this as your last and only warning," Walburga whispers, staring right
into his eyes as he helplessly whines in pain and writhes in her harsh grip.
"There is no escape from me, Sirius. This is my house, and no matter how
you might despise it, you are my son. You will do as I say." She lets him go,
standing to full height and staring down her nose at him. "I'm going to
leave you here until morning. By then, I expect you to change your aversion
to obedience."

Walburga sweeps out without another word, and Sirius slumps with a gasp,
shuddering as he shakily pushes up on his knees to stare at his own impaled
hand. A quiet, delirious laugh bursts free from his clenched teeth, the pain
sending his head reeling. He slips trembling fingers along the blood on his
trapped hand, squeezing his eyes shut as he grasps the handle of the knife.
Turning his head, he bites down on the fabric of his own shirt and breathes
hard through his nose, shaking all over before he gathers the courage to
give a harsh yank.

He collapses with a low groan, catching his face against the side of the
table hard enough to bust open his skin at his temple. Blood slips down his
cheek as he drags himself back up, panting, leaning against the edge of the
table and meeting Reggie's eyes.

For a moment, they just stare at each other. Sirius is shivering, aware of
every point of pain in his body, from the searing agony in his hand to the
almost laughable ache in his shoulder from the way he's been forced to
position himself. He can't stand. He can't get a proper grip on the knife to
yank it out. He has no choice but to kneel here on the floor, trapped in this
house, chained to this family.

"Reggie," Sirius pleads, his eyes stinging. Please set me free, he wants to
beg, but there's blood in his mouth, and he's so scared.
Reggie stares at him, then stands up and slowly walks around the table.
Sirius tilts his head up, shaking, and Reggie is shaking, too. They're both
trembling right beside each other, staring at each other with this distance
breaking open and growing between them, even as Reggie draws closer and
leans over with a deep breath. Sirius bites down on his shirt again in just
enough time to muffle his yelp of pain as Reggie jerks the knife free. Sirius
whimpers, sagging down in a heap, curling his bleeding hand to his chest.

When he does look up, Reggie is looking down at him and striking such a
strong resemblance to their mother that Sirius feels that same chill skitter
down his spine.

"What did you think was going to happen?" Reggie whispers. "You should
have known better, Sirius. You never do."

"You think this is my fault?" Sirius chokes out.

Reggie just says, "What's there to fight for?"

Me, Sirius wants to shout. Aren't I enough? Aren't we enough? But he

knows better now, knows just by the look on Reggie's face, unreachable,
guarded. Reggie is ice frosted over so thick that even the sun wouldn't be
able to melt it. And Sirius is angry. Sirius is betrayed. Sirius hates Reggie
for how much he doesn't. Sirius hates Reggie for making him hesitant to
leave, even now.
Sirius looks at Reggie and the words fall like guillotine, severing what
they've been clinging to for so long, the final blow falling between them as
he declares, "Everything I said about this family, it applies to you, too.
You're no better than the rest."

"Are you?" Reggie asks coldly, reaching up to take off the necklace and lay
it down on the table next to the bloody knife before turning around and
taking the same path out that their mother did.

Reggie doesn't look back, so when Sirius leaves later that night, he doesn't
either.

"Sirius?"

Jolting, Sirius stops digging his thumb into the small, faded scar on his
palm, turning his head to see James framed in his doorway. "James. Yeah,
mate, what is it?"

"You're crying, Sirius," James says softly, moving into the room to come
lean against the ledge next to him.

"Oh. Yeah, that happens, I suppose," Sirius says with a wet laugh, reaching
up to scrub his hand over his face, sniffling through a stuffy nose.

James knocks their shoulders together. "This day, yeah?"

"Mm," Sirius confirms, swallowing thickly. He lights another smoke with
shaking hands, blinking hard as he focuses on the moon. "James?"

"Yeah, mate."

"You're the only family I have, you know. All of our friends, of course, and
your parents—but I mean, you. You, James."

"I know what you mean, Sirius," James murmurs, glancing over at him with
a sad smile.

Sirius presses into him harder, closing his eyes, assured by the steadiness of
him, settled with the knowledge that James, over anyone else in the world,
wouldn't betray him. He's enough. For James, he's enough. He always has
been.

Sirius clears his throat and rasps, "Was I cooperative enough for you to tell
me about your mean barista today?"

"Not even close," James says, chuckling. "You hardly ate any takeout, and
now you've been crying alone."
"Come on, won't you at least tell one thing about the mean barista?" Sirius
tries. "It'll make me happy."

James slants him a faintly amused look, because he knows that Sirius is
playing to where he's weak. Huffing out a soft laugh, a genuinely adoring
smile lighting his face, James says with honest reverence, "He says I'm the
sun."

Ah, Sirius thinks, and he has to stifle a smile. He knew there was something
more to James being careful when mentioning his new infatuation. Not very
subtle, James. He wasn't being gender-specific from the start, so Sirius
followed his lead, waiting to see, though he'd suspected. James was always
about Lily growing up, and as far as Sirius knows, she's the only person he's
ever shagged. He did snog other girls, and even snogged Frank once at a
party, for a game, not seeming to mind in the least as everyone whistled and
cheered. There was a brief period after he and Lily split that James tried to
feel things for people that he simply didn't, and Sirius didn't know the
details since there wasn't much to know, but he now wonders if James had
tried with men as well as women.

In any case, this is fairly new, James fancying a bloke like this. Though,
really, it's fair to say it's new that James is fancying anyone, who isn't Lily,
like this. Sirius doubts it's a sexuality crisis, not for James; he's always been
very straightforward about wanting someone when he does, no shame in it.
All it can be is this unfortunately tragic notion he has that he needs to be
careful with whoever he falls in love with next. Sirius wishes he could
knock it into James' thick skull that loving as strongly as he does isn't and
never was a problem.
"Well, he's right, your mean barista," Sirius says lightly, smiling at him.
"And he's lucky to have you, you know."

"I think I am, actually," James argues, grinning harder when Sirius snorts
and shoves him lightly with his shoulder, making them both sway.

"You're biased, Prongs."

"Never said I wasn't, Padfoot."

"I am happy for you, though," Sirius adds more—well, for a lack of a better
word, seriously. "You're obviously mad about him, so there must be a
reason."

"There's more than one." James chuckles warmly and glances at him,
raising both eyebrows. "Speaking of being mad about someone—have you
talked to Moony today?"

"A bit," Sirius mumbles, turning to stare at the moon again. It's round and
full in the sky. He never called Remus, but he did message him to tell him
he was going to have a busy day, so don't expect to hear from him much.
Sirius has missed him all day, a persistent ache in his chest to accompany
another that always flares with memories.
James waits for him to flick his ash out the window, then leans over and
knocks his forehead into Sirius' temple with simple, unspoken affection.
"Call him. It'd do you some good."

"You think?" Sirius asks quietly.

"You light up about Moony," James murmurs, lips curling up as he draws

away. "I do think. Call him."

Sirius honestly only needs the nudge. "Yeah, alright."

"Come crawl into bed with me tonight," James tells him as he starts backing
away. "I'll kick you in the knees all night and wake up with your hair in my
mouth. It'll be brilliant."

"You're so needy," Sirius teases, even though they both know it's more for
his benefit than James'.

James just laughs as he slips out the room.

A few rings later, Remus answers the phone. "Sirius! I thought you said you
were—"
"I just wanted to hear your voice," Sirius cuts in, and it's not even a lie, is
the thing. He's already soothed by it, more relaxed than he's been all day.

"Are you alright?" Remus asks gently.

"I am now, sweetheart." Sirius blows out a billow of smoke, closing his
eyes and basking in the comfort of Remus Lupin, all that he gives just for
existing. "I am now."

"Well, you want to hear my voice, yeah? Then I'll just talk for however long
you'll listen, shall I?" Remus offers.

Sirius opens his eyes and looks at the moon, his lips curling up into a soft
smile. "Yeah, Moony, that's perfect."

Low and melodic, Remus starts talking, and Sirius sinks into it, drifting
along, untethered and calm. He stands right there under the full moon and
knows, down in his bones, that he's helplessly, ardently in love with who it
reminds him of.

"Sirius," Remus says seconds or hours later.

"Hm?" Sirius hums, exhaling slowly, easily.

Remus is quiet for a moment, and then he says, "I have to go, my cell is
going to die, but are you—really, are you alright?"

"Like I said, better now, thanks to you." Sirius swallows and looks down at
his hand, at the scar on the back of it, faded and pale, barely noticeable.
"Moony?"

"Yeah, Padfoot?"

"I—needed you. Today. Just now. You've—it's not a good day for me, but
you've helped make it bearable. So. Thanks."

"Do you want to...talk about it?"

"No. Not now. Maybe one day."

"Alright," Remus murmurs. "Well, regardless, I don't need to know about it

to know I'll be here when you need me. Sirius, whenever you need me, I'm
here. I'm right here."

Sirius swallows and croaks, "I think I'll need you forever."
"Well, you know where I'll be," Remus tells him, a little breathless, his
voice warm and intimate. "Suppose that's my future set, then."

"Oh, you'll never be rid of me now, Remus," Sirius whispers.

"Is that meant to be a threat?"

"Doesn't it sound like one?"

Remus laughs softly. "Not at all. That was the plan."

"Was it?" Sirius grins helplessly, beaming up at the moon, his heart
squeezing in his chest. "You beautiful, mischievous mastermind, Moony.
Where have you been all my life?"

"Waiting for you," Remus says.

"Sorry to keep you waiting so long," Sirius replies.

"It's fine. We're making up for lost time, I think." Remus sighs when there's
a clatter in the background. "I really do have to go, Sirius, but—tomorrow?
Are you free?"
"For you?" Sirius chuckles. "I will be. I'll call you when I wake up, yeah?
I'm off to bed now. Goodnight, Moony."

"Yeah, goodnight, Sirius," Remus says fondly.

Even afterwards, Sirius stands up under the moon and smiles softly, letting
himself settle, letting the effect of Remus course through him. It comes with
its own impact, the way Sirius loves him, new and exciting and so infused
in his bones that he's half convinced he's loved Remus in past lives, and it
was inevitable that it'd carry over into this one.

Breathing out, Sirius pushes away from the window and closes it, heading
for the door so he can go crawl into bed with the only family it doesn't hurt
to claim. On the way, he stops by the vanity and reaches out with careful
fingers to open the small drawer that squeaks and catches when he tugs on
it, because he only opens it once a year.

With a stuttered exhale, Sirius runs a finger over the snake pendant and
thickly whispers, "Happy birthday, Reggie."

Chapter End Notes

Pandora's here! Pandora's here! Yes, we do get more of her. We also

get more of the others as well, in the future. Also, I do headcanon that
Regulus is a super sweet, bubbly drunk who just wants to laugh and
cuddle and be with his favorite people and be warm; you can all pry
that from my cold, dead hands.
And ouch about the Black Brothers, huh? We do start to see more out
of them about each other in the upcoming chapters. These two are
painful and I love them 😭

I sincerely appreciate all the comments and feedback; I love hearing

from you all, so thank you so much! I'm on Tumblr @regulusbrainrot
if anyone is interested!
 Chapter 6
Chapter Notes

Okay, so this chapter comes with a few warnings.

To start, there's some spice but it's not explicit, just flowery really,
with the word cock thrown around a couple of times, but it's obvious
enough that you won't miss it. Rest assured, for those of you who do
not appreciate smut, there's no description of parts going anywhere
into anyone else.

Second, we have TWO big reveals this chapter. They may take you by
surprise, they may not.

Also, a character is accidentally outed in this chapter (genuinely an

accident and handled with care and IMMEDIATELY treated with the
respect it deserves). I will go into more depth in the end notes for those
of you who want to be warned beforehand, which is absolutely valid.

Also², we have some angst involving Daddy Issues, and a character

references past child abuse and being suicidal in the past, but it's not
discussed in explicit detail.

Oh, and there's some jealousy, so that's fun.

All of this makes it sound like this chapter is very heavy, but I assure
you it has its light and happy moments. You are more than welcome to
check the end notes for a more in depth description of some of the
heavier subjects in this chapter.
See the end of the chapter for more notes

"Why, we must stop meeting like this."

James grins at the unimpressed look on Regulus' face. Lupin snorts into a
cup of coffee, and Regulus sighs, leaning up against the till with his blank
expression firmly set. He's adorable, honestly, in his little tie and apron. He
changes colors of his tie every day he works. James sways in and kisses his
cheek before he can snatch away, even though Regulus hasn't tried to snatch
away in at least a week.

It's been two weeks—nearly three—since the night Regulus got pissed and
James slept over at his place. Since then, James has continued to come in
the shop every day that Regulus works, and they've been on five more
dates; they finally went to a musical, and they've also taken at least two
food tours, and James has taken Regulus flying twice more.

Regulus had retreated quite a bit after getting drunk, almost nearly reverting
exactly back to the way he was in the beginning, cold and distant. James
has patience saints would envy, though, and he wasn't lying about just being
happy to be with Regulus. He is, so he's more than content to watch with
fondness as Regulus slowly opens back up again, warmer and closer,
allowing himself to have the things he wants.

It's nice, though, that Regulus never denies that they're dating. He never
says outright that James is his boyfriend, but when James does, or Lupin
teases your boyfriend is here, Regulus doesn't argue it. Slowly,
authentically, Regulus is accepting all that James is desperate to give him.

"James," Regulus says flatly, "I work here. We are not meeting by chance.
You literally come here every day."
"I orchestrate my own fate," James replies cheerfully and reluctant
amusement sparks in Regulus' eyes.

"Ah," Lupin says suddenly, straightening up, and Regulus glances over
James' shoulder. The amusement fades from his eyes, replaced by irritation.
"You know—"

"Don't," Regulus cuts in quickly, and Lupin immediately snaps his mouth
shut like any loyal best friend would.

James swivels slightly to watch a man step into the shop, looking around
their age, but far more refined. He looks expensive, the same way James
likely could but has always chosen not to. He likes some of the finer things
in life, sure, but he's never cared to look wealthy. It's obvious that this man
does. Even his hair is perfect, dark and cropped in a swoop over his
forehead, not one strand out of place.

"Who's that?" James murmurs, because it's clear that Lupin or Regulus
know him, or both.

Lupin and Regulus share a look, and they do that silent communication
thing all best mates can do, except far more advanced than anyone James
has ever seen. Their expressions barely twitch, but it's as if they've carried
on a lengthy debate, one that ends with Lupin holding his hands up in
surrender.
"Oh, no one," Lupin says, far too casually, and Regulus' jaw clenches. "Just,
you know, the bloke that's been—"

"Shut up," Regulus hisses.

"Good morning," the man says as he steps up right beside James at the
counter. He speaks as if he's addressing everyone, but his eyes are on
Regulus, and Regulus alone.

"Richard," Lupin greets, just a bit too stiff and formal to come across as
genuine. The man—Richard—barely spares him a glance before dismissing
him.

Regulus releases a muted sigh and says, "What can I get for you?"

"Surely you know by now," Richard replies, flashing a charming smile, and
oh. Well, then.

The awareness prickles down James' spine, making him straighten up, eyes
snapping to Richard far more critical than moments prior. His distaste slams
into him hard, and fast, crawling up under his skin and burning in the center
of his chest. It's not jealousy; it's sudden and unexpected possessiveness that
James isn't at all prepared for.
It makes him want to gnash his teeth. It makes something shift in him and
go sharp. It makes him want to tuck Regulus out of sight, meet Richard's
gaze, and declare mine, he's mine, back off. He's never felt it before, not like
this, not so deeply.

"I don't memorize orders; that's not my job," Regulus says blandly, and his
voice is so flat that it'd be impossible to trip over. "What would you like?"

"You should smile more, you know," Richard muses, flicking his gaze over
Regulus with no shame. Looking his fill. "You'd look better if you smiled."

"Funnily enough, smiling is also not in my job description, and this may
surprise you, but I'm not here for your personal entertainment, and I've no
interest in how I could look better for you," Regulus states without even
batting an eye, seeming almost bored. "One more time, what's your order?"

Richard just chuckles, not looking put off in the slightest, his grin growing.
"You never fail to use that mouth of yours, do you, Regulus? I could find
better uses for it, I think."

"Excuse me," James says softly.

"James," Regulus cuts in, sharp, a warning.

James ignores him as Richard turns to him, and Lupin grins before taking a
slurping swallow of his drink, watching with rising interest. "Sorry,
Richard, was it?"

"Yes, and you are?" Richard asks.

"James," says James, even though he's aware—they're all aware—that

Richard heard Regulus say his name. "I can't help but notice that you're the
type not to take a hint, and really, I've been there...when I was a child,
because that level of delusion and stupidity is something you're meant to
mature out of, you see. You obviously haven't, but…" James rakes his gaze
up and down Richard, then arches an eyebrow. "Well, I imagine you've had
everything handed to you your whole life, and you've never heard a no
before, or just completely ignored it if you have. The problem is that you've
come into an establishment where people are employed and expected to be
nice, even to pricks who can't take a bloody hint."

Lupin chuckles merrily into his coffee while Richard narrows his eyes.
"Oh? And just who do you think you are?"

"Someone who doesn't work here and takes no issue with telling you to piss
off," James snaps.

"If I don't?" Richard challenges.

"You mean, if you continue to harass an employee with comments that—

trust me—aren't doing anything to make you more appealing?" James
shoots back.

"If he didn't like it, he could tell me himself."

"Oh, I think he's made that quite clear, but you remember, before? The
whole not taking a hint business? I know it must be difficult to retain
information even from five seconds ago with the size of your ego taking up
so much space to compensate for where your cock lacks, but it's alright,
chap, I'll walk you through it again if you need it."

Lupin sucks in a sharp breath, coughing on his drink, sputtering through a

wheezing laugh, and Richard goes puce with anger immediately.

"James," Regulus says sharply, and it's like James is abruptly smacked back
into himself, aware that his blood is pumping, boiling, and he's itching for a
fight in a way he hasn't since he was in school dealing with Snape. Regulus
leans forward and looks at Richard. "Terribly sorry about him. Please,
remind me what your order is, and I'll get you a muffin for free. James, go
sit in the lobby, would you?"

Nostrils flaring, James glares at the side of Regulus' face, but Regulus
outright ignores him. Richard looks very smug when James jerks away
from the counter to march into the lobby, where he throws himself down in
a chair and watches with mounting anger and frustration simmering in him
as Regulus appeases Richard, though never with a smile.
Richard lingers for a bit, chatting Regulus up, leering. Flirting. James isn't
sure how he doesn't break his teeth, he's grinding them so hard. Lupin darts
looks at Richard with visible dislike, then darts looks at James with
sympathy. Regulus gives Richard his whole focus, and eventually, finally,
Richard leaves. He smirks at James on his way out the door, and James
feels like he's going to explode.

"Need a fifteen?" Lupin asks as Regulus starts removing his apron with an
unruffled, calm air to him.

"Best make it twenty," is all Regulus says, reaching under the counter to
snag some keys, and Lupin's eyebrows fly up, but Regulus ignores him as
he moves around the counter, the keys swinging around his finger as he
heads for James. When he reaches him, he just holds out his hand. "Come
on."

"I'm rather angry at you at the moment," James tells him, an edge to his
tone, and this only earns him a quirked eyebrow.

Regulus wiggles his fingers, enticing him. "Yes, I know. Come with me
anyway. Please."

It's the please that does it. Regulus never says please. He hardly sounds like
he's pleading now, more like he's just aware what will work and not
ashamed to use it. In any case, despite his agitation, James exhales harshly
through his nose and slips his hand into Regulus', letting himself be tugged
to his feet.
James scowls as Regulus leads him across the lobby, then feels quite
strange when he's pulled behind the counter, which is odd. He's never been
on this side of it, and as someone who doesn't work here, he's a little uneasy
about it. Regulus just keeps leading him on, and Lupin lifts his coffee in a
salute as they move past, his eyes dancing with humor.

The door swings when they reach the back, and James peers around
helplessly, but Regulus doesn't even pause to let him look, just dragging
him further in until they reach a door that says employees only. Regulus
drops his hand to use the keys, pushing open the door to reveal a storage
cupboard stocked with bags of espresso beans and full, unopened bottles of
various pump-flavors. Regulus reaches back to pull him in, then shuts the
door behind them, flicking on a dull, overhead light and dropping the keys
on a shelf in one motion before he slides his hand past James to flip the
lock.

"Regulus," James says slowly, "what are you—"

"Richard has been coming in for a week, and he's only in the city for three
more days," Regulus informs him, calm, looking him right in the eye. "It's a
business trip, why he's here. In three days, he'll leave, and I'll never see him
again."

James blinks. "Alright?"

"So, he is not someone I've worried about enough to risk losing my job
over, simply to have a go at him for being, as you said, a prick who can't
take a hint."
"I—yeah, I get that, but you shouldn't have to tolerate—"

"James," Regulus says, "I decide what I will and will not tolerate from
anyone, do you understand?"

"Yes," James murmurs, because he does understand. He doesn't have to like

it; he just has to respect it.

Regulus gazes at him for a moment. "I didn't need you to defend me."

James sighs. "I know, but—"

"That being said," Regulus interrupts, "it was very satisfying watching you
insult his character, intelligence, and cock in the space of one breath. Very
satisfying, James."

"It was satisfying to do," James admits.

Regulus' lips twitch. "Yes, I could tell. Only, you don't seem nearly as
satisfied as I'd like at the moment."
"Well, what came after wasn't nearly as satisfying," James mumbles, trying
not to pout about it.

"I know. I'm going to make up for that now," Regulus says simply, then puts
his hand against James' chest and pushes him back against the door before
hitting his knees.

James jerks against the door, knocking his elbow into it, and he stares down
at Regulus with wide eyes. "What are you—"

"You're smart, James," Regulus murmurs, lips curling up further. "Even

Richard would be able to figure this one out."

"Don't—talk about Richard when you're—" James blows out a deep breath
and swallows, his heart racing. "I just—I—why? Do you even want—"

"I told you, I don't do things I don't want." Regulus reaches up with easy
confidence and tugs at the button on James' trousers, dragging the zipper
down. He pauses briefly and looks up to meet James' eyes. "Of course, if
you don't want—"

"I want," James chokes out. "Bloody hell, Regulus, I want."

"Before this happens, I want to be clear about something. I'm doing this
under false pretenses of a sort. You don't know everything there is to know
about me, and there are things I should tell you before I do this, but now is
not the place or the time, and I want to do it anyway." Regulus looks up at
him, holding his gaze. "I do plan to tell you, James, and you should know
that it may upset you later if I do this now before giving you all the
information. With that being said, I can stop, or I can keep going."

"Regulus, there's nothing I could learn about you that would upset me,"
James murmurs. "I—I mean, obviously, I still want you to, if you want to.
You don't need to worry I'll be angry. I'd never hurt you, no matter what you
would tell me."

"If you're sure," Regulus murmurs.

"I'm very sure," James whispers.

Regulus smiles at him, like he wouldn't for Richard, and then he goes right
back to it. James drops his head back against the door with a dull thunk,
chest heaving, hands flexing at his sides. He squeezes his eyes shut, and
then things go a bit fuzzy from the first moan that spills out of his mouth.

Almost devilishly, Regulus pins him to the door and has his way with him,
and James is putty in his hands in no time at all. He's swept up in a
torrential storm of pleasure and, god help him, he can't find his way back
out. He's lost, lost, lost. He wants, with every cell in his body, to never be
found.
James tries—he does try—to keep his wits about him, but he doubts he
manages it, only distantly aware like it's coming from very far away that
he's making noise, moans and whimpers and gasps of Regulus' name like an
oath. It all falls apart in him and around him, and then he reaches the eye of
the storm where everything is silent and still as the world rages on, one
point that drowns everything else out. He finds himself there, crying out
into the soundless void with the roar of the storm in his ears, shaking
through it until it all calms.

The storm passes, and James is still drenched in it, rattling in the aftermath
and trying to catch his breath. The second Regulus isn't holding him in
place, he slumps down shakily and slides down the length of the door,
needing a moment.

"Satisfied?" Regulus murmurs, resting back on his haunches as he drags his

thumb over his bottom lip. His mouth is swollen and red, slick, tempting.

"Love," James breathes out, reaching for him with one hand, and Regulus
comes to him with a quiet hum, something gently amused, tenderly fond.
James drags him close, nuzzling into his neck, peppering kisses along his
jaw.

"I'll take that as a yes," Regulus says, carding fingers through his hair,
settling in against him easily.

James wheezes out a high-pitched laugh, nodding against his shoulder, then
his hand drifts up Regulus' leg. "Can I…?"
"No," Regulus tells him, and James' hand instantly stops where it's at on his
outer thigh. "Not—I do want to, James, just not now. Not here. But I—I do
want you. Don't doubt that."

"Alright," James says and squeezes his leg. "Then can we just stay like this
for a bit?"

"Yes," Regulus agrees, and they do.

James sits right there and holds onto Regulus, touching him as much as he
can get away with, not pushing, just happy to feel him all over. He presses
soft kisses into his neck, then his cheek, then eventually his mouth. Kisses
him deep and slow and sweet, losing himself to that, too.

Regulus does pull away at some point, admitting he needs to go back to

work, and James suddenly remembers that Regulus is at work. He frets for a
bit until Regulus assures him that he won't get in trouble, Lupin will cover
for him, and all cameras have needed replacing for three years. James
relaxes, only to then feel like his face is going to melt off when he processes
that Regulus just did that at work. Regulus only chuckles softly, kisses him
once more, and leads him out.

"Nice break?" Lupin asks, clearly fighting for his life trying not to laugh at
both of them.

James, dazed still, smiles crookedly and ruffles his hair, an undeniable
spark in his eye. Regulus has the most amazing poker face, giving
absolutely nothing away, but James is aware that his face tells it all. Lupin
is laughing at them both, but for once, Regulus doesn't even pretend to be
upset about it.

"Come to mine after I'm off," Regulus tells James once he's on the other
side of the counter, and Regulus is sliding him his drink (which he did
memorize, so ha, Richard) and toffee pudding because he's wearing
orange.

"Yeah, alright," James says with a dopey smile, and then he stands there and
steals one, two, three kisses from Regulus across the counter, right on his
mouth, and Regulus stands right there and lets him do it.

Needless to say, there's a bounce in his step on his way out the door, and he
leaves the shop very satisfied.

James has schoolwork to do, and he has actual work (his parents pay him—
or their company pays him—to manage a few accounts and handle some
stuff online, most things he can do from the computer), so he does have
reasons to be busy all day. Sirius is out, likely at his studio, a theory
confirmed when he eventually comes bustling in with a streak of gold
across his chin. James doesn't pull himself away from work as Sirius begs
off for a shower, and Sirius doesn't bother him until he gets back out.
However, once he has…

"James!" Sirius gasps, and James is already trying so hard to stifle a grin
that he knows just looking at Sirius would ruin all his effort. "Oh, I know
that look, mate. But I thought—isn't your mean barista working today?"
James clears his throat and squints at his screen, trying to be as casual as
possible. "Yes, he is, why?"

"Oh my god," Sirius hisses. "Have you shagged your mean barista while he
was at work?!"

"No!" James bursts out, glancing over at him and shaking his head. "We
didn't—there was no shagging. We—well, he—"

Sirius leans in to push up James' glasses so he can stare directly into his
eyes, putting them so close that the very tip of their noses touch. He
examines James for a long moment, then leans back with a firm nod. "He
sucked your cock."

"How could you possibly know that?!" James yelps, tossing up his hands in
disbelief, and Sirius cackles.

"Oh, Prongs, what don't I know when I try hard enough?" Sirius reaches out
and pats his cheek. "Anyhow, there's so few options in a bloody coffee
shop, isn't there? Not much time. Not that many places to go. Only so much
any one man can do, even if he is quite creative. Good on you, mate. How
was it?"

"I'm not telling you that."

"You absolutely are, though you hardly need to; it's written all over your
face. Go on, then."

James wavers for only five seconds, then he squeezes his eyes shut and
helplessly breathes out, "His mouth…"

"Ha!" Sirius gives him a playful shove and kicks back on the sofa, grinning
at him when James peeks. "It's always the bloody mouth, isn't it? That's
how they get us. Moony's must be made of sin, I'm telling you. I'm
obsessed." He reaches back to put his hands behind his head, releasing a
deep, dreamy sigh of contentment. "You know, we've shagged in my studio
three times now. I think about him every time I paint."

"Is it very different with him than anyone else you've ever shagged?"

"Yeah. Even from the beginning, there's never been anyone like Moony. In
every way, and shagging."

"Right." James hums thoughtfully and goes back to his laptop, trying to
finish even as his mind drifts.

"But Moony is…" Sirius releases another sigh that James knows means he's
going to start rambling nonsense about his boyfriend for the next few
minutes. "You know, the moon is different from stars because it's something
solid, something steady, but stars are heat and energy, and they can burn
themselves up. The moon's core is iron, James. I… Oh, what was I going to
do? I never—I never stood a chance. I hardly had a choice, really. It's like
I've always had this love in me, made just for him, waiting for him—and
he's here, and I've always loved him. I loved him before my heart was even
formed in the womb. I was always going to love him. I—"

"Sorry," James cuts in, staring at him, "not that that wasn't all wonderful
and poetic—but love, Sirius? You're in love? You've fallen in love?"

Sirius squints open one eye, peeking at him, and he aims for overly casual
as he mumbles, "Oh, yes, might've done. Didn't I mention that?"

"You did not, you wankstain!" James yelps, shoving his laptop aside to dive
at Sirius, who immediately shrieks and then starts laughing like a madman.
They wrestle around until James' glasses get lost among the cushions and
Sirius' hair is a terrible mess caught between wet and dry around his head.

They call it a truce when James captures Sirius in a headlock, because

Sirius would honestly pass out before he ever gave in, and they both know
it. James locates his glasses, Sirius tries (and fails) to fix his hair, and then
they stare at each other. Sirius arches an eyebrow and fixes an unimpressed
look on his face that's supposed to make James laugh, because it usually
would, but James feels his breath catch and his stomach swoop because it
reminds so viscerally of Regulus that his body simply responds. Sirius
blinks, then raises both eyebrows.

"Prongs, I know romance makes you randy, but this is a bit far, even for
you," Sirius says, his eyebrows steadily climbing.
"No, I—sorry, you just made me think of him, is all," James admits
sheepishly, and Sirius laughs so hard he wheezes, pressing the back of his
wrist to his mouth as he shakes right there on the sofa. James whacks him
gently on the leg. "Oh, shut up, would you?"

"Alright, alright," Sirius gives in, once he's calmed down enough. He
slumps back into the sofa. "You'd think you'd be calmer after this morning.
When are you seeing him again?"

"He asked me to come by his flat later."

"Oh, did he now? Get in, James."

"That doesn't mean—"

"It absolutely means. Remember, be safe, you always have to—"

"Sirius."

"No, this is important, James. Safe sex is important. Tell me he didn't just
slob on your knob without any protec—"
James sighs and turns to look right at him. "Yes, because we don't—need it.
He has clean test results on his bloody stand beside his bed, and I saw it the
night I stayed over, alright? It felt like an invasion of privacy or something,
so I just...er, well, I took a picture of mine and showed it to him and tried to
apologize for having eyes, I suppose, and he called me an idiot and we
never talked about it again, but we know, you know?"

"What if you get him pregnant?" Sirius whispers, then grins when James
rolls his eyes. "Oh, I was joking. In any case, enjoy shagging your mean
barista."

James snorts, but goes back to his laptop to finish up while he and Sirius
tease each other, bickering playfully, jumping from one subject to the next.
They actually end up leaving the flat around the same time, funnily enough,
because Sirius' Moony has gotten off work and plans to meet Sirius at some
pub they frequent. Out on the street, James and Sirius salute each other,
wink, then split off in opposite directions.

On the way to Regulus', James catches up in the group chat (Alice and
Mary had a conversation about the dangers of pasta at two in the morning),
checks social media (comments hearts on Sirius' latest picture of his
motorbike, likes Lily's picture of her showing off her new skirt, retweets
Marlene's post about how it's not fair that babies are expected to scream in
public and it's frowned upon when she does it), and replies to all clogged
messages he might've missed during the day (agrees to get lunch with Peter
tomorrow, tells his mum his Netflix password, and lets Regulus know he's
on the way over).

By the time he makes it to Regulus' door, he's suitably distracted by what

took place this morning and Sirius' pointed comments, so he's quite calm
when the door swings open. He smiles as soon as he sees Regulus, like a
reflex, and it's like every other smile James gives him. No expectations; just
the honest, earnest response to simply seeing him.

"Have you eaten?" Regulus asks as he steps aside, letting James move
inside, not even turning away from the quick kiss that James drops off on
his cheek in passing.

"Had a toastie earlier, but that was before lunch. I got a bit caught up with
work." James inhales as Regulus brushes past him, leading him towards the
kitchen. He groans loudly on his exhale. "Oh, what is that? Regulus, that
smells amazing."

"Tomato Consomme and Smoked Ricotta Tortelli," Regulus murmurs as he

enters the kitchen. He pauses and glances back at James, an eyebrow
arched. "It's Italian."

"I never would have guessed," James says, grinning, and Regulus rolls his
eyes as he turns back around. "How long have you been home?"

"Just a little over two hours. The food is almost done, by the way. Take
some wine glasses to the table, would you?"

"Yes, love. I'll get right on that, love. Anything for—"

Regulus cuts him a narrow-eyed glare that makes James press his lips
together to smother his laugh. James is quite brave, actually, because he
sweeps further into the kitchen and steps up behind Regulus to wrap his
arms around his front, nosing at the spot behind his ear, inhaling the smell
of him and the lovely scents of the nearly-finished meal. Regulus huffs, but
he also relaxes back into him almost immediately.

"The wine glasses," Regulus mumbles, his head lulling to the side as James
kisses down the slope of his neck.

"They'll be there when I get to them," James mumbles back, his words
muffled into skin. "You're more important."

Regulus' head falls back against James' shoulder, and when James peeks,
his eyes are shut and his lips are parted. He's divine. He looks like a
reckoning personified, sharp angles softened, something otherworldly and
magnificently human all at once, the undiscovered beauty of him and the
flush in his cheeks. James is mesmerized by him, greedy with wanting,
mouth on his skin and hands mapping out the dimensions of his body. He's
the chaos and the calm of a storm.

With a harsh, stuttered exhale, Regulus all but flings himself out of James'
arms, side-stepping rapidly away as he drags one hand through his hair.
"James."

"Yes. Sorry," James blurts out, clearing his throat. He takes a step back.
"Sorry about—that. I'll...get the glasses now."
James does, in fact, get the glasses. He takes them over to the table where a
bottle of wine is already sitting, along with two cool glasses of water,
clearly refreshing enough that condensation has built on the outside, some
slipping down to drip on the coaster. James shakily takes his glass and
downs half of it. His mouth is so terribly dry.

Regulus follows him to the table, setting it with stilted movements, not
looking James in the eye as he lays out the meal and pours the wine. James
can barely look at him either, his face feeling hot, his whole body itchy with
the tingles running under his skin. See, he was calm before, but all it took
was one moment of having Regulus in his arms, wearing an expression of
pure bliss, and James is very far from calm now.

Fortunately, the first bite takes his focus. He falls a little slack in the chair,
groaning as the flavor explodes in his mouth. He's had very good food
before, he truly has, but Regulus has honest talent. This is the sort of meal
you pay a steep price for, just for quality and taste alone. It makes James
savor every second of every bite, mourning the loss when he swallows.

It's only the second time Regulus has cooked for him, and he looks at James
the same way he did the first, eyes sharp and fixated as he roughly asks,
"Good?"

"This—you—Regulus, Regulus," James whispers in a rush.

"Stop looking at me like that," Regulus hisses. His face is flushed as a soft
breath punches out of him, and he's strangling his fork as he stares down at
his plate. "I'm not letting this meal go to waste, James. Eat your fucking
food."

"I'm not letting this meal go to waste, are you joking?" James sputters,
staring at him incredulously. He waves his fork at Regulus. "Stay over
there. Keep your hands to yourself. Don't you dare interrupt me."

"Well, if you'd stop being—" Regulus makes a face and gestures to him
almost vigorously.

"Me? Yes, love. I'll get right on that, love. Anything for you, love," James
offers, and Regulus scowls.

James huffs out a hoarse laugh and ducks his head to hide a grin. He really
doesn't plan to waste a bite, so he focuses on eating and not the person
across from him. They do not speak, or look at each other, and the tension is
still so thick that James feels like he's pushing against it every time he
reaches for his wine. Regulus is breathing in a very deliberate way,
measured, and James' leg is bouncing underneath the table.

The last bite draws a moan out of James mouth, both because of the taste
and the fact that he's free to look at Regulus all he likes. There's a clatter of
Regulus' fork hitting his empty plate, and they both look up at the same
time, freezing in place for one tense second, and then Regulus abruptly
stands up.
"I need to—there's something I need to talk to you about. I've been meaning
to. It's very important," Regulus says stiffly.

"Alright," James replies carefully.

Regulus nods sharply. "On the sofa. The dishes can wait."

"Right," James agrees, mostly on autopilot at this point. He needs a moment

before he can stand (the reason why is utterly ridiculous, has he no self-
control?), but he does eventually follow Regulus to the sofa, where they sit
with an entire cushion between them, deliberately spaced apart.

"James," Regulus says, then stops, his mouth pressed into a harsh, unhappy
line.

James doesn't want Regulus to be unhappy, doesn't like it, so he nervously

ruffles his hair and mumbles, "We don't have to talk about whatever it is if
you'd rather not."

"It really is very important," Regulus grits out. "Quite important, if we're
going to shag."

"Well, if—I mean, you're obviously not pleased about it, so we don't have to
shag," James says simply, because that's the most obvious solution, isn't it?
Regulus stares at him for a beat, and then he says, "The issue, James, is that
if we don't shag, I'm going to actually, genuinely go mad. I'll never know
peace. I don't know peace now."

"Oh," James breathes out, gazing at him, heart thundering away in his chest.
His fingers twitch against his knees.

"Stop—don't look at me like that," Regulus whispers.

"How am I looking at you?" James murmurs.

"Like—like that, and you can't—you can't keep doing that to me, James,
because I'll—I'll—" Regulus releases a groan of defeat and shoves himself
forward, reaching out for James even as he crawls across the space between
them.

James falls into him, breathless, and croaks, "Regulus, can I—"

Regulus is kissing him before he ever finishes, and James surges into it with
a moan of triumph. His hands fly up to grip Regulus' sides, dragging him
closer, shuddering at the feeling of a hand in his hair and a tongue in his
mouth. Regulus' hand, Regulus' tongue. The earth-shattering sensation of
him.
He tastes like wine. Rich and slightly bitter from the elements of tannin, an
undercurrent of spice that enhances the heady, rounded flavor of the meal
they both shared. His mouth is hot, and James is lightheaded from the rush
of warmth it transfers through his veins. Regulus leans into him, one hand
gripping his arm tight, fingers spasming as his nails dig in and release
intermittently. He cups the curve of James' skull, fingers clenching in his
hair, holding him in place.

Regulus crowds in closer, and James has him, James helps him; hooks a
hand in the bend of his knee and hauls him in, legs straddling James' thigh.
The kiss breaks just so Regulus can choke out a soft, broken moan, his hand
leaving James' hair to grip his other arm. James leans away, breathing hard,
watching as Regulus' head falls back, his eyes shut. James is rapt, in awe,
because Regulus in the throes of pleasure is immaculate.

James is captivated and eager to help, so he slides his hands to Regulus'

hips, urging him to move, fixated on the wash of candid feeling passing on
Regulus' face. Regulus grips his arms tighter, whimpering, no finesse to
how he shifts.

"Oh," Regulus whines, rocking against James in a particular way that makes
him tremble and immediately do it again.

"Christ, Regulus," James breathes out, raspy, rough. He can't look away,
won't, refuses to even fucking blink. He's not missing one second of this;
never has he seen such beauty, so much that it steals his breath and enchants
him.
"James. James, James, James," Regulus chants, his voice getting tight and
high, his movements sporadic and desperate. It's as James slips his hand up
Regulus' shirt, over his stomach, that it all changes in a split second.

Faster than James thought was possible, Regulus throws himself backwards
and to the side, gasping for air as he reaches up to press a shaky hand to his
chest. He stares at James with wide eyes, mouth wet and open, his legs
clamped together. James blinks rapidly, at a loss, mouth hanging open.

"I—" James swallows. "Sorry. Did I—did I do some—"

"That's never happened to me before," Regulus blurts out, staring at him in

disbelief. "I've never—not once have I ever even came close to—to—"

"Getting off?" James asks.

Regulus huffs out an incredulous laugh. "That's never happened. That's—"

"You've never been with—"

"No, I have."
"Regulus," James says, distressed, "please don't tell me you've been with
people who didn't—who never—"

"I just faked it," Regulus tells him, and James wilts a little bit, staring at him
in despair.

"How do you even fake—" James shakes his head quickly, twisting around
the scoot closer to Regulus. "No, nevermind that. Just don't fake anything
with me, alright? And please, I'm begging you, let me make you feel good.
Let me—"

"I'm not saying that it—I mean, it could feel good without me getting off,"
Regulus mutters, his face collapsing into a scowl of irritation. "And how
unobservant are you, James, really? Because I didn't—well, did you notice
anything at all while I was riding your bloody thigh?"

"Um." James clears his throat. "Well, I was a bit distracted by you, honestly.
Sorry, what was I meant to be noticing, exactly?"

"James," Regulus snaps, "I don't have a cock."

"Do you really not?" James asks, startled, automatically looking down in
pure reflex. It takes him a second to actually register Regulus' words and
process them, and then his gaze snaps back up. Regulus is too still, his face
blank, and James blinks again. "That did escape my notice, actually."
"That's what I was meant to tell you before we—" Regulus heaves a sigh
and deflates against the sofa a bit, his shoulders slumping. "I'm trans,
James."

James holds his gaze and calmly says, "Alright. I'm honored that you
trusted me enough to tell me that."

"Oh, don't—" Regulus groans, his face screwing up as he rolls his head to
the side, his hand balling into a fist. "Of course you would say that. You
probably mean it, too."

"I do," James says slowly, admittedly bewildered. "Sorry, would you like
me to...say something else?"

"You're not even the tiniest bit peeved off that I've kept this from you and
still dated you?" Regulus asks, turning his head to frown at him.

"No?" James is baffled. He blinks at Regulus, then clicks his tongue. "Oh,
come on, love. It's not about—I already told you, Regulus, it's about you,
yeah? You didn't 'keep this from me'; it's not information I'm entitled to.
You told me when you trusted me enough to tell me. And I'm happy you do,
now."

Regulus' face twitches. "You don't think you're entitled to it, considering
we're dating?"
"Regulus," James says firmly, and Regulus relents for once, his gaze
dropping. "Do you know me at all? It's not some trick. I'm with you. I want
to be with you. This? It's just another part of you I'm grateful to know. My
god, I adore you, don't you know that by now?"

"Most people…" Regulus swallows, looking up at James through his

eyelashes. "The people I've shagged, they know beforehand. None of them
knew me, some didn't even know my name, but I made sure they knew that.
I've never dated anyone before but you, and I should have told you, James,
I should have. Because it can go badly when I haven't, and you could have
reacted—it—I should have told you before we even did anything. I'm sorry
you didn’t know this. No one who really knows me does."

James' eyebrows furrow. "Lupin?"

"No."

"Pandora?"

"Oh, well...she does," Regulus admits with a grimace. "She knew me before
I transitioned. She also just—figured it out about me, I suppose. She was
the first person who ever knew, but she also doesn't know me, really, not
yet."

"Hm," James hums, a lot of things clicking into his mind slowly and all at
once. Things Regulus has said. His ex-fiance not recognizing him. Him
looking different from when he was eighteen. Him pretending to be
someone he wasn't in school.

"James," Regulus whispers. When James looks at him, he has that open,
vulnerable expression on his face that tugs at every single one of James'
heartstrings, a look so dejected and sad that it makes James want to hit his
knees begging for forgiveness or tear the world apart to fit it in his palms
and offer it to Regulus, if that would fix it. "This doesn't change anything,
does it? For you, I mean."

James would laugh at the sheer ridiculousness of such a question if it wasn't

for the fact that Regulus is sincerely asking because he doesn't know. He
genuinely doesn't know and has to ask, and that's quite possibly one of the
most tragic things that James has ever encountered, a travesty that shakes
him at his core. He feels, inexplicably, as if he's failed Regulus by giving
him room to doubt, but he's also aware that this is more the failings of
general society.

It puts this desperate need to comfort, to reassure, within James until he's
all but crawling across the sofa to capture Regulus' face in his hands as he
whispers with ferocity he didn't know he was capable of, "This changes
nothing, love. How I feel about you now is no different than how I felt
about you yesterday and no different than how I will feel about you always.
Please believe that, Regulus."

A soft sound crawls up Regulus' throat, and he pitches forward into James
so that they're kissing, gentle and sure, curling into each other like the
streak of sunlight chasing a storm.
It blooms between them slowly, unfurling naturally, heat and desire building
until their only choices are to either stop or keep going, and Regulus
whispers, "Do you—do you want—"

"Yes," James says earnestly. "Please. I—I want to make you feel good,
Regulus."

"You do. You always do, almost too good," Regulus tells him shakily,
moving with James as James moves with him, the both of them shifting into
the promise of the position they were in before. Regulus has his mouth on
James' again in seconds.

It's beautiful, really, how they lose themselves in each other. There's no
stopping this time, and James feels like he could fly apart from the force of
Regulus falling apart against him, his pleasure rebounding back on James
like a running circuit. Every whine and moan and whispered name slipping
from Regulus' mouth like he can't help it is echoed back from James, and
they're lost, lost, lost. Carried away.

They find their way back together, and James just holds him, breathing him
in, never wanting to let go. Regulus tucks himself close, his rapid breathing
spilling over James' throat, slowly calming. James rubs his hands up and
down Regulus' back, fingers swiping reverently over cloth, all too aware
that he has something precious under his palms.

James closes his eyes and is so very thankful of the storm that led him to
Regulus. He'd been outrunning it, only to find shelter in the storm of the
man in his arms now.
He's never been so grateful for the rain.

Remus isn't expecting it, is the thing. The sudden and blindsiding sight of
his father. Here, in this bar, sharing a pint with what looks like a business
associate.

Lyall always strikes an imposing figure. Remus inherited his height from
his dad, but the gentleness he carries within him comes entirely from his
mum. Lyall is all hard lines and tunnel vision, never one to be distracted,
never one to soften out of his own machinery. He walks through life like it
is a mission, not a gift. Lyall Lupin does not stop to smell the roses; he
doesn't even see them bloom.

Remus is standing up from his seat before he even realizes it, and Sirius
says, "Moony?"

There is no answer that Remus could truly offer him, so he doesn't try. He
just turns and heads right for Lyall, only distantly aware that Sirius is
scrambling to follow him, sounding concerned when he says his name
again.

"Excuse me, sorry to interrupt," Remus declares as he comes to a halt next

to Lyall and the man he's drinking with, and he's not sorry at all. He can
hear the edge to his own tone and only then realizes that he's angry. "Hi,
Dad."

Lyall blinks at him as if he can't quite fathom why his son is standing front
of him. Maybe he's forgotten that he has a son at all. "Remus," he says, then
he glances at the other man with a frown. "Terribly sorry. This is—" He
glances back at Remus again, sighing. "Remus, I'm in the middle of
something quite important for work, so if you would—"

"If I would what?" Remus asks sharply. "Go another six years without
hearing from you?"

"That's a bit of an exaggeration," Lyall says. "My assistant checks in with

you every few months."

Remus scoffs. "Yes, your assistant, but never you? Funny thing, that, but
your assistant isn't actually my dad, in case that happened to escape your
notice."

"Don't be unreasonable, Remus," Lyall says placidly, never raising his

voice, never caring enough to. "You know I'm not good with phones and
technology and such. My assistant does it for me, and I'm a busy man with
so little time to—"

"Yes, yes, you're always busy," Remus snaps, flicking his gaze to the other
man, who looks uncomfortable. "And who is this? Another client you're
meant to fluff up and convince to fall prey to capitalism and the ever-
present corporate ladder you never quite figured out how to stop
climbing?"

"Terribly sorry," Lyall repeats to the man, and the worst part, he genuinely
sounds it. Like he has to apologize for Remus being there. Like his son is an
embarrassment. "Don't mind him. We'll just go to where I'd originally
proposed to finish our meeting. I'll cover the drinks."

"Dad," Remus says, and Lyall heaves a sigh before looking at him, but he's
not even really looking at him at all. He's looking right at Remus, but he
doesn't see him. He's never seen him. He can't, doesn't know how to, and
maybe he doesn't want to.

"Remus, really," Lyall says, "I don't have the time—"

Remus takes a step back and jolts a little bit when he bumps into Sirius,
who places a warm hand on his back. Remus leans into him and swallows
thickly. "No. No, we were just going. Sorry to bother, Dad. Good luck with
your—meeting."

"My assistant will be in touch," Lyall tells him, sighing heavily again.
"When I have the time, we can discuss—"

"Don't bother," Remus croaks. "We both know you never have the time,
being a busy man and all, and I'd hate to keep being an inconvenience for
you. Assign your assistant to something you actually care about, why don't
you?"
"Remus," Lyall says, but that's all he says, and he doesn't raise his voice to
say anything else as Remus turns around and walks away, his breath high
and thin in his throat.

Remus doesn't realize Sirius hasn't followed until he hears him speak up
behind him, his voice soft with—pity? "I feel sorry for you." Remus turns
around, and Sirius is just staring right at Lyall like he actually does pity
him. "I feel sorry for you, Mr. Lupin, because you have no idea what an
incredible person your son is, how rare it is to know anyone as special as
him. He's a true marvel, you know, but—you don't know, and I feel sorry
for you. Because you're missing out on one of the best things this world is
lucky enough to have. You had a part in creating the most wonderful person
I've ever known, and you don't even know it, and I feel sorry for you."

Sirius just shakes his head like he's genuinely disappointed for Lyall, and he
turns away to step up beside Remus, slipping an arm around him to lead
him out of the bar. Remus glances back only once and sees Lyall staring
after them, his eyebrows furrowed, looking more awake than he has in
years. Remus turns back around and leans into Sirius the whole way.

It's dusky out, on the cusp of getting late, but it's clear. Sirius pauses next to
his bike, trying to catch his gaze for a moment, but Remus can't look at him.
He just ducks his head, and Sirius uses the motion to put his helmet on him.
There's a gentle kiss pressed into the bolt of his jaw, and then Sirius is
settling on his bike, waiting for Remus to get on behind him.

Remus does.
When Remus was a young boy, he found an appreciation for books because
there was something definitive about a story. It has a beginning, a middle,
and an end. He can know it all the way through, from the very first page to
the last. Something about it comforted him—and still does—that he can
pick up a book and find familiarity in the words waiting for him, a home on
paper worn by cherished hands.

Even a book he hated from the very first page is a book that he would read
through to the very last, because he can't leave it unfinished. Remus doesn't
know how to leave anything where it's better off left sometimes, not even
for his own good. He never leaves well enough alone. It's this clawing,
ravenous beast in him that he can't free himself from, a snarling creature
desperate to chase down everything and consume it all, running and running
and running from himself. No matter how far Remus goes, he is still
accompanied by his own shadow, his own beast, and he's never finished. It
eats him alive sometimes, the uncompleted shape of himself, and he's not
sure if he ever really began at all.

Remus was sixteen years old when he woke up to find a pristine copy of To
the Lighthouse by Virginia Woolf on his nightstand, completely untouched.

"Mum," Remus had said that morning, carrying the book to the table where
breakfast was already made.

"Yes, dear?" Hope asked, sparing him a tiny, distracted smile.

"Did you get me this book?" Remus murmured, because most of the books
he had, he got on his own—but he couldn't imagine who else would get it
for him.

Hope merely shook her head and said, "No. Your father got it as a gift from
a client, and he had no interest in reading it, doubted he'd have the time, but
we know you like to read. He left it for you."

"Oh." Remus had swallowed and gripped the book tighter, staring at it. "Is
—is Dad still here?"

"Mm, no, he had a meeting this morning," Hope had said, then turned
around and started humming, and Remus looked down at that book and
swore to never, ever read it.

Two hours later, he was curled up out in the meadow behind his house,
resting against his favorite tree, and reading every word with his breath
constantly caught in his throat.

To want and not to have, sent all up her body a hardness, a hollowness, a
strain. And then to want and not to have - to want and want - how that
wrung the heart, and wrung it again and again! Remus had read, and it had
resonated, had struck him right at his center as he shivered with it—that
hardness, that hollowness, that strain. All that want that wrung his heart,
and he'd thought, then, that he'd never know anything else.
That book had made him cry. Made him lay out in the grass and stare up at
the sky, not entirely tethered to the earth, floating out somewhere beyond.
He read it, and read it again, and read it so much that he could quote it. He
still can, and he still has the book now, the spine broken and the pages soft
from where his fingers have eased all the stiffness away.

He thought about it for a long time—still thinks about it, even now—but he
was never sure that Lyall Lupin would have ever gotten past the first page.

Remus used to be furious about it, but now—well, maybe Sirius was right.
Maybe it is sad. Maybe it makes complete sense to look at Lyall and feel
sorry for him for all the ways he'll never know what it is to want anything.

But Remus? Oh, Remus wants everything. He wants the world and every
hidden nook and cranny of it, from the edge of one sea to the edge of the
next. He wants to stir his fingers through the sky like he's drawing in the
sand; gather up the stars like he's ripping blades of grass from the ground
and tossing them above his head, watching them rain down, soft and
glowing as they ruffle his hair and get lost in the collar of his sweater; tip
out his tongue to capture the rattling energy of a lightning bolt the same
way one attempts to taste a snowflake, the ozone melting against his teeth,
the crackling shock making his throat buzz as his heart swells, and swells,
and swells.

Remus wants it all, and he knows—he's so painfully, viscerally aware—that

no one can have it. No one can truly have it. No one can ever really, really
be finished; there's always so much more. But Virginia Woolf—well. She
had something to say about that, too.
What is the meaning of life? That was all- a simple question; one that
tended to close in on one with years, the great revelation had never come.
The great revelation perhaps never did come. Instead, there were little daily
miracles, illuminations, matches struck unexpectedly in the dark; here was
one.

Remus buries his face into Sirius' neck, clinging to him, the rush of the
wind just as much of a passenger as he, and yes, here was one. Here is one.
Here he is, that flash of light in the dark, the lightning striking the ground.

The bike slows to a stop and cuts off, but Sirius can't get off until Remus
lets him go, except Remus isn't letting him go. Instead, Remus is holding
onto him and crying and wishing, deeply and desperately, that he wasn't.
Sirius braces his feet on the ground, and one of his hands comes up to cover
the tight tangle of Remus' fingers locked around his waist, gently squeezing
them, protecting them.

"Sweetheart," Sirius says gently.

"Just—a moment, please," Remus says thickly, his eyes burning, his throat
clogged.

Sirius reaches up with his free hand to remove his helmet, then reaches
back to fumble with Remus' to get it off, too. He hangs each one off the
handles, then leans back into Remus with basically all of his weight, both
arms coming down to settle on top of Remus'. Between the both of them,
they keep the bike upright, and they don't move for a long time.
Remus keeps his face buried into Sirius' hair and neck, breathing him in. He
smells like leather and sharp, acidic undercurrent of paint, a little bit of
nature and a little bit of art, the wild and the unfathomable. Remus has
never been comforted by anything like he is by this. By Sirius.

They stay like that, and Sirius doesn't complain, doesn't break the silence,
doesn't do anything but offer himself up to Remus' arms without a word, as
if it requires no terms or discussion. Unconditional. Instinctive.

It's Remus, in the end, who has to pull away. He loosens his hold and rocks
them both forward, slipping his arms free to scrub both hands over his face.
Crying makes him feel very fucking stupid, honestly, and he—well, he
simply doesn't do it, really. The last time was a year after his mum died
when he visited her grave, and it had spilled from him like a bursting
faucet, because he missed her, he did miss his mum, and he would always
have to miss his mum in a worse way than he'd been missing her his whole
life.

He didn't go back after that.

Sirius props his bike on the stand and swings himself off, turning towards
him with this tender, careful wrinkle between his eyebrows and something
so unbearably soft in his eyes that Remus wants to retreat from it
immediately. He doesn't need to be coddled. He won't be coddled.

"Don't do that," Sirius murmurs, stepping closer to him, nearly spilling over
with how much he cares, and it grates across Remus' skin like sandpaper.
"Don't hide from me, Remus. There's nothing—absolutely nothing to be
ashamed of."

"You're a hypocrite, you know that?" Remus snaps, and Sirius shrinks back
a little bit, which only makes Remus even angrier somehow. "All you do is
hide from me, Sirius. I suppose you do have things to be ashamed of, is that
it?"

Sirius presses his lips into a thin line. "Yeah, actually, it is."

"Well, fuck off, who made you the one to decide what we're supposed to be
ashamed of, or not?" Remus says. "You don't get to do that. You don't get to
demand to see me, to promise me everything, and show me nothing."

"This isn't about me."

"It's about me, then? It always has to be about me, doesn't it? Never about
you; never anything other than what you want it to be about."

"Remus," Sirius says carefully, "you're upset—"

Huffing out a bitter laugh, Remus tilts his head back and stares up at the
sky. "Hear that? I'm upset. I'm bloody upset. You know, Sirius, I fucking
wonder why."
"I am trying to avoid a fight right now, you know, but you make that
awfully fucking difficult," Sirius grits out.

"Oh, I know exactly how to start a fight with you," Remus tells him,
dropping his head forward to glare at him. "All I have to do, see, is hint that
I want to know anything with actual substance about you, and you're
lashing out. So simple."

Sirius narrows his eyes. "Are you looking for a fight, then? Is that what you
want?"

It is, but Remus would rather die than admit it, than admit that he's pushing,
he's always pushing, the snarling beast in his chest itching to sink its teeth
in something and clamp down, no matter how much it struggles—hopes,
even, that it'll struggle harder. "Well, Sirius, maybe it wouldn't be a bloody
fight if you actually fucking—"

"What the hell do you want to know?!" Sirius shouts, flinging his hands out
like he's presenting himself, his eyes blazing with something that makes
Remus want to bounce, to take off running and do laps, something howling
in him in pure agreement, his own chest breaking open in perfect tandem
with Sirius'. He's spilling over, too; he wants both of them to spill over
together. "Where shall I start, Remus? Where it all went wrong? Well, you
see, I was fucking born—"

"A bit early, that," Remus says, because he's awful, he's so fucking awful
when he's angry, when he's hurt.
Sirius barks a laugh, and it's not like it usually is; it's harsh and brittle and
cold. "You wanted to know, didn't you? That's where it starts. I was born to
a horrible fucking excuse for a human being, let alone a mother, who spent
the next sixteen years of my life making it a living Hell. Is that what you
want to know, Remus? That my mother used to beat me? That I hated that
house, that life, so fucking much that I used to daydream about dying? You
want to know, sweetheart, really?"

"Sirius," Remus says, suddenly not angry anymore, not at all. Regret and
guilt shoves all the fury, all the hurt, right out of his body with a swiftness
that makes him feel ill.

"No, no, you asked!" Sirius snarls, laughing, and there's a wild gleam in his
eyes now. "You wanted to know so badly, so I'll fucking tell you. The
family that took me in at sixteen? They didn't just invite me into their home;
I showed up on their doorstep, bloody and bruised, after my darling mother
hit me, and stabbed me, and made it very fucking clear that I'd never escape
that horrible, terrible family. And the worst part? I thought I had, I thought
that leaving was the escape, but she was right. I didn't escape. I never can,
because I'm just like them. Cursed. A fucking force of destruction that
ruins, and ruins, and ruins. I can be just as cruel, just as vindictive, just as
angry and hateful and insane. And you're going to see; you will, Remus,
and then—and then you'll—"

"Sirius," Remus repeats in a whisper, his heart clenching.

"You'll leave," Sirius states, his voice hollowed and certain, his arms falling
limply at his sides. "You'll leave, Moony, and the thing is—I can't even
blame you. If I could, I'd leave me, too. But I will blame you. I'll hate you
for it. I already hate you for it, because I—I don't want you to go. I was
trying so hard, so fucking hard, to keep it together, to do it right so I could
keep you. I want to keep you. I—I—"

Remus steps forward with such urgency that he almost trips, and he reaches
up to frame Sirius' face in his hands, his mouth running away from him
when it usually never does, but he's so glad that it is now. "No. No, I'm not
—Sirius, I'm not going anywhere. I told you; I'm right here. You have me."

"You can't—you absolutely can't accept all of me, then leave, Remus,"
Sirius rasps. "It'll destroy me. If I ruin this, you'll ruin me. So, don't—please
don't—"

"I won't. I couldn't. Come here, you idiot," Remus whispers, curling his
hand around the nape of Sirius' neck to pull him in, pressing warm kisses to
his mouth, short and full of promise, doing it again and again and again. He
mumbles, "As if I could ever," and doesn't finish, too lost in pressing the
words unspoken into Sirius' waiting and wanting lips. He breathes out,
"How could you even think," and doesn't finish that either, pulling Sirius in
so that they'd be easy to stitch together. He wants them to be stitched
together, as if that could reassure the both of them, absolve them of their
fears.

"You can't. You can't, Moony. You can't. I might actually kill you, and then
myself," Sirius gasps out against his lips.
"Don't joke about that," Remus mumbles, then kisses him harder, and Sirius
melts into him. Remus kisses him until they're both dizzy from it, clutching
at each other for balance, for some kind of anchor to earth. Sirius is
shaking, and Remus pulls back enough to open his eyes, waiting for Sirius
to do the same so they can gaze at each other. "But thank you for putting it
in that order. Me first. I'd hate to spend even one second in this world
without you in it."

Sirius exhales harshly like he's been punched, and he sounds wrecked when
he whispers, hoarse and honest, like the words have been wrenched from
the core of him, "What would I be without you? That's just it. I wouldn't."

"I told you, I'm right here," Remus murmurs, rubbing his thumb across
Sirius' cheek. The next words fall out simple, easy, nearly distracted as he
tucks a stubborn strand of Sirius' hair behind his ear. "I love you, you know,
so where will I go? Where could I go to get away from that? There's
nowhere I could go. It'll be there even in my next life, I think."

"Oh, Moony. My lovely, gorgeous Moony," Sirius says softly, rearing back
to stare at him with his eyes lighting up, breath stuttering out of him.
"You've no idea what you've just done, have you? You've gone and done it
now, sweetheart. I'll never, never let you go, not for anything."

Remus quirks a smile. "That was the plan, if you recall."

"Do you really?" Sirius asks curiously, and Remus' smile turns a bit
bemused. Sirius laughs softly. "Remus, you've just informed me that you
love me. Did you miss that?"
"Oh. Suppose I did, yeah," Remus admits, blinking. His smile turns
sheepish. "But I do. Really."

"We need to go inside now," Sirius announces firmly, gripping Remus' arm
and hauling him inside with surprising force that he hasn't really ever used
before.

They barely make it into the flat, honestly, and Remus can only hope no one
else is home. He doesn't quite care if someone is, at this point, and Sirius
certainly doesn't seem to mind. They go stumbling through the rooms,
crashing into things and losing clothes along the way, finding their way to
Sirius' room between getting lost in each other.

Remus practically tosses Sirius onto his bed, following him down, gasping
out, "You love me, too, you know."

"Oh, absolutely," Sirius agrees breathlessly, and Remus believes him,

knows it down to his marrow, to each vibrating cell, feeling where Sirius
has stowed his love away into him.

Remus is going to take such good care of it.

They don't resurface for quite some time, and Remus is electric, a mere
conduit for everything Sirius sends flowing through him, a lightning rod
made for him. He's soaked in kerosine, catching a spark and burning,
burning, burning. He crumbles into ash and decorates Sirius' bed, an
impression of himself that will last always, a memory Sirius can smudge his
fingers with. Remus will be here. Always right here.

Afterwards, they're quiet. Calm. Breathing, and just breathing, staring

across the open cavern between the curves of their sweat-slick bodies. Too
oversensitive, overwhelmed, overfull with all that they've given each other
to need to cling. Their pinkies are hooked together in the middle, and it's
everything.

"I'm sorry," is the first thing Remus says, and Sirius blinks at him in lazy
confusion, as if he can't fathom what the hell Remus would have to
apologize for. "About before, when I pushed you. I shouldn't have done
that. I was just—well, I was a bit raw because of—"

"Your dad," Sirius says softly.

Remus nods and swallows. "I don't—like feeling weak. I like looking weak
even less. It's never done me any favors, is all. Being sick, weak, nearly
dying—it takes things from me."

"Well, I don't think you're weak at all," Sirius mumbles, squeezing Remus'
pinky with his own.

"You were being…" Remus fixes him with a significant look.

Sirius huffs. "Oh, I'm so sorry for wanting to take care of my boyfriend.
How very ridiculous of me."

"I just don't like being coddled," Remus mutters.

"Well, I like to coddle, so—get stuffed," Sirius says, shrugging one

shoulder, stubborn to the last.

Remus can't help but chuckle. "Yes, alright, I'll try to let you be the
exception, yeah? How's that?"

"Better," Sirius muses in approval. He rolls his head to the side and sighs.
"In any case, I suppose I did need the push. I feel quite a bit better, actually,
now that I know I've successfully tricked and trapped you with my
charming personality. Really, it's a load off. I was rather anxious, you
know."

"You didn't trick me, Sirius, my god."

"Sure I did, Moony. Honestly, are you telling me you would have stayed if
you knew all my baggage from the very first date? Don't lie."

"Alright, I won't. I was rather desperate to shag you again, you see, so I can
say with some confidence that yes, I would have, in fact, stayed," Remus
tells him, amused.
Sirius narrows his eyes at him. "Are you serious?"

"Yes," Remus says, "and so are you."

"For that," Sirius declares, popping up on his elbow with a slow grin, "I'm
going to suck your cock."

Remus waves a hand, grinning back. "I'm not stopping you."

Sirius crawls down the length of his body with a soft laugh, and Remus
closes his eyes with a hum. Time gets a bit fuzzy after that, just a blur of
skin and sheets.

Later, they gather the mess of themselves up and go stand in the nude by the
window, sharing a smoke, passing it back and forth as they stare up at the
moon. It's not full tonight, but it's getting there. Remus is terrified of the
moon, a bit, just by the pure beauty of it and how it's meant to represent
him. Sirius can't truly mean that, can he? But he does. Somehow, he does.

"I don't talk about it," Sirius murmurs abruptly, still staring at the moon
when Remus looks at him. "That night, when it all just—fell apart. I don't
even talk about before that, but that night—especially that night—I never
talk about it." He glances at Remus, holding his gaze. "Do you know what
I'm saying? I—no matter what you mean to me, I can't."
"You don't have to," Remus says softly, reaching out to swipe his hand
down Sirius's head, sweeping his hair back over his naked shoulder. "It's
alright, Sirius. I know."

Sirius exhales and looks away, but so much tension bleeds out of his frame
that he sways into Remus' side and stays there. He says, "I'm sorry that I
can't."

"Don't apologize. I'm sorry I ever made you feel like you had to." Remus
presses a kiss to his forehead and finishes the smoke. "Come on, let's sleep,
yeah?"

"Yeah," Sirius whispers. "Alright." When they're in bed, they press close,
and Sirius mumbles, "Moony?"

"Hm?"

"Would you—tell me again?"

Remus' lips curl up. He knows. Inexplicably, he knows exactly what Sirius
is asking for, unconventional as it may be, compared to all that Remus has
said to him tonight. "I won't leave, Sirius. I'm here. Right here."
Sirius relaxes against him, and Remus nuzzles into his hair, and they both
drift off together just like that.

When Remus wakes up, he does so alone. He blinks, shifting up on his

elbows, yawning. He's still naked, and there's no chance of him locating his
clothes, considering he and Sirius stripped all over the flat last night. He
sighs and slips out of bed to rifle through Sirius' clothes for what will fit,
feeling a bit ridiculous and also—charmed by slipping on clothes he'd never
pick for himself, but they're Sirius' clothes, so he's a little more pleased than
he'll ever admit.

He stops by the loo to wash his face and brush his teeth, using his finger
because he has no idea which toothbrush belongs to Sirius and which
belongs to Prongs. Best not to upset the best mate before he's even met
him.

Though, by the distant sounds of conversation, Remus has the feeling that
he's about to meet said best friend. He's oddly nervous as he heads for the
kitchen, ears perked as he tries to pick out voices and what they're saying.
He hears Sirius first.

"Oh my god, he'd never gotten his end away before you?! Prongs, that's
despicable! If you're not giving your mean barista orgasms all the time from
now on, I will personally disown you," Sirius is yelping, dramatically, and
Remus isn't entirely sure he's not talking in code.

"Oh, I plan to," is the response just as Remus calmly rounds the corner, and
he immediately comes to a halt at the same time that James—Regulus'
James—catches sight of him and blinks. His eyebrows furrow. "Lupin?"

"James?" Remus returns, equally startled.

"What?" Sirius says, glancing between them.

James blinks again, and then he blurts out, "Wait. You're Moony? Lupin is
Moony?"

"Remus," says Remus, his head spinning.

"What?" James asks, visibly confused.

"Remus Lupin. My name is Remus Lupin," Remus explains, shaking his

head in disbelief. "And yes, I'm Moony. Wait, are you Prongs? James is
Prongs?"

Sirius whips his head between them faster. "What's happening right now?
Do you two know each other?"

"You're my best mate's boyfriend!" James bursts out, breaking into a grin.
"Oh my god. This is hilarious!"
"So...you do know each other?" Sirius asks insistently. "What does this
mean? Wait, James Fleamont Potter, if you've—"

"Oh, don't take that tone with me. I can pull out the full name, too, Sirius
Orion Black," James cuts in, rolling his eyes. "I have not, and will not,
touch your precious Moony, though he is—"

"W-What did you just say?" Remus chokes out, his eyes bulging, and he
can feel himself going pale.

Sirius glances at him and frowns. "Oh, we're only joking, Moony. I mean,
as long as you haven't—"

Remus' mind is racing at the speed of light right now, and for the first time,
he wishes his boyfriend would just—go away. He shudders, then hisses,
"James, a word."

"Sorry?" James, bless him, looks so confused.

"Is there a problem?" Sirius asks, eyes narrowing.

"James," Remus implores, sweating. "I need to speak to you. Alone. Right
now. Right now, James."
"I—yes, alright?" James glances at Sirius and shrugs, visibly baffled. "I—
honestly, mate, I swear I don't know. Really, I only know him because I'm
—"

"Right now, James!" Remus bellows, and they both jump, staring at him
with wide eyes.

Sirius clears his throat. "You'd—please tell me you haven't shagged my best
mate, Remus."

"No, obviously not. You were my first, remember?" Remus grits out. "This
is—something else."

"Well, it's—it's not a good look, is it?" Sirius asks weakly, scratching the
side of his head. "It's just...quite odd, really."

"Yes, sorry, just—" Remus grimaces and surges forward to grab James' arm,
bodily dragging him right out of the room. He throws a wince at Sirius over
his shoulder, and oh, he doesn't look very pleased at all, but honestly?
Honestly, Remus is panicking at the moment and can't fucking stop.

James stumbles along as Remus quite literally snatches him out of the flat
and finds the first secluded corner where they can't be sneaked up on,
ensuring that Sirius can't follow and eavesdrop. Remus cranes his head,
waiting, but Sirius doesn't show up, and that should calm him, but it doesn't.
Remus is about to hit the fucking roof.

"Lupin," James says, "what—"

"Remus. My fucking name is Remus. Did Regulus really never mention

that?" Remus hisses.

James huffs. "Well, no, I suppose not. He just calls you his best friend,
really. Does Sirius not mention me?"

"Yes, but he calls you Prongs," Remus snarls.

"I—well, yes, that's something I go by sometimes, what of it? Why are you
—what's your problem?" James sputters.

Remus' eye twitches. "How thick are you? Christ, James. Tell me, what's
your boyfriend's full name?"

"Regulus Black?" James answers, still confused.

"Yes, exactly!" Remus flings his hand out in the direction of the flat.
"Regulus Black. Like, oh, you know, Sirius Black!"
James blinks. "Er, yes? Are you only just learning this?"

"He said he didn't like his last name because his family is shit, and he's
practically an honorary Potter anyway."

"Well, yeah, that's true. Still not understanding the—"

"James!" Remus yelps. "Regulus Black. Sirius Black."

"Yes? It's a common enough name, I suppose," James says, his eyebrows
furrowed.

Remus releases a strangled sound. "You absolute bellend. Have you not put
it together? Sirius and Regulus both come from an awful, abusive house
with an awful, abusive mother. They bloody look like each other. Regulus'
brother left when he was sixteen, when Regulus was fifteen, and Sirius was
adopted by your family at sixteen. Regulus' brother was obsessed with
motorbikes, and Sirius has a motorbike. On Regulus' birthday, Sirius had a
rough day. I—honestly, James, what's not connecting? They're brothers!"

"Wait, I missed Regulus' birthday?"

"James!"
"Alright, alright, calm down, mate." James shakes his head and ruffles his
hair. "I can see how that would be an issue worth losing it over, but it's not
that at all. Can't be."

"Oh, really? Why's that?" Remus challenges.

"Because Sirius never had a brother, Remus. He had a sister," James tells
him, amused. "Regina Black."

"Oh." Remus exhales, slumping as immediate relief courses through him,

his eyes slipping shut. For a second, he just stands there and basks in the
massive fucking bomb they all just dodged, because really, that would have
ruined absolutely everything. For all of them. He opens his eyes and
immediately wishes that he hadn't.

James is no longer amused. James now looks horrified, looks as if he might

vomit, and all he says is, "Oh no."

"Oh no? Oh no?" Remus repeats in increasingly higher pitch.

"Oh my god," James whispers, eyes wide. "Oh my god."

"James. James, you just said—you just said it wasn't that. You just said it
wasn't possible. James, why do you look like, not only is it possible, but it's
almost certain?" Remus asks, frazzled, his hands shaking.

"No, no, no," James breathes out, and he lifts his hand to cover his mouth,
pressing his fingers into his lips. He makes a weak sound. "Oh, I've shagged
his little brother. Oh god. I—oh, I told him—" James chokes, backing up
against the wall, bumping into it. "He's going to kill me. They're both going
to kill me. Fuck. Fuck. I'm dead. Oh, I'm dead."

"But—but the sister? I thought—" Remus can't help it, he releases a

pleading sound, desperate. "Regina? What happened to her? You said—"

"That's not—I can't. Remus, I can't." James shakes his head almost
vigorously.

Remus stares at him, bewildered, his mind racing. He tries to put all the
pieces together, but he can't. He doesn't have all the information. "You said
—"

"I know what I bloody said!" James hisses, reaching up to shove both hands
through his hair.

"It doesn't make sense. How could Sirius have a little sister, but Regulus is
his—" Remus cuts himself off, and is that it? Has it clicked, then? Is it out
of the realm of possibility for him not to know, as Regulus' best friend?
Regulus, who is private and guarded. Regulus, who told him a secret once
and decided it meant they were best friends. Regulus, who took three years
to be comfortable enough to tell his best friend about his traumatic
childhood. Yes, it is, in fact, a good possibility. The chances are quite high,
actually.

By the look on James' face when he looks up, Remus knows instantly. He
blinks rapidly, and James' face twists before he says, low and harsh, "That
wasn't mine to tell, Lupin. He should have been able to tell—"

"Don't you think I know that?" Remus cuts in sharply, his nostrils flaring.
"And he will. He can tell me when he's ready. That's his. He's my best
friend, James. I would never—"

"Doesn't solve our other problem, now does it?" James grinds out, gripping
the back of his neck with both hands, thunking his head back against the
wall. He squeezes his eyes shut and lets out a muffled groan. "Fuck. Fuck,
I've been dating his brother. I've—Sirius hates—"

"Sirius hates?" Remus blurts out, a hysterical laugh crawling up his throat.
"No, Sirius has nothing on Regulus, and for good reason. Sirius fucking
abandoned him!"

James' head snaps up. "Don't you fucking dare. You don't know what it was
like for him, and like Regulus is so innocent? He sat right there and—"

"Do not," Remus spits. "You have no idea—"

"I obviously know more than you."

"I know enough."

"You're defending—" James halts, his face falling slack, and then he's
distressed all over again. "My boyfriend. Oh my god, you're defending my
boyfriend, because my boyfriend is Sirius' brother. Fuck. Fucking shit."

It hits Remus, then. The full brunt of it. "Oh. Oh, I've been dating Regulus'
brother. I've shagged—" He shares a sudden, unspoken look of
understanding with James, the both of them frozen and horrified. He
whispers, "James."

"Don't. Please don't say it," James whispers back.

"This—this isn't going to work," Remus croaks, and James knocks his head
back into the wall again. "We—you know this isn't going to work. We can't
do this."

"Fuck," James rasps hoarsely. He stares straight ahead like he's not even
seeing anything, and Remus wonders if he feels like he's being ripped in
half, too. Softer, more heartfelt, more pained, he repeats, "Fuck."
And yeah. Yeah, that's about right, isn't it?

Chapter End Notes

For those of you checking the notes: In this chapter, Regulus comes
out to James as trans. James responds kindly. Later in the chapter,
James tries to reassure Remus that Regulus and Sirius aren't brothers
because Sirius had a little sister, only to realize a beat too late what's
happened, that Sirius never had a little sister at all, but a little brother.
He doesn't explicitly state that Regulus is trans, but Remus works it
out, and James gets frustrated because he had no intentions of telling
Remus, but Remus handles it correctly as well, ensuring James that
Regulus can tell him when he's ready.

Also, at one point, Sirius outright states that his mother used to beat
him and he hated his life to the point that he fantasized about being
dead rather than being at home. He doesn't go into detail about it, and
Remus does comfort him.

These are the two heaviest points in the chapter, and I handled them
with care, I hope. Realistic, but as they deserve.

To all those that just finished the chapter...

How we feelin'?
 Chapter 7
Chapter Notes

Alright, warnings for this chapter for anything you've yet to see thus
far:

.......angst
See the end of the chapter for more notes

Regulus doesn't want to be waiting, still, but he is.

Every time a shadow passes along the front of the shop from someone
going by the door, Regulus looks up. Every time the door opens when he
doesn't already have his eyes on it, Regulus snaps his head around to see
who's coming in. Every time the empty spot by the door before they open
remains empty, Regulus stands at the till, fidgeting, waiting.

He's still waiting, and he doesn't want to be. It's actually quite a chore,
really, all this waiting he's doing. He's left in this cycle where he repeatedly,
accidentally gets his hopes up, only to feel them crash down over and over.
Truly, Regulus had no idea that disappointment could be this crushing.

It's been five days, two of which he was actually not at work, the following
three he was. Those first two days were quiet. Too quiet, really. These past
three days—well, it's getting louder, at least in Regulus' head.
The problem is, Regulus doesn't even know what happened, so he can't
figure out what the proper response is.

He knows—he is painfully aware, because being observant is a prison, so

he unfortunately does know—that something is wrong. Really, inarguably
wrong. That's not even a question, at this point. The question is, what's
wrong?

Is it James? Has something happened to James? Is he alright? Regulus

doesn't even want to entertain the possibility that it could be something
drastic, but it's an option as likely as all the rest. James wouldn't just stop
coming in to see Regulus, not for no reason. So, what if he can't? What if—

Of course, if there's a chance that James isn't fine, then there's a chance that
he is, and that leaves… Well, that leaves the option that James can come, he
just doesn't. A selfish, horrible part of Regulus doesn't even know which
option is worse. Because if James is perfectly fine, and he's just choosing to
do this, then that means he lied. That means he promised nothing had
changed, nothing would change, and Regulus believed him wholeheartedly
—but James lied.

Or, maybe he's gotten sick, and his phone broke, but he has all plans to
come bouncing right back into the shop any day now with a smile and the
sun riding on his shoulders. Except, of course, he has mates; he has people
in his life, unlike Regulus who has so few, and surely they could stop by the
shop for James and tell him, oh so kindly tell him, he's just sick and his
phone is smashed to bits, but he'll be in soon! They could, and they would,
wouldn't they? But no one has.
See, the not knowing is chipping away at him, constantly poking and
breaking parts off, piece-by-piece. Regulus doesn't know what he's meant to
be feeling, because he doesn't know what happened, so he's feeling a
mixture of all of it, and wants to be feeling none. It's just a constant swirl of
worry, anger, betrayal, this pathetic yearning, and this consistently
mounting dread that grows within him with each day. No one, absolutely no
one, has made Regulus feel as much as James; this is where that turns out to
be a curse, instead of a gift.

It doesn't help that Remus can barely look him in the eye. Can barely even
speak to him without a wince sliding onto his face. Regulus knows what
this looks like. He's aware that it's pathetic, thank you. When his best friend
stopped having a passable poker face, Regulus doesn't know, but he's going
to need Remus to do better for both their sakes. It's really bloody difficult to
try shoving everything down when your own best mate is tiptoeing around
you like you're about to explode.

What happened to me? Regulus thinks, gaze darting to the front of the shop
as someone walks by, but not anyone he cares to see. Thing is, he already
knows what happened to him.

Regulus Black was a fool. He swore he wasn't, promised he wouldn't be,

and then he turned right around and made a fool of himself for a man made
of sunshine.

Scoffing under his breath, Regulus shoves away from the till and stalks past
Remus, muttering, "Taking five," and Remus winces again like he can't help
it.
The worst part of it all is, Regulus can't even find out. He realizes it now,
but James had all the open avenues in this dynamic, not him. He came into
Regulus' work. He came to Regulus' flat. Regulus doesn't know where
James lives, or where he could possibly find him, or who he could even
contact in his life to see if he's okay, at least.

Regulus has practically no social media whatsoever, just because it's

simpler that way. In many ways, his life felt like it began five years ago,
and all the years before that belonged to a stranger. Regina had a Facebook,
an Instagram, and Regulus deleted all of them, because Regina was never
real. The only people now that he'd be interested in interacting with on any
of those platforms are James, Pandora, and Remus—all of which he can
simply message, or give a ring.

Remus, like Regulus, has none of those, either—never having enough

friends to really warrant it. He has a bloody Tumblr, of all things, one of
those that pops up with endless quotes from books, and something he calls
web-weaving that he's mildly obsessed with. Regulus, too, has a Tumblr—
has had it for nine years now—and what drew him to it was the anonymity.
His Tumblr was the only safe space he had when he was younger where he
could learn about gender and sexuality, could explore it, without being in
any danger. That's all his Tumblr is, a blog full of things about gender,
sexuality, the trans experience, and all in that wheelhouse. Well, that, and
sarcasm.

He and Remus having fucking Tumblrs hardly helps him now, though.
Because Regulus doubts James has one, or that they'd be able to find him if
he did, and Remus doesn't even know Regulus has one as well, and he'd
rather skip the conversation. He'd rather not have a need to go through his
best friend to try finding out if his boyfriend is even fucking alive.
Because it's not as if Regulus hasn't tried. He did reach out to James, at least
until the embarrassment of getting no response caught up to him, and he
stopped. He keeps waiting for something, for anything, but there's nothing.
At this point, Regulus thinks he would be grateful for a message telling him
to piss off and drown in a lake.

Making any accounts for social media is an option, but that's a new low
Regulus isn't ready to reach yet. He's close, he'll admit, but he's not quite
there. Because if he does it, James better pray that he's dead, because if he
isn't, oh, Regulus is absolutely going to kill him. God, why can't Remus just
have a fucking Instagram or something? Regulus is at the point that he's
willing to go low enough to ask a friend to go poking around for him, but
Remus doesn't have anything. The only person who does is—

"Hello, Regulus!" Pandora chirps when she answers the phone, because yes,
Regulus is here now, he's this low.

Regulus squeezes his eyes shut, fingers clenching his phone tight as he
exhales sharply. "Hi, Pandora. Do you have a minute? I...need a favor."

"Oh, sure. What do you need?" Pandora asks easily.

"Would you, by chance, follow James on any social media? Any at all? I
know you met him only the once, but—"

"Oh, yes, I do. I follow him on Twitter, he follows me back; is that what
you mean?"
"I—yes, that works?" Regulus tries, not entirely sure. He barely even knows
what Twitter is, or how it works. He gets the gist, really, but he's never used
it. "Sorry, this is—I know this is...strange, but is there any way you could—
check if he's posted anything in the last five days?"

Pandora just hums. "Yeah, sure. I'm already on my laptop, too, so it's fine.
Right, give me one second…" There's a few minutes of silence outside of
the background clicking of a keyboard and Pandora humming. "Alright,
here he is. Funny username, watchtheprongs. Hm. He really is quite active,
usually, so he should have something, but… No, he hasn't posted anything."

"Oh. Nothing?" Regulus presses, genuinely distressed now. What if

something has happened? What if he's…

"No, but his likes are public, and he's liked a photo of someone. A lovely
girl, ginger, just a selfie—Lily Evans, by the name. Hm, four hours ago, by
the looks of it." Pandora pauses, then hums again. "She's quite beautiful. I
should like this."

"No!" Regulus chokes out, twisting to lean back against the wall, a lump in
his throat. "No, please don't. I—"

"Alright. I haven't," Pandora says softly, and she's quiet for a long moment.
When she speaks again, she's tentative and careful in a way she usually
isn't. "Regulus, is anything the matter? Are you...alright?"
Regulus swallows thickly, pulling the phone away from his ear to press the
edge of it down the center of his mouth, that horrible dread cresting within
him. Four hours ago. James was online to like Lily Evan's photo only four
hours ago. He's fine, and Regulus doesn't want to be relieved, but he is. He
is so fucking relieved to know that James is okay, even if that means… Oh,
but that means…

Regulus hears Pandora call his name again, small and tinny through the
speaker, so he roughly clears his throat and presses the phone back to his
ear. "Yes, I'm here. I'm—fine. Thank you, Pandora, for...doing that. I
appreciate it."

"Of course," Pandora says simply. Another pause. "Say, why don't I come
over to yours today? Xenophilius is so deep into this article that he won't
resurface for two days at least, and I could honestly use the break from
work."

"I…" Regulus wavers, uncertain, a part of him wanting so badly to just go

home and wallow. Another new, unexplored part of him wants—well, not to
be alone. He swallows again. "Yeah, alright. I can send you the address?"

"Lovely," Pandora says warmly. "Invite Remus, too, yeah? We'll make an
evening of it."

"I'll see if he's free," Regulus says, and it's like he's on autopilot, a puppet
on strings.
Pandora hums in approval. "Good. I'll see you."

After Pandora begs off, Regulus just stands in the back and stares at the
wall across from him. He doesn't move for quite some time, his whole body
feeling cold. James had lied. That's the only option left. Regulus wants to
hate him. Why isn't he hating him? Why can't he hate him?

Someone makes a small, pitiful noise like a wounded animal, and it takes
Regulus a second to realize that it's him. He instantly clamps his mouth shut
and clenches his jaw, reaching up to swipe both cheeks in case—but no,
they're mercifully dry. He blinks hard and finds his eyes dry, too. Good.
Because this—it's fine. It's all fine, isn't it?

Regulus feels stupid. He feels like a fool. He is, he was, he's still a fool. In
all honesty, Regulus hasn't felt this small and this powerless, defenseless,
worthless in years. And, in this moment, he's suddenly barreled over with
aching for the last person who made him feel that way. Because right now,
right here, Regulus wants his brother.

"Go on, then, Reggie. You're telling me no boy has caught your fancy? None
at all?" Sirius asks, grinning.

Reggie fixes Sirius with a flat look. "I go to an all-girls school, Sirius.
Where would I even find a boy to fancy?"

"Oh, you've gone to parties, and Mother hosts some." Sirius wrinkles his
nose a bit. "Though, honestly, I have to tell you… None of the blokes that
come to Mother's parties are worth your time, yeah? But really, no one?"
Reggie sighs, and Sirius grins. "A girl, then?"

"Sirius," Reggie hisses.

Sirius just laughs. "Oh, it's alright if you're gay, Reggie. I won't tell Mother.
Same rules apply to girls, in any case, at least from my standpoint. I'm your
big brother. I have to threaten anyone, whether it's a girl or a boy."

"Oh, you do, do you?" Reggie asks, helplessly amused.

"Of course!" Sirius bellows, puffing up, his eyes sparkling with good humor.
"And, if anyone ever breaks your heart, I'll kill them. Make it slow. Make
them ever regret hurting you. It's a promise."

"You wouldn't. Shut up," Reggie says, eyes rolling.

"I absolutely would," Sirius insists, and then his face softens as he leans
over and tugs on a strand of Reggie's hair. It's too long. Reggie hates it.
"You're my little sister. Of course I would."

Reggie looks away, heart clenching, face falling into something blank and
unreadable. Reggie has perfected this look, this solid step back, this ability
to shove it all down and hide away from it. "I don't need you to protect me,
Sirius, so piss off. I wouldn't let anyone break my heart anyway. I'm no
fool."

It's so stupid. It's been eight bloody years since he saw Sirius, and Regulus
hates him, absolutely hates him, but he suddenly wishes he could just
summon him. Just have Sirius spring up right in front of him, and see him,
truly see him, and make the same promises that he did before it all fell
apart.

God, Regulus is a fool. The biggest fool. He shakes his head, shuddering
out a deep breath and swiping his cheeks one more time, grateful that
they're dry still. It used to never take so much effort to shove everything
down, but it does now, because it feels like it's all trying to crawl up his
throat and pour out of him. He wants to scream.

He doesn't.

He goes back to work.

"Remus," Regulus says in between one rush and the next, and Remus looks
him in the eye for the first time in five days, his eyebrows furrowed. "Can
you come over to mine after work?"

"Yeah, Regulus, of course," Remus murmurs, and they don't say anything
else to each other after that.
After work, Regulus forces himself to step into his kitchen. He hasn't
cooked anything since—well. Mostly, he's been living off of takeout, but
really, he's hardly been able to eat at all. His appetite has been practically
nonexistent, due to worrying about James. And for what?

Regulus refuses to lose this. He loves cooking. It's the one thing that had
made him feel—safe, really, after he left home. Walburga didn't believe in
cooking; she believed in having people cook for her. She tried to instill this
same belief into Regulus, so Regulus never once stepped into a kitchen to
cook until he was eighteen years old. From the very first time, though,
Regulus fell in love with it.

There's something to the way he loses himself to it. The freedom in the
options—so many spices, ingredients, temperatures, even just all the
different ways you can cook the same thing. There's an independence to
making something that keeps him alive. The defiance of it—rebelling
against what he was taught, finding his own way, loving something his
mother hated, still living on when he'd wanted, so desperately, to just
fucking stop before he found reasons to keep going.

He won't give this up. Won't let it be shadowed by James, the only person
who he's ever shared this part of him with. Won't watch something he finds
purpose in wither away and die because he was a fool, such a fool, to ever
think…

So, Regulus cooks.

He puts on instrumental music in the background, soft with no lyrics,
something that helps him drift and focus at the same time, and he cooks.
This—from the gathering of ingredients to the final shift of food on the
plate—is his art. It's him, really, at his most honest, most open, most
vulnerable.

Remus shows up first, knocking on the door and letting himself in when
Regulus calls for him, seeing as he can't pull away from the stove. He
doesn't turn around as Remus likely follows his nose, moving into the
kitchen and stopping right next to Regulus to stare down at the pan.

"I'm making a sauce," Regulus offers.

"I can see that," Remus says faintly. "I can smell it, too. Smells quite good,
actually."

"Thank you," Regulus murmurs.

Remus is silent for a beat, then, "Are you cooking for—us? I know you're in
school for it, but bloody hell, Regulus, it smells really good in here. I've
never had your food before."

"Well, there's a first time for everything," Regulus says and tries so very
hard not to sound bitter. He points his spatula in the direction of the table.
"Go. Sit. Pandora should be here soon enough. Hey, do you have any
allergies?"
"Amoxicillin, ampicillin, penicillin, and tetracycline," Remus lists off.
Regulus turns to stare at him, and he sighs as he shrugs. "A lot of medicines
don't agree with me, which is a bit of a pain when you're quite sickly.
Things meant to save me could also kill me. Funny, isn't it?"

"Oh, yeah, a barrel of laughs, that," Regulus says, shaking his head, and
Remus snorts weakly. "Well, I know how to kill you, at least. Thank you for
this new information."

"Always a pleasure, Regulus," Remus replies, wandering out of the kitchen.

Over his shoulder, he calls, "I'm going through your books again! Have you
any new ones?"

"Yes, and I told you to sit!" Regulus calls after him, though he honestly
knows it's no use.

"Have you read To the Lighthouse yet, like I've been telling you to for the
last three years?" Remus says, suspicious.

Regulus read it three years ago. "No! Obviously not. Have you read Crime
and Punishment yet, like I've been telling you to for the last three years?"

"No," Remus mutters, muffled in the other room, and Regulus knows he's
lying, too.
Honestly, Fyodor Dostoevsky sunk into Regulus' bones at the tender, awful
age of fifteen, and Regulus hasn't been able to strip Crime and Punishment
out of himself since. To the Lighthouse certainly has its draw, sure, but
Crime and Punishment is Regulus' most read book. He can quote it just the
same as Remus can quote his.

I used to analyze myself down to the last thread, used to compare myself
with others, recalled all the smallest glances, smiles and words of those to
whom I’d tried to be frank, interpreted everything in a bad light, laughed
viciously at my attempts ‘to be like the rest’ –and suddenly, in the midst of
my laughing, I’d give way to sadness, fall into ludicrous despondency and
once again start the whole process all over again, Fyodor Dostoevsky had
written, and Regulus had curled up in his bed, hyperventilating, because
yes. Exactly.

That's exactly it, really. Regulus has picked himself apart his entire life and
never once liked anything he saw, no matter how deep he went.

Fyodor Dostoevsky had written: We sometimes encounter people, even

perfect strangers, who begin to interest us at first sight, somehow suddenly,
all at once, before a word has been spoken.

Regulus thinks of James.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Regulus exhales and reaches up to check that his
cheeks are dry, blinking to make sure his eyes aren't hot and itchy. There's
nothing. He's fine. He isn't going to let James ruin his favorite things; he
isn't going to let James ruin him. There's a knock on his door, and he opens
his eyes.

Pandora is allergic to certain chemicals, which makes her being a scientist

something of a hazard, but she insists that she won't let something as trivial
as the possibility of death keep her from living—her words, and they do
make sense, don't they? After all, anyone could die doing anything, so it's
always a risk, isn't it? If you're going to, might as well do it doing what you
love. Again, Pandora's words.

Regulus can't relate, honestly. Remus does, though, and it makes sense why
he would. He's already faced death, hasn't he, far before he ever got to live
at all. Regulus imagines that throws a lot of things into perspective. There is
a difference in knowing you'd rather die than live a life you hate, and nearly
dying before you can even choose to live a life you love. Regulus is the
first; Remus is the latter. Pandora—well, Pandora is Pandora, and she has
no shame in that.

"I'm so excited!" Pandora declares, practically bouncing in her chair as

Regulus places a plate down in front of her and Remus. "It smells so good. I
love food."

"Looks like there's a lot to love," Remus comments faintly, stooping down
to peer at the plate, level with it, turning it slowly to see it from all sides.
"Christ, Regulus, this looks amazing. I never knew you could cook like
this."
Regulus can feel himself flushing, and he has to squash down the rising
pleasure, the internal pride, because it feels like it will upend everything
else within him. "Alright, alright, enough of that. Both of you. Just eat,
yeah?"

Nevertheless, Remus and Pandora continue to praise him over practically

every bite, ensuring that his face is hot the entire meal, keeping him trapped
in this wash of delight that will cut on the way out later. It's nice, really, but
it was nice when James did it, too. Nice in a different way. Was that all
lies?

While they eat, they chat easily, mostly guided by Pandora's musings that
spark discussion. He and Remus find out that she's color blind—specifically
Protanopia—and they spend the next twenty minutes trying to describe
certain colors to her, which is harder than Regulus would have anticipated.
How do you explain the color red to someone who's never seen it?

In any case, Pandora has a lot of fun listening to them try, and Regulus finds
himself chuckling at one point for the first time in five days. He thinks to
himself see, I'm fine, I'm doing just fine.

After they finish the meal, Pandora and Remus take over his kitchen with
the air of people who won't take no for an answer. He tries anyway, tries to
insist he can clean, even tries to say they can leave it and he'll do it later;
they won't hear a word of it. They argue that he fed them, and fed them well
on top of that, so they'll clean up, and he'll sit down and relax. It's only just,
they declare, and they won't let him protest.
It's strange in a way that's not entirely...unwelcome. The only person who's
ever really been in his flat before James was Remus. Three years of
friendship has given him that liberty, the one where Regulus hadn't minded
when Remus went through all his books, then painstakingly put them all
back once he was finished; the one where Regulus hadn't been
uncomfortable the first time Remus passed out on his sofa after a
particularly grueling day at work for both of them, and Regulus had left him
there to go have a kip himself, rolling his eyes as he tossed a blanket over
him on the way out; the one where Regulus hadn't complained even once
when Remus stayed with him for nearly two weeks while his flat was being
seen to after a pipe burst, and they'd coexisted quite easily, to the point that
it had felt sort of odd when he was gone and always feels a little bit nicer
when he's here, even now.

Even still, this is Regulus' space. It's an extension of him, almost, and now
there are people spilling out all over it, warm and comfortable. So at ease
that they move around as if they're a part of it, a part of him, just the same.
And they are. Regulus can feel it—the underlying friendship that breathes
life into all of them, into this space, into Regulus most of all.

Suddenly, he is so very grateful for both of them that he can't even speak,
can't even move, can't do anything but sit there and watch them clean up his
kitchen, full of his food. He sits right there and watches, both hands framing
his mouth.

"Oh, Regulus, you have gelato?" Pandora hisses with a beaming smile,
reaching in his freezer. "Oh, wherever did you get it? I've never seen this
packaging before, but I also haven't had gelato in years! What flavor is
this?"
"Tiramisu," Regulus admits, "and I...made it, actually."

Pandora's eyes positively light up, and all she says is, "I'm absolutely
demolishing this. Oh, can I? Please?"

"Go on, then," Regulus says with a tiny, flickering smile.

Remus grabs three spoons.

They all pile onto the sofa, Regulus in the middle and tasked with cradling
the gelato in his lap. It turns out Remus has never had tiramisu in any form,
but he loves it from the very first bite, which pleases Regulus to no end.

"If I never have tiramisu again," Sirius grumbles, "it'll be too soon. Doesn't
Mother ever request anything else for dessert?"

"At least we get dessert," Reggie mutters.

Sirius scoffs. "We've been eating nothing but tiramisu our whole lives,
Reggie, but there's so much more out there. At Hogwarts—"

"I don't care what's at Hogwarts, actually," Reggie cuts in coldly, so

exhausted with hearing about Hogwarts, how Hogwarts is so much better
than home. "This is what Mother likes for us to have, so this is what we will
have."

"I hate tiramisu," Sirius says miserably, and they both take another bite in
perfect tandem.

Regulus thinks the next thing he'll make is actual tiramisu, and he'll give the
whole thing to Remus, letting him enjoy every bite. Something about the
thought makes him smile.

The three of them do, in fact, demolish the gelato between them, getting
into a lengthy and rather hearty discussion about Eurovision, which then
transitions into their favorite form of media to consume. Remus and
Regulus, at once, go for books, but Pandora goes for music.

"Escapism," Pandora says, flicking her hand between them with no small
amount of judgment, then putting her hand to her chest, "versus a journey."

"I haven't a clue what type of music you're listening to, but music can
absolutely be escapism, Pandora," Remus informs her, visibly amused.
"And books? The ultimate form of a journey. What are you on about?"

Pandora purses her lips. "Well, honestly, you both clearly have a lot more
issues than I do, so what's a journey for me—"
"Oh, piss off," Regulus says, knocking his knee into hers, and she starts
laughing, giggling shamelessly as he and Remus share a look full of
grudging acknowledgement.

"No, I mean it. You both should have a therapist," Pandora tells them
casually. "I do, you know, and it's really quite lovely. If it's good for me, you
two certainly need it."

This launches an in-depth conversation about mental health and various

disorders and the traits of them, many of which Regulus pretends doesn't
apply to him in any way at all. This talk lasts quite a while and stretches
across multiple topics until they're somehow on the topic of Van Gogh
eating yellow paint to try and be happy, which Remus instantly debunks.

"Since when do you know so much about art?" Regulus asks him curiously.
"Literature has always been more your sort of thing. Is this because You-
Know-Who is an artist?"

"Wait, who?" Pandora raises her eyebrows.

"Remus' boyfriend," Regulus says, glancing over at her. "It's a bit of a joke
that I refuse to learn his name. Remus didn't, you see, not at first. I imagine
he knows it now." He turns to look at Remus. "You do know it now, don't
you?"

Remus is staring down at his hands. He looks a little pale, and all he
mumbles is, "Yes, I know it now."
Regulus eyes him clinically for a long moment, knowing instantly that
something is wrong. He looks at Remus, really looks at him, and sees the
purple-grey impressions under his eyes, the patchy stubble he's letting grow
in when he never really does, suddenly realizing that Remus hasn't smiled
or laughed any more than Regulus has as of late.

Remus won't look him in the eye again, so Regulus looks away and lets it
go. For now.

The conversation moves along. It gets later, then late enough that Pandora
has to go. She waves them off when they start to peel themselves out of
their slumped positions on the sofa. She knows her own way out, she
claims, and then she attacks them when they're comfortable and off-guard,
hugging each of them while they awkwardly return it, eyeing each other
over her head. She smiles at them, soft, and then she's gone.

"She really is very lovely," Remus comments.

"She is," Regulus agrees, because she is. "You should have seen her in
school. She was always so unapologetically herself." He shakes his head. "I
used to envy her."

"Do you still?" Remus murmurs.

"Not at all," Regulus admits, and it's true. He's come a long way from
pretending to be what he wasn't, isn't, and never will be. All the issues he
has, that isn't one of them anymore.

"Good," Remus says firmly, knocking their shoulders together.

Regulus hums and leans his head back against the sofa, staring listlessly up
at the ceiling. "Are you going to tell me what's going on with you,
Remus?"

"Dunno what you mean."

"You do."

"I—" Remus halts, keeps quiet for a bit, then heaves a sigh and slumps
down further. "I saw my dad last week."

"Oh? How'd that go?" Regulus murmurs.

"Not very well, honestly. He was having a pint with a client, I think. He
wanted nothing to do with me, basically. I made a bit of a scene, had a bit of
a breakdown after, then got into a row with—"
"He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?"

Remus exhales shakily. "Yeah."

"Are you two not…?" Regulus glances over at him, wary.

"No," Remus whispers hoarsely. "Not anymore."

Regulus is silent for a bit, feeling rather—awful, actually, for not

even...noticing. Although, Remus can hide things just as well as him when
he wants. He sighs. "Well… Well, I'll just kill him. It's fine. You can give
me his name now, and where he lives, and where he works, and—"

"No. Thank you, but no," Remus cuts in quickly, as if he can't be entirely
sure Regulus is joking. Regulus is not joking, so his caution is founded,
actually. In fact, who the hell does He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named think he
is, doing this to Remus? Regulus doesn't know all the details, but he hardly
needs to, does he? It's enough that Remus is upset, and he very obviously is.
So, no, Regulus isn't joking. "He's not—he didn't actually...do anything
wrong, Regulus. It was me. I'm the one who—I'm the one in the wrong,
really."

"We all make mistakes," Regulus says placidly, completely on Remus' side,
no matter what Remus has done. "In any case, I'm sure he's at fault
somehow. Are you sure you don't want me to find him and—"
"Quite sure," Remus tells him, lips twitching, but his smile is weak, and
then it's sad, and then it's gone.

"The offer is open," Regulus says.

Remus tips his head back, sighing. "Thanks."

They don't say anything else for quite some time, both of them just
drooping against the sofa and tracing the shape of nothing on the ceiling.
They're miserable sods, really. Three months ago, neither of them could
have expected to end up here. Regulus wants to go back in time to himself
three months ago and tell him, beg him, to not be a fool.

Better yet, he wants to go back to the day of the storm that blew James into
the shop and just—not get out of bed. Beg off from work. Ring in and skip
this whole mess entirely. That Regulus had never felt as much as this one,
but oh, he was so much safer than Regulus will ever be again.

"Why haven't you asked?" Regulus blurts out, turning his head to look at
Remus.

"Asked?" Remus rolls his head to the side to frown at him.

"About—James," Regulus says, hating how the name falls out of his mouth
like it was lodged in his throat and had to be dug out slowly, painfully with
a spoon. "You—you haven't brought it up, not once. Not even that first
day."

"I…" Remus winces again, dropping his gaze, and it takes him a long
moment to speak. "I just—I thought, if you wanted me to know, you'd tell
me."

Regulus stares at him. "That's not like you at all." Remus' lips press into a
thin line, and he doesn't say a word, doesn't raise his gaze even an inch. "I
suppose it's rather obvious, though, isn't it? I haven't heard from him, or
seen him, in five days, but he's—fine. I even checked."

"Regulus," Remus says softly, looking at him, pained.

"I should have never—" Regulus cuts himself off and swallows, reaching up
to swipe his hand over his face, so very grateful that his eyes and cheeks are
dry, because he's fine. James is fine, and so is he. It's all fine. "I don't know
what I was expecting." He pauses, then lets out a hoarse laugh. "Yes, I do.
Not that. Not this. I wasn't expecting this, not from him."

Remus presses his lips into a firmer line, his eyes shadowed with something
sad, upset with him. For him.

"He told me nothing had changed," Regulus rasps, "and then everything
did."
"I'm sorry," Remus whispers.

"If—Remus, if your—I know you're not anymore, but if You-Know-Who

had turned out to be—" Regulus struggles, squeezing his eyes shut. A hand
falls on his arm, holding on, and Regulus isn't a brave person, not until he
has to be. It feels as if he has to be, now. He doesn't open his eyes as he
chokes out, in a rush, "If your best friend turned out to be trans, after not
telling you for three years, would you leave him?"

"No," Remus says with such venom, such ferocity, that it's almost a snarl.
It's spoken so vigorously, so quickly, that Regulus' eyes fly open. Remus
squeezes his arm, holding his gaze. "No, Regulus, I wouldn't."

"You knew," Regulus murmurs, scanning his face. Remus flinches slightly.
"You already knew that I—and you never said anything. Why didn't you
—"

"Because you're my best friend, Regulus," Remus tells him, like that should
explain everything, and it does. It honestly does. Regulus never really
doubted Remus about this; he's just never offered this up about himself to
anyone who truly knows him, before James. Pandora came with the
knowledge, or else she'd likely never know. Regulus never felt the need to
tell Remus, because he never thought it would matter, because Remus is his
best friend, and that's how they make sense. He never once thought that
Remus would be anything other than his best friend, whether he knew or
not—but now, because of James, Regulus isn't sure of anything anymore.

Regulus swallows. "How long have you known?"

"Just now, because it was yours to tell me, because I know when you decide
I know," Remus says. "I know now, because you've told me, and it's—it
doesn't change anything, Regulus. It never could. You're my best friend."

"It changed things for James," Regulus says thickly.

Remus looks stricken. "No, I—I'm sure it didn't. Whatever has happened, it
—it can't be that. It isn't that. Regulus, I promise you that's not what it is.
James isn't like that."

"Then what did I do wrong?" Regulus chokes out, because he thinks he

does know, deep down, that it isn't that, that James—good, pure, lovely
James—isn't like that, just as Remus has said, sounding so sure. James
wasn't lying; Regulus believed him, trusted him, and a part of him—a sadly
large part, in fact—still does. But that means it's just Regulus. And he
doesn't know what he did wrong, only knowing that he is at fault in some
way, because of course he is. He's a Black; he knows how to ruin things
without even trying, how to ruin the best things even when he's trying not
to.

"Regulus," Remus breathes out, horrified.

"I don't—I don't know what I—" Regulus' words catch, and he makes that
sound again, that horrible, terrible sound, and he's not fine. James is fine,
and Regulus is not. He doesn't even need to check to know he's crying now,
helplessly, all of it spilling over in him and then out.
"Christ, Regulus, I'm sorry. I'm sorry," Remus blurts out, his voice so thick
with regret that it just has more tears springing to Regulus' eyes, tumbling
out.

When Remus pulls him in, Regulus goes willingly. They've never hugged.
Regulus is sparing with how and when he touches people, and he's touched
Remus more than most, but they've never held onto each other. Not like
this. Not solely for the exchange of comfort, and purely because there's
nothing else to do when things are this awful.

Regulus buries his face into Remus' shoulder and sobs, and thinks it's lucky
that Remus is already his best friend, or Regulus would have to kill him. He
knows too much.

He knows everything.

Sirius slams down his paintbrush with a grunt of frustration, glaring at the
canvas, mostly blank except for one curve he'd drawn unconsciously that he
would bet his life on being the curve of Remus Lupin's ear.

No one would look at this curved line and think it was Remus Lupin's ear,
but Sirius knows. Or, maybe Sirius is just finding Remus in every piece of
art, especially his art, and that's why he can't get past the very first fucking
touch. This is the third project Sirius has started that he's had to
unceremoniously stop, all because he knew where it was leading from the
start. He wasted a perfectly good block of clay when it began to take the
spot-on shape of Remus' head, and how is that fair?

None of this is fair.

Sirius stares at the canvas with his lips pressed into a thin line, trying to talk
himself from putting his fist through the middle of it. This is not the canvas'
fault, or the paint, or clay, or any other material that isn't working for him
anymore.

The thing is, Sirius is his art, or his art is him. It has pieces of him threaded
throughout, little leftover bits of himself that someone else will hang on
their walls, or sit on a shelf, or carry around with them forever. He's
charmed by such a thing, by the little connections of himself that he's not
losing, but giving away to someone who, in some way, can surely do better
with it than he ever could. He literally gives parts of himself away in the
hopes that someone will appreciate him better than he appreciates himself,
or ever will. He hands a little bit of him over and basically says love me,
love this part of me, love me for me when I don't, because I never really do.

This has never been a problem for him before, because his muse is rarely a
fickle bastard. It generally—miracle of all miracles—comes to heel by his
ankle like a dog, loyal and on a leash, following commands. He rarely has
to fight past a block, and he's only had to turn down one commission, once,
simply because it just wouldn't form from his hands. Sirius knows what it is
to hate his art, but he's never really struggled to create his art, as it were.
Of course, this is mostly due to Sirius figuring out what works for him.
Sometimes he needs palette cleansers where he sets himself loose in the
studio like a tornado and creates something that will never see the light of
day. Most of the time, Sirius has two projects going on at once—likely one
commission and then something small on the side, just for him, that doesn't
really come with a time clock or a schedule. Occasionally, Sirius needs to
take a break and not create anything that someone has requested from him,
or not create anything at all. He knows exactly how to push past an art
block, and how to find joy in art again when it feels like he's exhausted by
it. He has his methods, and they work.

Sirius has been making a career out of something he loves since he was
bloody eighteen years old—six years—so yes, he knows the ins and outs of
his own methods and art.

He's just never been in love before.

As it turns out, making a career out of something he loves is easily,

effortlessly overshadowed by the man he loves, who has practically ruined
his life by leaving it. Everything is Remus. The shape of the clay, the
smudge on paper, the first curve of paint on a canvas. Sirius is trying to find
Remus in all his art, because he can't find Remus elsewhere, because
Remus is in every little piece of him that he bleeds into creation.

Sirius hasn't successfully made one thing in six days. He tries. He honestly,
truly does—and barely makes it past the first step. One of the least
complicated loves in Sirius' life, and he can't even have it anymore. It's not
fair. It's shit.
I love you, you know, so where will I go? Where could I go to get away from
that? There's nowhere I could go, Remus had said.

So, that was a fucking lie.

Groaning, Sirius shoves himself out of his seat he'd ended up in and
marches back over to the canvas, snatching up the paintbrush and
brandishing it like a weapon, like he's about to declare war. He's meant to
be painting a ship on the sea, literally getting paid to, but the curve of
Remus' ear mocks him.

It's a bit messed up, isn't it? Sirius knew this would happen. He'd said it. He
knew Remus would leave, and even though he promised not to, swore that
he couldn't, a part of Sirius always believed that he would anyway. It was
just such a small part, smaller than he's ever felt, because most of him?
Most of him had believed Remus. Trusted him. Wanted so badly for it to be
true that he let most of himself think, and hope, that it was.

"Just work. Bloody work, please," Sirius tells the canvas, the paintbrush, his
own hands—pleading and tortured as any great artist would be, under his
circumstances.

He can't lose this. He can't. Art means so much to him. It's his lifeblood,
really. It's how he travels, how he shears layers of pain and emotion and
trauma off his back, how he finds his footing in feeling real pride in himself
when he never truly used to. It has always been when he's felt the most in
control of himself, of his life, and that's all gone now, because Remus
ruined it, ruined Sirius, just like Sirius feared he would.
Sirius makes another frustrated sound and dips his brush, throwing himself
into the next stroke with defiance, but that's just the angle of Remus' jaw
connecting to his ear, isn't it? Sirius throws the paintbrush down once more
and paces away, moving around like an animal in a cage, and he finally sits
down in his chair again and buries his face into his hands.

At some undetermined amount of time later (long enough for Sirius'

shoulders to get stiff), there's a shuffling of steps into the room and a warm
voice calling, "Darling?"

Oh, Sirius is going to murder James.

"Effie," Sirius says weakly, lifting his head as Euphemia Potter comes
strolling right into the studio, coming right for him.

"What's all this, then?" Effie asks, gesturing to all of him, which is a bit
rude—and fair—but the hug she bestows upon him more than makes up for
it.

"I'm fine," Sirius tells her, the words muffled into her hair. It's a real tragedy
for James that he inherited Monty's hair and not Effie's, because Effie's hair
is soft and tameable and perfect.

"Oh, I've certainly seen you less fine," Effie muses as she waits for him to
pull away (she never breaks a hug first, never), "but that doesn't mean
you're fine now."

Sirius holds onto her for a bit longer and considers just—not letting go,
ever. Effie would stay right here the entire time, waiting for him to break
away first, would let them wither away together if that's what he needs. He's
also aware that the length of the embrace is on some internal scale for Effie
that tells her just how awful things are for him right now, so it's a battle of
him needing the comfort, versus him not wanting to take it and show just
how much he needs it.

When Sirius was very young, the only physical contact he got was painful,
or with Reggie. Just two children instinctively seeking out the comfort of
each other, especially when they were frightened or in pain. Reggie used to
be so small that Sirius would feel stronger, steadier with a tiny body tucked
up against his, warm and needing him, a purpose.

When Sirius went off to Hogwarts and met James, he very quickly learned
that he was starved for touch. James was always touching him, touching
Peter, touching his books and pencils and hair and everything. James is a
very touchy person, and when Sirius was that young, he was...not. It made
him uncomfortable, because he wasn't used to it. He didn't know how to
initiate it, or respond to it, not naturally. His touch, up until that point, had
come wrapped in a layer of protection, because of Reggie, or from a
recurring point of pain, thanks to Walburga. The easy, unconditional touch
that James offered was new, and scary, and—addicting.

Sirius, of course, fell in love with it. With physical contact for the sake of
affection—not pain and not a defense mechanism. As soon as he realized
that he wanted it, that he couldn't get enough of it, he turned into a very
touchy person, too. Maybe even worse than James, as he got older.
Even still, Sirius was sixteen the first time he got a mother's embrace, and it
was Effie who gifted it to him. There's something different about a way a
proper mother hugs a child, even if it's not their own, and Sirius felt it
immediately. He'd cried. At sixteen, he'd practically curled up in her lap and
cried and didn't move for a very long time, clinging to her, and she never
once made him let go. He got the sense that she would hold him forever,
and a part of him had wanted her to.

That part of him still exists today. He's just very aware that it highlights
how bad things are when that part of him is stronger, louder, within him.
Effie knows. She always knows.

"I'm really fine," Sirius lies, finally forcing himself to tip out of Effie's
arms, not quite meeting her eyes. "Did James call you?"

"Oh, darling, of course he did," Effie says simply, shamelessly, and Sirius
huffs. It makes her chuckle. "Don't be angry with him about it. He didn't
know what else to do." She reaches up and pushes the curtain of his hair
back, narrowing her eyes as she scans his face. "You two are…?"

"Do you really want me to carry on about your son, Effie?" Sirius
challenges, arching an eyebrow.

Effie draws back, flicking her gaze over him, and she crosses her arms.
"Oh, sure. Give it a go."
"He's your son," Sirius says flatly, and Effie's mouth twitches like she's
trying not to smile. Sirius scowls. "Stop it. He is."

"Right. Yes, go on."

"He's—he's—I hate his stupid—"

"Yes?" Effie prompts.

Sirius slumps back in his chair and growls. "Oh, alright. Just because I can't
properly insult him doesn't mean I'm not raging. I'm raging. I'm absolutely
raging. Can't even be near him, really. He's—well, I can't get it out, but he
is."

"He's miserable, Sirius," Effie says gently.

"And I'm not?"

"Yes, obviously, but that's my point. You're both clearly having a rough go
of it at the moment, and letting it fester between you two isn't helping.
Now's the time to lean on each other, not...this. Darling, you two have never
done this."
"He's never kept anything from me either," Sirius tells her gruffly. He
shoves a hand through his hair and upsets where she pushed it back, making
it fall forward again. "Effie, he looked me right in my face and lied, as if I
wouldn't be able to tell. He's—he's never done that before."

Effie's eyebrows furrow. "Tell me what happened. I thought this was about
that boy of yours. Moonbeam, something or another, wasn't it?"

"What?" Sirius blinks at her. "You—you didn't think that's his actual name,
did you?"

"You young people these days, darling, I don't put it past any of you. I don't
have to understand it; I just have to respect it."

"That's really very decent of you, you know. Could you imagine? Oh, we're
gathered here today to witness the joining of Sirius and Moonbeam. Ha!
Brilliant."

"So it's not Moonbeam, I take it? You only mentioned him the once, and
you were rushing off."

Sirius chuckles, surprised to find that he still can. "It's not Moonbeam, no.
His name is Remus, but I called him Moony. It's a long and not entirely
appropriate story."
"Oh, well, that's lovely," Effie says mildly, diplomatic, and her eyes sparkle
with humor when he snorts. "I rather like Moonbeam, I think. Something
majestic about it."

"It does have...something to it. He'd laugh if—" Sirius' smile falters, and
Effie's fades in solidarity. He gazes at her a little helplessly. "I don't know
what happened, Effie. He was here one day, then gone the next. We—we
were fine. Well, we had a bit of a domestic, I suppose, but it...we made up
beautifully. He bloody told me he loved me, you know. Said it so easily, as
if he always had, and always would."

"He just—left?" Effie asks, startled.

"Well, he met James that morning—I thought, for the first time, but
apparently they already knew each other. He was acting...odd." Sirius
frowns. "I don't—I'm not sure how to explain it. He met James, and it was
like he'd just gotten terrible news. I've never seen him so pale."

Effie blinks. "Were they…?"

"No, it's not that," Sirius says. "I just don't know what it is. Remus dragged
James off, all secretive like, and I—I was angry. My best mate and
boyfriend, keeping secrets from me! I mean, honestly, was I meant to just
be alright with that?"

"Did you ask them?" Effie murmurs.

"That's just the thing," Sirius whispers. "Remus never came back, and when
James did, you'd think something awful had happened. I asked him, you
know, what happened, but James just said nothing did, really, and Remus
left without saying much at all. He lied, Effie. I know he was lying. I know
there's more to it all, and Remus hasn't come back since. Won't answer my
calls, or reply to my messages, and I've never been over to his place, and
he's not on social media, and—" He swallows, looking down. "I just don't
know what happened. I don't understand why James wouldn't tell me."

"Oh, love, what's happened now?" Effie says quietly, her eyes skyward, and
Sirius knows she's directing her words at James and not him. James is love.
Sirius is darling. It's been like that since he moved into the Potter's home,
into their family. Why is he darling? James had sputtered, but all his
indignation had been faked. Because he's so very darling to me, to all of us,
Effie had replied, cupping Sirius' face in her hands, and it had taken genuine
effort not to burst into tears immediately.

"That's the question, isn't it?" Sirius croaks, blinking hard.

"I don't have all the answers, darling, no matter how much we both wish I
did," Effie tells him gently, reaching out to take both of his hands in hers,
squeezing them. "I can tell you this for certain, however. James? He would
never hurt you on purpose, Sirius; he'd rip himself apart finding some way
to avoid it, and rip himself apart for it, if he couldn't. Now, I don't know
what all happened, but I do know he's hurting right now, too—even in a
similar way. No matter what else, you love him, he loves you, and you both
need each other. Go home, darling. See him. Talk to him."
Sirius swallows harshly. "I'll forgive him."

"Is this his fault?" Effie asks. "Can you be sure that it is?"

"I can't be sure that it's not."

"Is that enough?"

"No," Sirius whispers, and Effie's face softens. "I know he doesn't control
Remus. I know that—that the blame…" His breath hitches, and his eyes
sting. He slumps and sniffs, looking over at the canvas. "I can't even paint
anymore, Effie. Every time I try, it's all Remus. He's everything."

Effie brings both of his hands to her mouth and kisses them one at a time,
then smiles at him sadly. "If all you can paint is him, then paint him. Get it
out, darling. You can't keep it all locked in forever. Love wants to be free,
doesn't it?"

"It hurts," Sirius chokes out.

"I know," Effie says softly. Her eyes are warm and knowing and wise, and
she folds him back into a hug that has him dangerously close to crying. She
brushes her hand over his hair, pushing it back again. "I know, darling."
Sirius clings to her and doesn't let go for a long time.

Later, when he's alone again, Sirius stands in front of the canvas and stares
it down with his jaw clenched, wielding his paintbrush like a sword and a
shield. He declares war.

He loses.

In the aftermath, the battlefield is drenched in blood, nothing but fallen

bodies and burning land. No one has won, but he's lost the most. Remus
shines on the canvas, stripped directly from Sirius' memory, his mind, his
very bones. He's beautiful, the bridge of his nose dusted with freckles, his
amber eyes warm and slightly wide with joy. Love curves the corner of his
lips. The slope of his neck is where Sirius is meant to breathe him in, the
safest place he's ever hidden. There he is, captured in one moment, and
Sirius can't look away.

The paintbrush clatters to the floor, and he steps back, a lump lodged in his
throat. Sirius stares at Remus, so beautiful, and it's not enough. None of this
is enough. There is no getting it out, not this, not Remus. He's just in Sirius,
invading the very fiber of his being, weaved in and out of the essence of
him. Love wants to be free, but this love refuses to go anywhere, having
found its forever home.

Sirius chokes out a harsh breath and snatches the canvas off the easel,
tossing it aside with a muffled snarl, his chest heaving once his hands are
empty. And then he laughs. He stands there and laughs, high and hysterical,
because he feels like he's gone mad. The Black family madness, the curse
finally catching up to him, and it's love that does it.

The worst part is that he knew. He knew from the very beginning that he
wouldn't survive this, not in the same state he entered it. He knew he was
being reckless with his heart, and he knew he didn't have a choice in the
matter.

He was right. He hates that he was right.

Sirius leaves the canvas on the floor. Sirius packs up his paints, cleans his
paintbrushes, and puts away his easel. Sirius cuts off all the lights in the
studio, and he goes home.

James is there. Of course he is. He's been moping about for the past six
days, staring after Sirius with big deer eyes behind his glasses, while Sirius
has ignored him as much as possible. Mostly, Sirius has stayed out of the
flat as much as he could, fuming away in his studio. James is always
hunched whenever Sirius turns up again, as if he's trying to disappear into
himself. Sirius hates it. He's been ignoring it.

Until you can fucking tell me what happened, I suppose we just won't
bloody talk, will we? Sirius had snapped, and James hasn't said one word
since.

Sirius wishes he could hate him for that, but there's no part of him capable
of hating James for anything, ever. He ignores that, too.
But, well, he's tired.

"Your mother, James, really?" Sirius asks sharply as he throws himself

down on the sofa next to him.

James instantly falls into him with a muffled sound, flinging his arms
around him, and then—oh, bloody hell, he's crying. Sirius can't do the
crying. Sirius can't handle James crying; it's an instant tear-trigger for him.
He's only seen James cry a few times, and each time, Sirius automatically
cried with him. Just an immediate response, no explanation needed.

Sirius doesn't blame himself for crying now, too. It's honestly not even his
fault. It's James' fault for crying in the first place. Miserable sods, the both
of them.

"I'm sorry," James chokes out.

"Won't you just tell me?" Sirius rasps. "James, I need to know. I can't—I
can't keep—"

"I don't know. I don't—I'll fix it. I'll—I don't know," James stutters out,
rearing back to stare at him with lopsided glasses and red-rimmed eyes. "I
don't know, but we can't keep doing this, can we? It's not working, is it?"
"I don't even know what's happening," Sirius admits hoarsely, deflating
back away from him. "Why did he leave, James? He promised he wouldn't
leave."

"Sirius," James whispers.

"I love him, Prongs. I love him." Sirius says, and it comes out strangled and
thick. This time, when he cries, it's all him, and the only one to blame is
Remus. "It's not fair."

James swallows and reaches out to grab his hand, holding on tight. "I'm
sure he didn't want to leave you."

"But he did, and I hate him," Sirius gasps out, and he folds back into his
best friend, because none of this is fair, but James is always here.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I'll fix it," James chants in a strained rush, holding
him, crying right along with him.

Sirius ends up curled in a ball practically in James' lap, his head resting on
his thighs, James' fingers buried in his hair. He stares straight ahead at the
blank, black screen of the telly, his eyes swollen and crusty, and he feels
empty. He feels like he's drifting. "You haven't been going out to see your
mean barista. Surely he's missing you by now." James makes a weak sound,
choked, and Sirius turns his head to look up into James' stricken expression.
"James?"
"I—I—" James lifts his hand out of Sirius' hair to cover his mouth, eyes
squeezing shut. His chest constricts, stuttering, and he shudders like he's
sobbing without any of the tears.

"James?" Sirius asks again, more insistent this time. He's suddenly struck
with the awful thought that something has happened with James, something
awful, and he'd ignored it.

"I can't. I can't do this anymore," James declares, his voice cracking as he
drops his hand. "I miss him."

"Why'd you stop seeing him, then?" Sirius mutters, baffled.

James shakes his head. "I've mucked it all up, Padfoot. I think I've—I don't
know if I can fix this. Not with him. I made him a promise, I promised
nothing would change, and then I broke it. This is so hard. I don't know. I
really don't know."

"Take it from me," Sirius whispers, "doing nothing about it hurts worse.
This hurts worse."

"I'm sorry," James says again, like the words have been stripped from his
very soul, yanked from under his fingernails where he's dug them out
himself. Like he really is sorry. Like all of it is his fault. Is it?
Sirius doesn't want it to be.

He turns his head and goes back to staring at nothing, not speaking, not
moving. They just breathe. James buries his hand in Sirius' hair again, and
Sirius cries silently and alone. He feels hollow. He's not sure he'll ever
create art again.

Eventually, Sirius peels himself away. He doesn't look at James, or reply

when he softly calls his name. He retreats, instead, falling into the same
pattern he's been trapped in his whole life. This bleak streak of himself
where he shrinks back into a cage of his own making, locked away with no
way for anyone to reach him, imprisoned with only himself to confer with,
and he doesn't make for very good company at all.

Sirius hit his mother back once. He was thirteen, and she'd caught him and
Reggie sliding down the banister because they'd wrongfully assumed she
was out. She wasn't.

Walburga whacked Reggie across the knuckles and likely would have done
more had Sirius not hastily started mouthing off the moment he saw tears
spring to Reggie's eyes, softer then, at that age. Only twelve. Sirius couldn't
stand it, never could stand it, so he drew Walburga's attention to himself.
He'd said something stupid, and Walburga had coldly ordered Reggie to
leave, and then Sirius was alone.

In the midst of his punishment, Sirius had felt something he never did
before. It was the first time, but not the last. Like everything had turned to a
dull buzz, falling away from him, coming from very far away. He'd felt it
like a curtain closing, everything going muffled, and suddenly he was
numb. Not scared, and not hurt, and not angry. Just—blank, and none of it
mattered. He'd loved his mother in some sick, twisted way up until that
moment, but in that exact moment, he stopped.

The very first thing he did in the absence of that painful love, at the
innocent age of thirteen, was hit her.

He'd never done that before. Never been brave enough. Never could
connect with that level of cruelty when every inch of him was clamped with
fear.

But the curtain closed, and he raised his hand, and he hit her for the very
first time—and also the last.

It had felt...good, and also sickening, and it had snatched that curtain right
back up until his breath caught in his throat, and he was staring at his
mother with wide eyes, fear dripping along his spine as he began to shake.
Walburga turned slowly and looked at him, and he thought, from the
expression on her face and the fire in her eyes, that she was going to kill
him.

She nearly did.

Later, bedridden and starving, Sirius had curled up on his side, staring at his
wall, and he'd thought about it. About how, when the soft parts of himself
went muted, the very first thing he did was inflict pain. About how love left
him, and he would never get it back, and he knew it—and the first thing he
did with the lack of it was try to hurt who he no longer had it for. About
how much he wanted to do it again, and again, and again until she was the
one crumbled and broken on the floor, half-dead and wishing she was.
About how he'd never, never do it again, because fear and shame weighs
heavier than anger, and it yanked that curtain right back up.

The thing is, the curtain has fallen many times in the years since, but never
with her. With others, yes. With Reggie. With friends. With people who
have wanted to peer past that curtain and draw him out into a soft, safe
embrace. He reckons it's a defense mechanism, an instinct, and one he's
never been free from his whole life, and never will be.

See, when that curtain drops, when things get muted within him and he
feels numb, the very first thing he does is lash out, like he finally has the
freedom to do so because he no longer cares, because the softest parts of
him crafted with love and untouched by hate have been tucked neatly away,
out of reach. He hurts people, then. People he has loved, and people he
stops loving, and people he'll never love again when he finds the strength to
drag that curtain up once more.

Remus is different.

There is no being numb, when it comes to Remus Lupin. Nothing can go

muted where Remus Lupin is involved. He can't stop caring about Remus
Lupin. He can't stop loving Remus Lupin. There is no such thing, and Sirius
is both relieved and trapped. More free than he ever has been by it, and
imprisoned with the desperate need to escape. He sinks down and accepts
his fate. He grips the bars and rattles them, screaming to be let out.
The moon is high in the sky out his window. Sirius stares at it, and hates it,
and loves it, and reaches for a curtain to tug down and hide behind, but it's
not there.

Remus must have taken it when he left.

Chapter End Notes

You're all gonna yell at me, and you know what? That's fair.

BUT HEAR ME OUT! I—

I...don't actually have a good explanation. I'm not entirely sure what
any of you were expecting. Modern/Muggle AU aside, this is STILL
the marauders fandom, so like, there's gonna be some pain.

On the upside, I can promise eventual resolution, and the feedback on

the last chapter made me so happy that I've decided I will be updating
on a set schedule of Wednesdays, Fridays, and Sundays. I won't
usually update this late, but I actually got caught up in writing this
story (I'm like, almost finished now, so I should have a final chapter
count up soon). I want to thank all of you so much for all the support
and responses I've gotten so far.

On the other hand, I ask once again, how we feelin'?

 Chapter 8
Chapter Notes

Some warnings for this chapter: angst, a little bit of spice (not
explicit), and the Black Brothers being, true to form, very stubborn.
See the end of the chapter for more notes

James gathers his phone, throws on his coat, and moves over to the door to
snatch it open—only to freeze.

Remus is standing on the other side, his hand lifted and poised like he was
about to knock. His mouth is hanging open as if he was going to speak, but
no words formed, and he just stares at James in blank shock. James stares
back.

"What are you doing here?"

"Where are you going?"

They both speak at the same time, then fall silent at the same time, staring
at each other. Remus narrows his eyes, and it takes genuine effort for James
not to shift guiltily.

"Are you going to see Regulus?" Remus asks.

James stares down at his fingers. "Maybe…"

"Dammit, James, we agreed," Remus says with a groan, dropping his hand
just so he can toss both arms up in blatant exasperation. "We agreed we
wouldn't—"

"Oh, and what brings you here, then?" James cuts in dryly, lifting his head
and arching an eyebrow. "Here to see Sirius, are we?" Remus' mouth snaps
shut, and James resists the urge to laugh right in his face. "Yes, that's what I
thought. So much for a clean break, eh?"

"There's nothing clean about this," Remus grumbles, his gaze darting over
James' shoulder. "Is—is he here, then?"

"He's at his studio," James says gently, because honestly, Remus is looking
a bit rough. He tosses his head, stepping back so that Remus can slip inside.
"Come on, I'll make you some tea. There's nothing a good cuppa can't
solve, my dad always used to say, or if not solve it, then keep you warm
while everything falls to shit."

"He sounds like a wise man, your father," Remus mumbles as he follows
James into the kitchen.

"Yes and no. The tea bit is just because he's exceedingly British." James
chuckles when Remus releases a quiet snort, moving over to put a kettle on.
"He's right, though. Never had a proper cuppa that didn't warm me up, no
matter what else was going on. Can't fault him that, really."
Remus hums. "Suppose not."

"You look like shit, mate," James informs him.

"I feel worse," Remus says, sighing and tilting his head forward to stare
down at his shoes, swiping a hand over his hair in frustration.

"I know what you mean," James mutters.

They fall silent, not really looking at each other. It's a thick, tense silence
full of unsaid things, the kind that makes James want to vibrate right out of
his skin. Even the gurgling of the kettle doesn't help very much. James
wants to squirm, to fill the silence with rambling, to breeze past the
discomfort that sits between them. He's not good with things like this. He
needs things to feel okay, or he might just bloody explode.

It takes every inch of James' willpower not to blurt out asking how Regulus
is doing. He—he must be fine, yeah? Because he's Regulus, so he must
be…

James is terrified to ask. So afraid of the answer in either direction that he

can't get the question out, no matter how hard it slams against the walls of
his throat. What if Regulus isn't fine, and hasn't been fine? What if Regulus
is, and has been, and will continue to be? Is he angry? Worse, is he hurt?
"How have you been?" Remus murmurs.

"That's not what you want to know," James says bluntly.

Remus clenches his jaw. "Yes, it is, or I wouldn't have asked. I rather got
used to seeing you nearly every day myself, you know, before you—"

"Don't sound angry with me about it," James hisses, appalled, his eyes
widening. "You're the one who said—"

"You're the one who agreed," Remus snaps.

James scowls. "Yes, and I've been feeling shit about it ever since. That's the
last time I let you make the decisions, yeah?"

Remus is the one who said it, about a week ago now, just that this would
never work, that there had to be a clean break, since they knew the truth.
James had agreed because—well, because it makes sense, doesn't it?
Because if it ever got out to Regulus and Sirius that their best mates were
dating their brother—oh...oh, there'd be no coming back from that. So, once
they learned the truth, they had to stop, or all of it would fall apart from
every angle. Maybe Sirius and Regulus don't know all the reasons behind it,
but the outcome would be no different if they did. Things would just be—
worse.
They thought that simply backing out of their lives would be best. The least
cruel option, because if Sirius ever found out that James didn't cease and
desist with Regulus immediately, or Regulus found out the same for Remus
with Sirius... Well, they'd thought it best to just cut ties and move on. James
feels like he's been dying a little more on the inside every single day. Remus
looks like he has.

"Honestly," Remus says, softer now, "how have you been?"

"I…" James sighs and hangs his head, slumping. It's so odd, because before
this, Remus was just Regulus' best friend, Lupin, and now… Well, now,
Remus feels like the only person who gets it. "Honestly? Not good. I can't
—I just feel… Remus, I miss him. I really, really miss him. And it's not fair,
because Sirius would—he would be so upset if he knew. But I can't help it.
And the guilt… Do you—do you feel…?"

"All the time," Remus whispers.

"Is he—how is he?" James croaks, looking at Remus with genuine

trepidation, and he doesn't need to elaborate.

Remus winces and won't meet his eyes, and James feels his heart drop. Oh.
Not good, then. Fuck. "James…"
"Is it very bad?" James asks, his voice gone high and tight from the way his
throat closes up. His face is stiff and stinging, eyes burning, and he feels
like he's going to cry again.

"I'm sure you don't want to know."

"It's all I can think about. Remus, please."

"You don't—you shouldn't punish yourself, James, alright? You're trying to

do what's best for both of them. We both are. What options do we really
have?" Remus says softly.

James makes a small sound. "Did he say anything about me?"

"James."

"Was he looking for me? Waiting for me to show up?"

Remus glances at him, finally, a strain around his eyes. He nods slowly, and
James curls in on himself, feeling as if he's just been struck. "Oh, James,
don't do that, yeah? It's not our fault we ended up involved with—with—"

"This isn't working," James croaks. "Remus, this isn't—"

"James—"

"So, what are you doing here, then? Go on, tell me how you are. As if I
can't tell already. And you want to ask about him, I know you do. Should I
tell you how bad off Sirius had been? Because he loves you, and you
promised you wouldn't leave him, so imagine how he's feeling right now."

"I know, alright?" Remus chokes out, looking away. "I know. I just—I just
wanted to see him. Just—even for a moment. I had to see him. I—I love
him, too."

"What are we doing, Remus?" James murmurs, turning to reach out and
touch his arm, drawing his gaze. "Really, what are we doing, yeah? How is
this the solution? We've only hurt them, and ourselves. It's not working."

"I don't know what else to do. If—if we told them…" Remus bites his
bottom lip, eyebrows raised.

James taps his fingers to Remus' arm, considering it. They stare at each
other, both of them dancing around the reality of that option. "Oh, that
would not go over well, mate."

"No. No, it wouldn't." Remus grimaces. "Yes, Regulus, terribly sorry and
hilarious story, but I've fallen in love with your brother, you see. The one
who abandoned you, who you hate; yes, that's the one. A complete accident,
by the way. If it's not too much trouble, I'd like to go on dating him without
losing you in the process. Is that alright with you?" He groans. "Oh, he'd
never forgive me."

"You think you have it the worst?" James fixes a flat look on his face. "Oi,
Sirius, you're never going to believe this one, mate. That barista I was
telling you about? Turns out, he's your little brother! Yes, exactly the one I
told you about, who sucked my cock in the pantry, who I later got off that
same day and came home bragging about." He shudders. "He wouldn't
forgive me, but he wouldn't have to, because he'd kill me."

"Would he? Do you think Sirius is protective of Regulus? I thought he hated

him," Remus says, frowning.

"Bit complicated, that," James replies, sighing. He drops his hand from
Remus' arm as the kettle begins to shriek at them. As he pulls down
teacups, he keeps talking. "Sirius does hate Regulus, but he also—well, he's
his older brother. I'm an only child, and so are you, I take it?"

Remus nods. "Yeah."

"Before Sirius left home, Regulus was…" James' face scrunches up. "Let
me put it like this—Sirius went home for every break, no matter how much
he hated going back. Regulus was there, so he always went. Then, when he
ran away, he just—shut down about Regulus. He had no problem making
sure everyone knew just how much he hated his entire family, Regulus
included. When he was seventeen, a bloke made a comment. A bloke we
were all friendly with, mind. We'd all been hearing Sirius say awful things
about his family, about Regulus, ever since he left...so the bloke likely
thought it was alright. He'd barely gotten the whole sentence out before
Sirius had him up against the wall by his throat. Never seen him move that
fast. He was cold about it. Precise. Brutal. Just broke the bloke's nose and
nearly scared the piss out of him, and all Sirius said… Say another word
about Reggie and I'll make sure you'll never be able to say another word at
all, he said. Brushed off his hands and walked away. Took the detention
with a smile."

"That's—" Remus blinks rapidly. "That's quite sexy, actually."

"Remus," James says.

"Sorry." Remus' face turns pink. "So, that—that happened after he left
home, even though he hated Regulus by that point?"

"Well, that's just the thing, isn't it?" James slides Remus his tea and sighs.
"I'm not really sure that he does hate him."

"Oh." Remus opens and closes his mouth, looking startled. He tilts his head.
"Why do you think that?"

James chuckles. "I know him. Sirius does hate Regulus, but only in the way
that he loves him so much it drives him mad. Remus, he spent his entire
childhood protecting Regulus as much as he could. Willingly suffering for
him. You don't just lose the sort of love that makes you do things like that."
"Regulus once said that Sirius was the best thing in that house," Remus says
softly.

"Did he?" James murmurs.

Remus hums, frowning at his tea. "He also said Sirius told him he was no
better than the rest of his family."

"Sounds like Sirius," James mutters, grimacing. "You have to understand,

their relationship rotted. Sirius talked about it more in the beginning, how
Reggie was—was becoming so much like their mother wanted them both to
be. Eventually, he wouldn't talk about Reggie at all. Couldn't, really. He was
all tangled about it. About who Regulus was becoming."

"But that's not who Regulus turned out to be," Remus whispers insistently.
"Do you know Regulus waited for him? He told me he waited for Sirius to
come back for him, except Sirius never did."

"Is that why he hates Sirius, then?" James asks. "Because I can't work that
part out. Sirius did so much for Regulus, and what did he get? Regulus
made it out to be his fault, you know, as if Sirius was the problem. After all
that he went through…"

"You think Regulus had it any easier? Sirius was gone, and as far as
Regulus knew, he was happier that way. Imagine how that must have felt.
To have to see your best friend, your brother, be happier without you
around. You don't think Regulus was jealous, James? Scared and alone?
Why wouldn't that turn into resentment, having to watch the person you're
closest to leave all the time, and want to leave you, and treat you like you're
a part of the problem because of the way you learn to survive when they're
gone?"

"That's not fair. That's not—Sirius would have saved him in a heartbeat.
Sirius would have taken him when he left, if only Regulus would have
gone."

"Did he ask?" Remus says.

James tilts his chin up. "Did Regulus?"

"There's no right answer here, you know," Remus murmurs, looking away.
"There isn't any way to break it down into who is wrong or right, who
deserves the blame or doesn't, so we can fix it. We can't fix it, James. The
truth is, they were both suffering, and it didn't end well between them, but it
did end."

"But what if…?" James tips his head back and forth. "Don't you think they'd
be happier if they reconciled?"

"Do you think they can?" Remus shoots back.

"Fair point," James says with a wince.

Remus sighs. "I do think they'd be happier. One less burden, and I do think
they still care. You can't hate someone you used to love the way they hate
each other and not still have love mixed in there somewhere. I just don't
think they'd do it, and I'm not so sure dating them would be of any help."

"But not dating them is…" James trails off and swallows.

"Torture," Remus rasps.

James nods miserably. "Yeah."

"So, if we did tell them…" Remus tries again, raising his eyebrows. "How
would that go, do you think? Honestly?"

"If we told them," James says, "nothing good would come from it unless we
were telling them to explain why we're not dating them anymore. I think
they'd respect that. Regulus would hate me and feel like I was choosing
Sirius, and Sirius would feel the same about you, but Regulus would be
pleased with you, and Sirius would be pleased with me. So, we can't have
both. They'd never let us have both. If they knew, we'd have to lose one,
which is what we're doing already, and it's not working."

"So…" Remus raises his eyebrows.

"We...don't tell them?" James says tentatively, biting his bottom lip as soon
as the words fall out.

Remus eyes him. "I mean, it was going well before."

"It really was. Sirius was happy. Regulus was happy." James shifts
restlessly. "He—he was happy, wasn't he?"

"Quite," Remus whispers.

James blows out a deep breath. "And we took that from them, and now
none of us are happy. Isn't that wrong?"

"It feels wrong."

"So does lying to them."

"But…" Remus raises his eyebrows higher. "For their own sakes, and
maybe a little bit of ours? I adore them both, really, but they hardly know
what's best for themselves, do they?"
"Not really," James agrees slowly.

"Right, so if they were happier before…"

"It's just best if they don't know."

Remus nods carefully. "That was working."

"Are we rationalizing this?" James whispers, watching Remus warily. "I

feel like we're rationalizing this."

"Oh, yes, definitely," Remus says promptly, ignoring it when James groans.
"But what else are we meant to do? You're right. This isn't working. If they
weren't so bloody stubborn, this wouldn't be a problem, would it?"

"This is a very bad idea, Remus," James mumbles, clutching his tea in tense
hands. His heart is racing. "You know that, don't you? If we do this, if we
do it on purpose, and they find out…"

"Well, we can't tell them, and we can't keep...not doing it, so what are we
meant to do?" Remus asks, looking as lost as James feels. "Tell me if you
have any other ideas, please. He cried, James. Regulus cried."
James sucks in a sharp breath. "No. No, he didn't. Don't tell me that. Don't
—did he? Remus, did he actually—"

"He did," Remus whispers. "Has Sirius…?"

"He hasn't made any art," James croaks. "He can't. He did cry, and he hardly
spoke to me because he knew… Well, you left after we figured it out. He
knows I'm involved."

"Why can't we have both?" Remus says, distressed. "If it was any other pair
of brothers…"

"But it's not. It's them, so if we do this…" James shakes his head, muffling
a groan under his breath. "I can't lose Sirius, but I can't stay away from
Regulus."

Remus nods almost frantically. "Exactly. That, but in reverse for me. We
can—I mean, it was going well before, so it's not as if we can't do it."

"Just...just one thing," James mumbles. "Short-term, this is brilliant. Long-

term? What about later? Even if we could keep it a secret for long enough,
what happens if we—if one of us, or both of us, want to get married or
something important like that? How would we even…?"
"Surely we could...wear them down?" Remus suggests. "Ease them into it?
If we tackle them from both sides, maybe we can get them to a place where
they can reconcile. If we start now and bring them up to each other, maybe
try to change their minds over time, then one day…"

James is so desperate that he's willing to cling to something as flimsy as

that and pretend it has the structural integrity of steel. He'll take it. "Yeah,
that can't be impossible. They're stubborn, sure, but they can't be that
stubborn, can they?"

At once, in perfect unison, James and Remus wince at the question and look
away from each other, sipping their tea.

"Right. So, all we have to do is keep them from finding out that we're with
their brother," Remus breathes out. "They don't even speak to each other.
How hard can it be?"

"Exactly," James agrees, nodding vigorously. "We did so well before.

Should be simple enough."

"Yeah. Yeah, sure." Remus exhales and stares down at his tea with wide
eyes, looking a bit peaky. James can relate.

"Did he really cry?" James whispers.

Remus looks up, and his face softens. "He did."

"I have to go," James declares, putting his tea down on the counter,
swallowing thickly. "I have to—I can't—"

"I know, mate," Remus says, lips curling up. "Go get him."

James starts backing up, then he pauses. "You'll be here? Waiting on Sirius,
I mean."

"Yes," Remus tells him.

"Good luck," James offers.

Remus lifts his tea in salute. "Same to you."

The whole way to Regulus' flat, James shakes. His ears plead to hear
Regulus' voice again, fingers begging to touch him once more, and most of
all, his eyes are hungry for the sight of him. James has missed him
something awful, his mind always full of him; where he's at, what he's
doing, how he's been.
He thought, really, that he was doing the right thing for both Sirius and
Regulus, no matter how selfishly he might wish to do something else. After
all, Regulus would hardly want to date his brother's best friend, would he?
If he knew, he wouldn't have anything to do with James at all. He barely
agreed to date him before, and he didn't know then, so if he did… Well,
James doesn't like his chances.

James likes this even less, though. He's been playing moments with
Regulus in his head every time he closes his eyes, lost in them, trapped in a
hurricane of memories. That very first meal on their very first date,
Regulus' eyes sparkling as he ranted about the lack of spices in certain
dishes. The soft, breathless laugh snatched away by the roaring wind,
Regulus' face turned up in awe as they flew across the empty skies, and he'd
looked so beautiful that James could have cried. Their first kiss, Regulus
the one to initiate it, tentative and tender, and James had taken whatever he
would give, eager for all of it. The way Regulus had looked after James
promised that nothing would change, the light in his eyes, the trust.

All of these things, and more, have been running on a loop in James' mind.
He can't escape them and doesn't want to; only wants, desperately, to have
more memories join them. The fact that he couldn't, that he wouldn't ever
be able to again, had drained him. Sapped him of all energy. Made the days
longer, and colder, and darker. It's all horrible. James is so unhappy.

Far be it from me to dull your shine, James, Regulus said once. That is
precisely what this is, James is quite sure. His shine has dulled, left nearly
opaque and cloudy, ready to crumble.

James wonders, really, what he was expecting. A storm swallows up all

sunshine, doesn't it? He should have known.
But it's okay. It's all okay, because James is at his door, and maybe he's
deceiving Sirius and Regulus both, but it's all in the name of fixing what's
wrong. James just wants them to be happy. All of them. He'll do what he
has to.

First, James has to actually knock.

His stomach squirms as he stands in front of Regulus' door, his hands

shaking. He just wants to see him again. Needs to, really. It's like a pulse
within him, thundering in his bones, demanding he do what he must to
make it happen. So, he takes a deep breath, lets it out, then knocks on the
door.

At first, it's quiet. James hopes Regulus isn't out; he's almost sure that
Regulus is, and he'll be forced to sit down outside his flat until he comes
back from wherever he is. But then, there's the sound of steps muffled
through the door. James only has a second to feel his heart jump, and then
the door opens.

There he is, James' entire nervous system shrieks at him, and he can feel
himself just fucking lighting up. He can't help it, either. Every wilted,
dejected part of him snaps up with renewed energy, and he's so simply
pleased to see Regulus again. So, that's his first thought, just an instinctive
response his entire being gives, like relief, like joy: there he is.

The second is oh, he's beautiful. And he is. Flyaway strands of dark hair
curling over perfectly arched eyebrows, even at rest, giving the impression
of judgment and superiority without him even having to say anything.
That's not accounting for his eyes; god, his eyes, more than just the striking
color of them, but also how they're framed with thick, dark eyelashes, and
how those eyes can be soft enough to melt into, or sharp enough to bleed
from. A small, cute nose straight except for where it's a bit turned up at the
end, a button-nose James sometimes wants to poke, or pinch, or bite the end
of just because it's adorable. Set below is his mouth, perpetually red and
full, the most restrained part of his face, always frowning except for when it
curls into a smile like a gift, and it's so soft, so soft and warm, because
James remembers that. Can't forget that. Regulus is absolutely,
unquestionably lovely. So lovely.

Regulus is also swiftly, swiftly taking that broken open expression on his
face and sweeping up the shards. The naked vulnerability in his eyes drains
right out, like rain running through the streets to find a place to swirl away,
eventually washing back out into the ocean. His parted lips close back up,
pressing into a thin line. When a storm passes, sunshine breaks through and
dries up all that's left behind, evaporating it, and Regulus is much the same.

"Regulus," James whispers, his heart racing, his mind in an uproar. He's
overflowing, shining brighter and brighter.

Regulus' hand clenches on his door until his knuckles are white and drained
of blood, and then, without a word, he slams it shut right in James' face.

So, this plan they've come up with? Yeah, he'd been worried about it, and
desperate for it, and eager to enact it. Before that can happen, though, it has
to be necessary. Because right now, as James stares at the door with his
mouth hanging open in pure shock, he realizes that there's been a slight
oversight.
For a second, James had gotten so caught up in seeing Regulus again, to
have what they had before, that he'd forgotten one very crucial thing about
all of this.

Regulus? He is not to be fucked with.

Remus sits on the very edge of the sofa in Sirius and James' flat, and he
feels really, truly small. Compact and shriveled like a crumpled piece of
paper. The kind so wrinkled and drained of all stiffness that it has the
consistency of tissue paper, easy to tear apart, already falling apart on its
own.

That's how he feels.

For the past week, Remus has felt like a stranger in his own skin, like he's
lost himself in losing Sirius. You belong with me, Moony, you always will,
Sirius had told him, and Remus knows now more than ever how true that
statement was. Remus, who has spent so long living like a ghost, had finally
found his afterlife, the light he was supposed to go towards, the new
beginning waiting for him in the form of a bright smile and hands crafted
for creation.

Remus feels like he was knocked back into the hollow haunting of his own
body, all the life snatched out of him, a spectral left to drift along
untethered.

Oh how Remus has missed feeling alive.

Anticipation curls in his stomach, writhing around and turning into knots he
can't dream of unraveling. He's waiting, quite literally on the edge of his
seat, but he has no idea what will happen when Sirius does finally return.
What will be said. How it will go. He's not feeling optimistic, admittedly.

Remus is very aware of what grievance he just did to Sirius. After

promising not to leave him, that's almost immediately what he did. It's been
driving him spare, because he didn't want to do it. To be quite honest—
slight betrayal to Regulus or not—Remus never wanted to leave Sirius.
Every minute since, he's wanted to come back, to beg on his fucking knees
if he had to, and that's awful, isn't it, to want that when Regulus would hate
him, absolutely hate him for it?

He knows, in the back of his mind, that this is a very bad idea all the way
around for all of them involved, but he is so weak for Sirius Black. So very
weak. Look at him, sitting here waiting, knowing what's at risk.

Jittery and unable to sit still, Remus flings himself up off the sofa and starts
pacing, trying to find any vestiges of the flimsy calm his brain is fucking
pleading for right now.

There's nothing to be found, really.

The flat is quiet outside of the consistent tick of the clock on the wall, one
of those with the silly faces and the gloved hands on the end of the arms
that move around as time goes around in circles. It looks like it belongs in a
child's room, not in a flat that two grown men in their mid-twenties share,
but somehow, it's very fitting for Sirius and James. Just, right now, Remus
can't stand the sight of the blasted thing.

Whirling around, Remus finds himself bursting into Sirius' room and
immediately letting out a shaky breath of relief. He can feel Sirius' presence
here, catches whispers of the smell of him, practically sees the impressions
of him moving about his room in some illusion of the real thing. Remus'
shoulders slump, and he shuffles over to find Sirius' emergency pack of
smokes, feeling a bit like a prick but desperately needing one. This is an
emergency, isn't it? Feels like it.

Remus goes to Sirius' window, opens it, and waits there.

He gets through three and a half before he hears the distant sound of
someone entering the flat. Automatically, his shoulders tense up, and his
heart starts pounding. That beast in the corner of his mind all but cowers,
hunched down and whimpering, and for the very first time, Remus pities
the bloody thing. Would pet it and soothe it, if he wasn't tempted to curl up
with it and hide away, too.

God, he's never felt smaller than he does right now. His fingers tremble as
he inhales again, staring resolutely out the window. There's a clatter from in
the kitchen, and Remus thinks for a moment that maybe it's Peter. Could be.
He comes by as he likes, doesn't he? So, maybe—
The door opens, and Remus exhales slowly, hearing the sharp intake of
breath behind him. A twitch of fingers, and ash drops on the windowsill,
and then Remus is craning his head over his shoulder to see Sirius framed
in the doorway.

They stare at each other, Sirius so stiff he looks made of stone, Remus
shaking like he's been zapped down his spine, a burst of energy that leaves
him vibrating even as he stands in place. Slowly, as calmly as he can,
Remus puts out the smoke and turns around fully, feeling even smaller
under Sirius' gaze. Halved. Cleaved in two. Fraying at the edges.

"Moony," Sirius whispers, his throat working, and oh, Remus has missed
that. He has. So very, terribly much.

Remus inclines his head and, with a casual quality to his tone that startles
even him, says, "Padfoot."

Sirius' jaw clenches, his eyes flashing, and there it is. There's the anger
Remus is expecting, and it's fair. Of course it's fair. As if Sirius wouldn't be
upset, after everything. He has every right to be, just as Regulus does;
distantly, he hopes that James is prepared for the anger. Maybe Remus
should have warned him. As if they'd get through this unscathed, after
hurting their own stubborn, emotionally stunted Black. Oh, how hadn't
Remus figured out they were brothers immediately? They're so very alike,
aren't they?
You don't just get away with hurting Sirius Black—or Regulus Black, for
that matter. There will be hell to pay. He's very aware, and he's more than
willing to go bankrupt in the pursuit of what he wants, what they all want—
and need.

"How did you—" Sirius narrows his eyes, nostrils flaring, and then he
hisses, like a curse, "James."

"Don't be angry with him," Remus murmurs.

"Don't fucking tell me what—"

"Sirius—"

It's nearly a snarl when Sirius spits out, "What the fuck do you want, you
daft bastard? You can't just camp out in my bloody room! And you're
smoking my emergency pack, you prick!"

"I'll replace them," Remys says mildly.

"You won't, because you won't be around to replace them. Get out," Sirius
snaps, and in a complete contradiction to his words, he slams his door shut
and glares at Remus. This either means he doesn't actually want Remus to
get out, or he wants him to jump out the fucking window. Remus is
choosing to believe it's the former, not the latter. God, he hopes it's the
former. At this point, he might actually jump out the window, both from
mortification and also because Sirius might genuinely want him to.

Remus takes a deep breath, then eases it out. Tries to calm his racing heart.
"Sirius, I know you're angry. I know—"

"Angry?" Sirius asks coldly, his eyes like ice, and that makes him resemble
Regulus quite a bit, that does. It looks out of place on him, that frigid
emptiness. "No, Remus, I'm not angry. Not angry at all. Whatever gave you
that idea?"

"Well, I'm not blind, for one," Remus mutters, then winces when Sirius' lips
press into a thin line. "And also, you have every right to be angry. What I
did—"

"What you did," Sirius cuts in sharply. "What did you do, Remus? Go on,
tell me what you did."

"I—" Remus swallows. "I left."

"Yes, you did," Sirius says tonelessly. "What else?"

"I didn't speak to you for a week, or respond, or give you an explanation for
any of it," Remus whispers. "You needed me, and I wasn't here. I promised,
and I—broke that promise."
"Yes, you did," Sirius repeats, just as flat. "What else?"

"Sirius," Remus murmurs, pained.

Sirius steps away from the door, slowly prowling closer, his eyes going
from frozen fury to a blaze of rage, just as intense, but more like him, so
much so that Remus is oddly relieved by it. "I told you what would happen.
I told you it would ruin me, and what did you do, Remus? You fucking
ruined me. And what did I say I would do about that, hm?"

"Kill us both," Remus recalls, blinking rapidly when Sirius hums in

agreement. "Me first."

"You first," Sirius hisses, advancing closer until he brings his hands up,
putting them against Remus' chest, and shoves. Remus is slammed up
against the window's ledge, his head knocking into the raised window, not
enough to hurt but enough that the thud is audible. Sirius shoves him again,
harder. "You have no idea… Oh, I could just—I want to just… I fucking
hate you, Remus Lupin. Hate the goddamn breath in your body. What are
you doing here? What do you want?"

"It was a week, Sirius," Remus whispers, and he hates himself for it, for
downplaying it, knowing it's only going to make Sirius feel like an idiot. "It
was only a week."
"Only a week." Sirius' fingers spasm against Remus' chest, and then his face
goes—blank. "Yes. Only a week, wasn't it? You're right. How foolish of me
to be upset about a week of complete silence, when we spoke every day,
multiple times a day, for months before this week. How foolish of me to be
upset that you saw my best mate and left, not explaining why, not telling me
anything. How foolish of me to be upset with not knowing how you were,
because I had no way of finding out if you were even fucking alive. How
foolish of me; it was only a week."

"I'm sorry," Remus says softly.

"Fucking don't," Sirius growls and shoves him again, pushing him back
against the window. "I don't want your meaningless apologies. I don't want
anything from you."

Remus reaches down and curls his hands around Sirius' wrists, holding his
gaze. "I'd like to explain, Sirius. Please let me. I've really—you have no
idea how much I've missed you."

"You should have thought about that before—"

"Sirius—"

"Your hands aren't broken, and neither are your legs. You could have called.
You could have come by. You could have stayed in the first place." Sirius
curls his lip into a sneer, his face twisting. "But you didn't."
"Christ, Sirius, you don't even know what happened," Remus grinds out,
genuinely frustrated now.

"Because no one would fucking tell me!"

"I'm trying to now!"

"Well, I don't want to hear it now!" Sirius shouts back, shoving Remus
again, fingers curling into the front of his sweater to shake him a bit. "I
don't want to have to be told anything, because I never wanted you to leave
in the first place, but that's that right done, isn't it? Fuck you, yeah? Fuck
—"

"Sirius, stop," Remus snaps, tugging sharply on Sirius' wrists, trying to

wrench his grip free and only managing to yank them closer together in the
process. "Stop being fucking dramatic—"

"Piss off." Sirius grasps Remus tighter, a long line of furious heat against
him, eyes a little wild with genuine anger and something harsher, something
untamed, something that would likely frighten most people, but doesn't
frighten Remus at all, because that beast curled up unfurls with his hackles
raised, jaws snapping, aching with the urge to bite. "You don't get to just
show back up as if you haven't done anything! You don't get to do this to
me. You can't just be here!"
"Well, I am!" Remus shakes him in return as if he can shake some sense
into him, his own frustration rising when he has no right, because he wants
—all he wants— "I'm right here, Sirius. I'm right fucking here!"

"Until you're not," Sirius declares furiously. "So, you know, fuck that,
actually. Go away."

"No," Remus retorts, just as angry. "You think this has been fun for me, you
utter knob?"

Sirius garbles out a sound dangerously close to a shriek and stares at Remus
in disbelief. "You're the one who—"

"I know!" Remus bellows, because he does know. He knows all that he's
done, and he knows how badly he fucked up, and he's so angry about all of
it. He tugs on Sirius' wrists to give him the leverage he needs to rock Sirius
back and around, pushing and pushing until he's shoving Sirius up against
the wall next to the open window, breathing hard, grappling with the
unfairness of it all as Sirius struggles against him. "I know, alright? And I'm
sorry. I'm so fucking—I never wanted—"

"Shut up. It's not about what you wanted, is it? Because you still did it. You
did it, Remus. I was so—I wanted so badly to believe you when you
promised you wouldn't, and you—you still—" Sirius cuts himself off, the
words catching in his throat, and he slams nearly his entire body against
Remus trying to push him away. Like an animal backed in a corner, he just
lashes out. "Let me go!"
Remus immediately does, choking out, "Sirius," as he slumps back as if all
his strings have been cut.

"God, God, I'm so—I hate you so much," Sirius says, and it's almost a
whimper, and then he's dragging Remus back in, colliding into him, kissing
him like a lightning strike.

That's how it falls apart, Sirius' mouth crashing into his, their teeth clacking,
no finesse. Remus gives into it instantly, his arms coming up so his hands
can frame Sirius' face and hold him in place, pinning him more firmly to the
wall. Sirius moans into his mouth, defeated, and Remus perhaps shouldn't
feel so powerful as he does in that moment, but he does.

He's thrumming with it, with that electric power, feeling plugged in like he
could light up the whole world with the outpouring of energy that Sirius
gives him. Just a conduit. The outlet Sirius fits into, molded to him
perfectly. God, Remus feels made for him. He was born for this. He was
brought into this world and survived it just to be this, just for Sirius.

It's a bit of a mess. Sirius shoves him away again, but only to get him to the
bed, a rush of trembling fingers and fumbling limbs as they shed clothes
and come back together. Sirius' chest rises and falls rapidly, and his eyes are
nearly black, all pupil, his mouth open, slick and wet and wanting. He just
keeps groaning, angry, desperate, and Remus just keeps falling into him,
dragging him in, the both of them meeting again and again in a rain of
sparks, rattling against each other.
Remus takes Sirius apart in the way he learned how first; one of the very
first things he learned about Sirius, just how good this is with him, always,
even now. Even now when it's rough, and angry, and overflowing with
emotion.

Sirius clings to him, clings like Remus might just evaporate if he doesn't
hold on tight enough. Remus loses his head a bit, willing to crawl inside
Sirius' fucking skin and never leave, if only he could. Sirius has done it to
him; it's only fair to return the favor. He tries. God, but he tries so fucking
hard. He thinks he must manage it in some way, because Sirius loses his
head a bit, too. For a few blissful moments in the aftermath, the whole earth
rumbles as they quake against each other, and Sirius settles, breathing easy,
calm.

"Sirius," Remus rasps, his voice rough and raw. He untucks his face from
the safety of Sirius' neck to pull back and peer at him as his eyes flutter
open. "Sirius, I—"

"No," Sirius whispers. He stares at Remus and, slowly, with clear force,
loosens his grip and lets go. He just—twists away, easing right out of
Remus' arms and hands like he's the one evaporating. He shrinks into
himself, arms curled around his torso like he's holding himself together, and
he doesn't look at Remus once he's gone. "No, I don't want more promises. I
think you've broken plenty."

"I'm—" Remus' throat clicks, a lump forming. "Sirius—"

Sirius is ozone; you can't hold onto it, but you feel it. Remus feels him, but
Sirius isn't solid. He's mist, and he's floating away. He doesn't look at him
as he whispers, "This is better for you, yeah? It all works out, doesn't it? I
didn't want you to leave, but it's fine. Because I want you to go now."

"Sirius—"

"Remus, I want you to go now. Just go. Please."

For a long moment, Remus doesn't. He just stays there, feeling as if he's
hanging in the balance, his chest caving in. He watches with stinging eyes
as Sirius shrinks into himself further and further, his head turned away, legs
drawing up to his chest as he wraps his arms around them. Remus has never
seen him so small, and he thinks he's the one breaking him down further
just by being here.

In his head, the beast curls into a ball. Remus blinks hard and drags himself
up, looking at his shaking hands instead of looking at Sirius, who he
suddenly can't stomach seeing at all. He gets dressed. The beast whines. He
walks to the door, pausing long enough to glance back, only to find that
Sirius has retreated into himself entirely, forehead pressed to his knees,
naked and vulnerable and needing Remus to leave.

So, Remus leaves, and the beast howls.

The world doesn't feel real, doesn't come into sharp focus, until Remus is
back outside. He takes in a deep, gasping breath and bends over, hands
braced on his knees. Oh, he made it worse. Why did he make it worse?
Fuck.

He'd just—he couldn't help it. Sirius makes him feel more than anyone ever
has. Sirius touched him. Sirius kissed him. They ruined each other. They
never stood a chance, and the worst part is, they both knew it.

Remus stands back up in a stilted motion, as if he's injured, but there's no

visible wound. Doesn't stop the pain from being unfortunately real,
nonetheless. He takes a step, then takes another, then finds himself walking.
He doesn't know what to do, but he does know he has to do something. This
can't be it. This can't be all there is. He can't leave it like this.

Halfway up the street, he comes to a halt when he sees James walking

towards him, head ducked, hands shoved in his pockets. If his shoulders
slumped anymore, they'd be dragging the ground. He's the picture of
disappointment.

Yeah, Remus probably should have warned him.

"Oh," James mumbles when Remus steps into his path, blocking him. He
looks up, his face etched with dejection, so straightforward in his sadness
that Remus' chest pangs. James swallows. "Hi. How'd it go?"

"We shagged," Remus confesses.

"Brilliant," James croaks. "Good for—"

"Not a good thing, James," Remus admits. He squeezes his eyes shut, breath
shuddering out of him, then he opens them again to see James looking at
him sympathetically. "Rather sure it made things worse, actually. What
about you?"

"Regulus opened the door, then immediately slammed it shut in my face,"

James mumbles.

Remus winces. "Ah, shit. Tough luck, mate."

"Yeah," James says with a sigh. "Suppose we got a little ahead of ourselves,
didn't we?"

"Suppose we did," Remus agrees miserably.

James looks at him for a long moment, then says, "You know, maybe it's a
sign that we should just...give up."

"Maybe," Remus murmurs. They stare at each other for a long beat of
silence. "We're not going to do that, though, are we?"
"No," James says softly, "we're not."

Remus blows out a deep breath and shifts slightly to look over his shoulder
in the direction of the flat, in the direction of Sirius. His chest pinches, but
some sort of resolve settles in him, and his shoulders are set with
determination when he looks back at James. There's more. He knows it, and
he'll have it. They'll all have more, if he has anything to say about it. "So,
we should probably reevaluate our plan…"

Chapter End Notes

James and Remus in their Peter Pettigrew era: *skips off to go betray
their besties*

Regulus, when James shows up at his door: yeah, thats gonna be a no

from me

Sirius, when he finds Remus "I have the audacity" Lupin chilling in his
room, smoking his cigs: I'm about to push this fucker out the window

No, but honestly, for those of you worried, the angst gets better next
chapter. On that note, if you're facepalming because of what James and
Remus are doing, that's fair. In their defense, they are motivated by
love. Cut them some slack. They're gonna need it 😭 They've got their
work cut out for them.

I'll be back on Wednesday to post the chapter that will, I suspect, heal
your hearts a little bit.

Big thanks to all the comments and support I've gotten. It means the
world to me!
 Chapter 9
Chapter Notes

Alright, so I must warn you, I think this is my longest chapter yet.

Take your time, enjoy it. There's some angst, someone slaps someone
(not in real time), we've got some angst and jealousy and humor and,
what everyone is looking forward to, some resolution ;)
See the end of the chapter for more notes

Again. He's here again.

Has Regulus not been clear enough, or does James Potter just genuinely
have the audacity? Of course he does. He's James. Shining as bright as the
sun—maybe even brighter—and the glare of him only gets harsher as he
gets more desperate. Here he is again, and Regulus doesn't feel anything
about that.

He doesn't. Not one bit.

"Good morning, James," Remus greets amicably, because he's a traitor,

apparently. He thinks Regulus is being a bit 'unreasonable'. Regulus wants
to claw his eyes out for that one.

"Good morning, Remus," James says, leaning against the counter to flash
that smile of his right at Regulus. "Good morning, you."
"What would you like?" Regulus asks flatly, then nearly squeezes his eyes
shut when James' eyes light up. Bugger. Wrong question. Wrong fucking—

"To be completely honest, I would like for you to be happy again," James
informs him earnestly. "I would also like a lot of other things that are a bit
selfishly motivated, I'll admit, like getting to actually apologize and maybe
explain and also, if I'm lucky, get to touch you again without you killing
me. And, lesser concerns, but I miss your cooking, and your—"

Regulus cuts him off by slamming his hand down on the till, making it
spring open, and he shuts it with a sharp clatter, pleased by the sudden
silence. He holds James' gaze, not wavering as he says, "Your order. What
are you ordering?"

"Oh, that," James mutters with a heavy sigh. His shoulders slump. "You
know, pretending you don't know—"

"Terribly sorry, but it's not my job to memorize orders."

"Regulus."

"Again, what are you ordering? We pride ourselves on efficiency here, and
we try to avoid a building queue, so the faster we can get you out of here,
the better," Regulus rattles off, his voice flat and empty, no emotion. He's
like a robot reading from a script. Artificial intelligence.
"A four-pump hazelnut and vanilla latte with an extra shot of espresso,"
James mumbles and doesn't bother trying to get the squirty cream and
caramel drizzle, because Regulus flatout refuses to make it for him. "Oh,
and a raspberry danish."

Regulus' entire body gives a violent, involuntary twitch. His gaze falls
down to James' shirt needlessly, because he's known the color of it since
James came in, since he was waiting out by the door like he always used to
before Regulus started to let him in before they'd even opened. James is not
in red, so why is he getting a raspberry danish? He's in white, and that's a
cinnamon roll warmed up for thirty-seven seconds exactly, because it gets
the dough soft but keeps the icing in that perfect in-between state of thick
and thin.

This is a trick of some sort. A plan. The lengths that James goes to—
honestly, Regulus is surprised James hasn't stood outside with a bloody
boombox and gave a speech yet, which is for the best, because Regulus
would throw an entire fucking blender at his head if he did, but that's hardly
the point. The point is, James will do and say quite a variety of things in an
attempt to be forgiven, but Regulus has no interest in forgiving him. Ever.

So, with his jaw working, Regulus snatches away to go make James' drink
and get him a fucking raspberry danish, even though he keeps staring at
James' shirt.

It's just that James had a system. A spontaneous system, because only James
could pull something as ridiculous as that off. He never, not once, deviated
from the system. This time, he didn't even glance down at his shirt. Does he
know he's wearing white? It takes far more effort than it should for Regulus
not to give in and tell him, or ask him why he'd change his routine, or just
give him a cinnamon roll anyway, because Regulus doesn't like the change
one bit.

"See you tomorrow," James tells him, blinking those big eyes at him,
sunlight framing his shoulders. He looks absolutely, infuriatingly beautiful.

Regulus turns away and doesn't respond.

"Do you think," Remus says hesitantly, once James is gone entirely, "maybe
you're being a bit...hard on him?"

"On who?" Regulus asks blithely. He's very firm in his corner of pretending
James doesn't exist, or if he has to, then he's just some random customer.

Remus sighs heavily. "Regulus, honestly, the poor bloke—"

"I'm taking ten," Regulus cuts in sharply, and he's gone before Remus can
ever finish his sentence.

The very next day, as promised, James is back again. Wearing yellow (a
biscuit), and he orders a blueberry muffin. Regulus stares at him for a beat
too long when he does, then grinds his teeth and goes to make his order,
slamming the muffin down on the counter with a bit too much vigor. Some
of it crumbles inside the container, but James doesn't complain.
"Until tomorrow," James says, saluting him before he grabs his coffee and
muffin, and then he's gone.

Regulus stares after him, tapping his fingers to the counter.

"Alright, mate?" Remus asks lightly.

"Fine," Regulus says stiffly. "Perfectly fine."

Tomorrow comes again, and again, and once more. Each time, James orders
outside of his spontaneous routine, and Regulus can feel tension coiling
tighter and tighter in his chest every time he gets something Regulus isn't
expecting. There's not even a pattern that Regulus can follow, and he feels
like he's going mad trying to work out what James is going to order, only to
get it wrong nearly every time.

"Can I get a croissant?" James asks while wearing black (green is for a
croissant, and black is a blackberry fruit bar), and Regulus is overcome with
the violent urge to shake him until his brain makes sense again.
Nonetheless, Regulus makes his drink and gets him a croissant, carrying it
all over without saying a word. It's as he's passing it over that James looks
right at him and says, "You're beautiful, you know."

And maybe there's a strong wind, or maybe Regulus just gets a hand spasm,
or maybe—something, because the coffee tumbles right from his hand and
hits the counter, splashing out from the cup to spill over his hand. He flings
it away with a sharp curse, diving for a napkin right after, hissing between
his teeth at the burn of it.

"Oh, bloody hell, I didn't—" James groans, frantically throwing napkins

down on the small puddle of coffee on the counter by the till, his eyes wide.
"Are you alright? I'm sorry, Regulus, I didn't mean—"

"You're wearing black," Regulus snaps, glaring at him, and James blinks.
"Not green. Black. So, why are you ordering a fucking croissant?"

James opens and closes his mouth, looking lost, and all he says is, "Your
hand, love, let me see—"

"Don't," Regulus interrupts in a hiss, and James' eyes widen even more.
"Don't call me that. Don't call me love, and don't call me beautiful, and
don't ignore my fucking question!"

"Regulus," Remus says softly, slipping in carefully to check his hand, idly
passing James a towel to clean up the spill, which he does, still looking as if
he's about to get in trouble. "This is a bad burn, mate. Hold on, yeah?
There's salve in the back."

"I'm fine," Regulus grits out.

Remus frowns down at his hand. "No, you're really not."

"I'm sorry," James whispers as Remus heads to the back, and he's just
staring at Regulus like he might start crying at any second. "Regulus, I'm so
sorry."

"You're not wearing green," Regulus murmurs, suddenly unable to look

away from him. "You only order croissants when you're wearing green."

James bites his lip and folds the stained towel, pushing it across the counter
and to the side, and then he keeps leaning forward to reach out and gently
cup Regulus' elbow, tugging him in. Regulus resists, but James croaks,
"Please let me see your hand. I—I need to see if—if you're—"

"I'm fine," Regulus says sharply, shoving his injured hand forward with
defiance, and James uses the motion to tug him closer until they're both
pressed right up against opposite sides of the counter. James cups his hand
and stoops down over it, and Regulus glares at the crown of his head.

"Oh, this is bad," James declares, obviously distressed. His head snaps up,
genuine panic in his eyes. "This is quite bad, Regulus. Doesn't it hurt?"

Regulus rolls his eyes. "I've had worse." This has the opposite effect he
hoped it would, because now James looks even more upset. Regulus sighs.
"I'm fine, James. It's just a burn. It'll heal. What won't heal is you, when I'm
done with you, if you don't answer my bloody question."
"The croissant situation?" James blurts out incredulously. "Is that honestly
the most important thing at the moment?"

"It's a fair distraction," Regulus mutters, scowling.

James hesitates, and then his eyes light up. He leans in as his lips curl into a
small smile. "Have you been curious about me again, Regulus?"

"Absolutely not," Regulus says flatly.

"Really?" James' smile is growing. He leans in even more, so close now

Regulus forgets about his stinging hand entirely, his thundering heart
drowning it out. "I don't believe you."

Regulus snatches his hand out of James' grip, but he doesn't back up. He
leans forward until they're almost nose-to-nose, relishing in the way James'
breath stutters. "Believe me, the only thing I'm curious about when it comes
to you is why you keep wasting your time with someone who doesn't want
you. Didn't you learn your lesson with Lily? Or am I going to have to
refresh your memory?"

James flinches back, genuine hurt flashing across his face, and Regulus
watches him coldly. No regret, no remorse, nothing. He warned him. He did
warn James that he could be cruel when he chose to be. He even warned
him not to give him a reason to choose to be. James just didn't listen.
Remus sweeps back out, grumbling about having to find the salve, and
Regulus ignores James until he leaves.

The next day, James is there again, ordering toffee pudding while wearing
blue, and Regulus wants to strangle him. He obsesses over it all day, until
he's home, and even when Remus and Pandora come over to bring food
since his hand is healing, but still does not appreciate the heat in a kitchen.

"I think it's nice, actually," Pandora says dreamily from where she, Regulus,
and Remus are all sprawled out on his floor, because her 'special brownies'
turned out to be...very special. Regulus is quite convinced that he's floating.
"He's not giving up on you, Reggie. Doesn't that count for something?"

Regulus smacks his lips and squints at his ceiling.

"Why do you call him Reggie?" Remus murmurs, idly waving his hand
through the air above their heads, fingers dancing slowly like he's finger-
painting.

Pandora giggles, and they all giggle with her, because it's all so very funny
suddenly, and then Regulus says, "Oh, I went by Reggie growing up for the
most part. Only my mother really called me by my dead name. My, ah,
brother—well, he called me Reggie, and that's what I went by before I
transitioned."
"It's a bit of a habit," Pandora says softly. "He always liked that name better.
I could tell."

"Because you know things," Regulus hisses, flopping his head over to
squint at her. "Are you psychic?"

"Absolutely," Pandora answers without hesitation.

Regulus frowns and looks at the ceiling again. "That's terrifying. You're
terrifying."

"Thank you," Pandora replies cheerfully.

"So, wait. Wait, wait, wait." Remus pops up on his elbows and stares down
at Regulus. "You chose your name, didn't you? When you transitioned, I
mean. You chose Regulus."

"Regulus Arcturus Black," Regulus says. "I chose my first and middle, but I
kept my last. Can't really escape that one, and I wasn't sure I deserved to, so
I didn't bother."

Remus frowns at him. "Why not Reggie, if you liked it?"

"Because my brother chose it," Regulus declares simply, shrugging slightly.
"My brother is the one who started calling me Reggie. I hate him. Why
would I want my name to be connected to him in any capacity?"

"Right," Remus says weakly. "So why Regulus Arcturus?"

"They're stars," Regulus whispers, eyes drifting shut. He feels his chest give
a dull pang. "Some of the brightest in the sky."

"But not the brightest," Remus murmurs.

Regulus' eyes open. "No, not the brightest."

"Fucking hell," Remus rasps, and he shuffles back down to drop his head on
Regulus' shoulder, leaning on him.

"Did you know the full moon outshines the brightest star in the sky?"
Pandora asks, and Remus makes a weak sound, turning his face into
Regulus' shirt.

"If there was ever a reason to love the moon more," Regulus muses,
chuckling to himself.
Remus sounds heartbroken when he says, "I hate the moon."

"I think my name is lovely," Pandora says. "I've always wanted to know
what's in Pandora's box."

"Maybe it's you," Regulus suggests, and Pandora gasps, and then they all
dissolve into giggles again.

The next day, Regulus is at home alone, and he's—fine. He's honestly fine.
More fine than he was before, because there's some sort of release in
cruelty, some sort of freedom in anger. He's never met a stronger motivator
than fury, and he doesn't think he's ever been as furious as he is now.

The thing is, Regulus doesn't like surprises. James has been full of
surprises. First with disappearing, and then with coming back. Regulus
hadn't expected him to disappear, and he'd expected him to come back even
less. What's worse is that James was always the sort of surprise that
Regulus knew about beforehand. He knew James was a bad idea, and he did
it anyway. Half of his fury is just at himself.

What's so bloody infuriating is how, unsurprisingly, nothing has changed

for Regulus. When James had just shown up at his door, Regulus had nearly
given in immediately, nearly folded forward to grab onto him and never let
him go again, only to recoil and shut that down instantly, because no.
Absolutely not. Fool me once, or however that saying goes. Regulus isn't
doing it; he fucking refuses.
Yet, every time James shows up at the shop every morning, like clockwork,
Regulus feels his heart leap. He feels his resolve weaken in knee-jerk
reaction before he gives it a quick, mental smack and forces himself to get
his shit together. Fool me twice? He doesn't bloody think so.

So, yes, he's cruel. He watches hurt bloom on James' face every morning,
and he pretends it doesn't matter, because it's easier. He tells himself he's
fine. He cooks, and goes to work, and spends time with his friends, and life
goes on. Life will go on, and Regulus won't be a fool, and that's for the
best.

But then, James is always the surprise that Regulus can expect. Like the sun
—it rises and sets every day, but it's so easy to be blown away by the
process every time. Awe-inspiring and shocking in its beauty, but it happens
over and over without fail, even if no one can get used to it. Regulus could
see it every day of his life—he does, and he does—and he'd be as stunned
by it from his very first glimpse all the way to his last. The miracle of the
earth rotating around the sun, and James carries that same miracle with him
wherever he goes.

Today, he brings it to Regulus' door.

"This is stalking, you know," Regulus informs James, his tone clipped,
leaning against the door after he opened it to see who was knocking. It's a
surprise that it's James, and it also isn't.

"Nothing changed," James blurts out, and Regulus clenches his hand around
his door, preparing to slam it shut in James' face yet again. "Regulus, when
I said nothing changed, I meant it. I did feel the exact same—I still feel—"

"James," Regulus interrupts sharply, "I really don't care."

"I think you do," James croaks. "I think you care quite a bit."

Regulus feels his face harden, grateful for it, suddenly so appreciative of all
the years of practice he's had hiding his feelings, turning to ice. "I thought
you said you knew how to take a hint. Sorry, have I not been clear enough?
Let me make sure you get it this time. Leave me alone."

James takes a deep breath. "You said—"

"I'm sure I said a lot of things, but so did you," Regulus cuts in coldly.
"Seems we both lied."

"I didn't, though. That's my point!" James explodes, roughly shoving his
hands through his hair. "I never lied to you. Every single thing I ever told
you was true, Regulus. And I'm sorry. I'm sorry I let you down. I'm sorry I
abandoned you. I'm sorry I ever gave you room to doubt, because I do adore
you. I do think you're lovely, and beautiful, and brave. I do feel the same for
you as I did before, and as I always will. Please believe me."

"That's just the thing, James," Regulus says, "I don't."

"Regulus," James starts.

Regulus waves his hand through the air, shaking his head. He arches an
eyebrow. "How can I? See, I did believe you, before, and you made it very
clear that I couldn't. Unlike you, I don't make the same mistakes twice. I
knew you were a bad idea, and that's on me, I suppose. I won't be doing it
again."

"You're so—you're—just stop being so bloody stubborn for five minutes,

please," James bursts out, and Regulus raises both eyebrows that time,
because honestly, the audacity of James Potter. "Look, something came up.
An issue with my best mate and—personal matters. And I know, alright? I
know I should have at least told you about it, but I couldn't. It's
complicated, and I've fixed it, and I was miserable the entire time. I wanted
to be with you. I still want to be with you. I'll say it all again a million times
every day until you can believe it . I promise. I'm not asking you to go right
back to the way things were, or even trust me immediately, but at least let
me prove that I was honest about my feelings for you. That I'm still honest
about them. Please."

"You're pathetic," Regulus announces calmly, and James slumps like all of
his strings have been cut. "You really are. You do know that, don't you?"

"For you, if that's what it takes, sure," James mumbles.

"Listen, if you want to make a fool of yourself, that's your decision,"

Regulus says blandly. "Give it... Three years, wasn't it, that it took for you
to stop waiting for Lily? I doubt it'll take that long for me, but even so—
give it three years, you'll take the hint eventually."

"You don't mean that," James whispers.

"Oh, but I do," Regulus informs him. "Do what you like, but it's pointless.
James, I don't want you. I don't want to see you, or tolerate you, or be with
you."

"Regulus," James breathes out, his eyes shining behind his glasses, and he
looks utterly devastated.

"Yeah, you know what that means. You remember." Regulus tilts his chin
up. "I don't do the things I don't want to."

With that, Regulus slams the door in James' face and walks away without
looking back. The fact that he bursts into tears thirty minutes later sort of
ruins the whole thing, but no one's there to see it, so Regulus pretends
immediately after that it didn't happen. See? He's fine.

James doesn't show up at the shop the next morning, and Regulus has such
a visceral reaction to this that he has to go stand in the back for five minutes
just to wrangle it all. He's angry because he's hurt, and he's angry because
he's angry, and he's angry because he's surprised, and worse, because he's
not. He knew, and he had no idea; he brought it on himself, and he's such a
fool. He's still a fool.
"Regulus," Remus says, poking his head into the back, his eyebrows
furrowed. "There's someone here to see you."

Regulus stands there for a few moments, focused on his breathing, trying to
convince himself not to get his hopes up. Why would he be hopeful? What
does he have to hope for?

It's not James. It's Pandora, who teases him about his apron and his little tie
—blue today—and it's lovely to see her. It really is. So, why is he
disappointed?

About midday, Remus catches him looking up when the door opens, and he
sidles up to him to murmur, "I can't help but notice that James hasn't come
by today."

"Brilliant, you have eyes," Regulus grits out.

"You're looking for him, Regulus."

"Fuck off, Lupin. I'm not."

"You are," Remus insists. "And that's okay, you know. It's perfectly okay if
you miss him."
Regulus clenches his jaw. "I don't—"

"Regulus," Remus says gently, "I'm your best friend. If you can't tell me,
who can you tell? Honestly, do you not want to be with him anymore? Is it
—is it really done for you, then?"

Regulus closes his eyes and swallows harshly, then opens his eyes and
looks at Remus, wondering when he started to confide in him so much. In
three years of friendship, Regulus has opened up to him more recently than
he ever has, and it's all James' fault. It's James' fault that he reached out to
Pandora. It's James' fault that he's unfurled and bloomed like a fucking
flower opening up towards the sun. All this time he's spent trying not to
need anyone, knowing that needing people doesn't stop them from leaving,
and now Regulus needs more people than he ever has, more deeply than he
ever has. It's terrifying, and it's intoxicating, and he just doesn't have the
energy to fight it anymore.

"I'll never be done with James," Regulus whispers, his voice hoarse, and
Remus' eyes go wide. "I don't know how, so I need him to be done with me.
Because I want—I really, so very badly want him, but I can't. Not again. I
can't do it again. I can't let him do that again, but I will. Remus, I will."

"What if he doesn't do it again?" Remus asks, reaching out to touch his arm,
studying his face. "Have you thought that maybe he won't?"

"He's already doing it again," Regulus murmurs, "and he's doing it because
I told him that's what I wanted."
Remus purses his lips. "You lied."

"He lied first," Regulus replies.

"Did he?" Remus challenges. "Was it all lies, then? Because I was here for a
lot of it, Reg, and James is mental about you. I know he… I know what
happened was awful, but people make mistakes sometimes. He may seem it
to you, but he's not perfect. He's just trying his best. Maybe you should let
him."

"Too late now," Regulus mumbles, looking away. "It's for the best, in any
case."

"Hm," is all Remus says, taking a step back. "Right, but if he was to keep
trying…"

Regulus just shrugs. "He won't. No one does."

"Hm," Remus hums again.

"Wait. Reg?" Regulus' head whips around, and Remus blinks at him,
looking startled. "Did you just call me Reg? Three years we've known each
other, and you've never given me a nickname. Since when do you give
nicknames?"

Remus blinks again, rapidly. "I—ah, yes? Oh, bloody hell, I've picked up
the habit now, haven't I? That fucking twat."

"Picked up the habit from who? The only people—" Regulus halts, then his
eyes narrow. "He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named? Remus, are you shagging
You-Know-Who again?"

"It's...complicated," Remus says with a wince.

"You're pathetic," Regulus informs him.

"Says you," Remus shoots back. "Mr. I'll Never Be Done With James. No
one likes a hypocrite, Reg."

"Don't make that a thing. That will not be a thing."

"It's making you suffer, so it will absolutely be a thing."

Regulus arches an eyebrow. "You're transphobic."

"You're homophobic."

"I'm literally gay."

Remus nods, solemnly. "Yes, which is why I implore you to seek help. It's
alright to accept yourself, Reg. I accept you just as you are and support you
in—"

"Die," Regulus says, whipping around to better stifle his laugh as he walks
towards the till.

"Oh, if only," Remus calls after him wistfully, and Regulus laughs under his
breath, glancing back to see Remus chuckling as he leans up against the
counter and types furiously away on his cell.

Talking to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named again, is he? Hm, well, that surely

can't end well. Regulus does not approve, but he supposes he's biased. He
was prepared to kill the bloke, after all. He'll stay prepared, just in case.

When Regulus' smile quickly fades, it doesn't come back for the rest of the
day. As much as he hates it, he finds his head snapping up every time the
door opens throughout the day, internally cursing himself each time. He
can't help it, though. It's an instinctive response he can't stop giving, his
heart surging up to his throat before promptly landing with a splat at his
feet, then repeating the process all over again.
At this point, Regulus briefly entertains finding another job. He's not happy
with the idea, because he hates change and likes working with Remus,
though he'll never admit it out loud. But this is torture, too. He can't do this
forever, and in the same breath, he's rather sure that he will. He'll look
towards that door every day, waiting for James to show up.

That's the joke, isn't it? Maybe James will wait for three years, maybe he
won't, but Regulus? Oh, Regulus will wait all the way until his final breath.
He'll be on his deathbed, gazing out the window as the sun sets, or rises,
and he'll think about that man who is the sun, and it'll be the last thought he
ever has. His last exhale will be James' name, no matter how he's lived his
life, no matter where he is or who he's with. James is as sure as the sun. It's
not a very funny joke, in retrospect.

Regulus isn't laughing.

Stupid as it is, Regulus feels his heart sink when his shift ends. Remus
practically bolts, barely lingering long enough to clap Regulus on the
shoulder for no reason that he can tell before he's gone. Regulus himself,
however, lingers for no reason he wants to admit to anyone, not even in his
own mind. He knows by now that it's not safe even there.

What did he think was going to happen? He knows James. He's known the
entire time how cautious James is. He used that, in fact, because—

"You're a malicious little snake, you know that?" Sirius snaps, arms folded
as he glares right at Reggie.
Reggie sighs, staring into the mirror. "Am I?"

"Why would you do that?" Sirius demands harshly. "She actually stopped to
consider it, Reggie. Why the fuck—"

"Did I lie?" Reggie cuts in, voice sharp, eyes equally so where they meet
Sirius' through the reflection. "Has Hogwarts not turned you into a
disappointment to the family? Maybe you shouldn't be allowed back."

"Oh, I'm going back," Sirius grits out. "And what's your fucking problem,
Reggie? I can't figure it out, why you're being like this. You're always like
this now."

"Like what, Sirius? Do tell."

"You're like a fucking dagger, one coated in poison, meant to go in

someone's back. You're as cruel as her sometimes. Doesn't that bother you
at all?"

"No," Reggie says, arching an eyebrow. "It's rather helpful, actually. Why?
Does it bother you when you are?"

Sirius' nostrils flare. "I'm nothing like her."

"Sure, Sirius, keep telling yourself that," Reggie says, and in the next
second, Sirius stomps into the room and snatches the chair around,
stooping down to get in Reggie's face.

"You know how much Hogwarts means to me, and you used it against me,"
Sirius snarls. "You tried to take it away from me when it's one of the only
fucking things that makes all of this shit worth it. You're a bitch, Reggie. A
stone-cold bitch."

Reggie slaps him. The sound of it rings out into the sudden silence, and
Sirius slowly draws up to full height. All the color has drained from his
face. Reggie abruptly feels sick. They've never hit one another, not even in
anger, not even as children. They get enough of that from their mother, and
the other was always a sanctuary from that. Reggie leans back, hand
curling into a fist, and Sirius takes a step back with a sharp exhale. His
cheek is red. He hadn't flinched.

"I suppose I am," Reggie says softly.

"Nice, Reggie," Sirius declares, the one with ice in his voice now, something
shuttering in his eyes. "Mother would be so proud."

Reggie turns back to the mirror, palm full of heat, chest tight like it's about
to crumble inwards. "Get out, Sirius. Don't you have to pack so you can
leave?"
"Yeah, I do." In the reflection, Sirius backs up to the door, but pauses long
enough to stare at Reggie through the mirror, his face twisting into disgust.
"I don't know how you can look at yourself."

When Sirius is gone, the lone gaze drops from the mirror, because the truth
is, really, that Reggie can't look for long.

Reggie hates the reflection looking back.

"Oi, are you still here?" Milo asks as they come sweeping into the back.
"You never stay over after your shift. Everything alright? Your mate's
already gone, you know."

Regulus glances over at them and nods. "Yes, I know. I was just leaving.
Does everything look alright out front?"

"Brilliant!" Milo chirps, beaming at him. "Hey, can I ask you something?"

"You just did," Regulus says flatly, and Milo laughs nervously.

"Suppose I did, yeah. Just—I wanted to ask if you'd be willing to wear a

nametag with pronouns on them," Milo continues hopefully. "If I can get
the whole shop to do it—all the shifts, I mean—then the boss said he'll see
about sending it up the line as an idea to implement the option, at the very
least, if not make it a rule. Would you maybe…?"
"Yes," Regulus says, gaze flicking down to Milo's nametag, which has the
additional strip with they/them underneath their name.

Milo's face lights up. "Oh, excellent. Most have already agreed, but to be
perfectly honest, everyone was a bit scared to ask you. It's my idea, so it
had to be me in the end. No offense, but you can be a bit—"

"Cruel?" Regulus suggests, the word sour on his tongue.

"No! No, just...quiet," Milo says sheepishly. "A little scary, is all. I'm sure
you're a lovely person. Very mysterious, in any case, so I wasn't sure if
you'd be alright with...the whole pronoun idea."

Regulus stares at them, then says, "I'm alright with it."

"That's lovely. I mean, it should be normal, should be the bare minimum,

really, but straight men can be…" Milo grimaces, then shrugs helplessly.
"No offense, but—"

"Milo," Regulus says slowly, "I'm a gay trans man."

"Oh." Milo blinks rapidly. Some tension drains out of their shoulders that
Regulus didn't even know was there, and then they look horrified. "Oh god.
Christ, I'm so sorry. I just assumed—fuck, that was so small-minded of me,
wasn't it? I was worried about—but I was the one who—"

"You're fine," Regulus cuts in quickly. "Honestly, Milo, it's fine. I—

understand, and it's not exactly something I advertise anyway. Yes, I'd be
willing to wear my pronouns."

"He/him?" Milo checks with a weak smile.

Regulus' lips twitch. "That'd be it, yeah."

"This means Remus will be alright with it, too, yeah? He's just as scary as
you, but if he's your friend…" Milo trails off hopefully, biting their lip.

"Remus will do it," is all Regulus says.

Milo brightens. "Brilliant! I'll talk with Remus tomorrow, then. And I'll
print off your pronouns for you. Really, this means a lot, you know. Well,
you know." They pause, tilting their head. "You really don't advertise it,
which is fine, but you can if—if you want. I just mean, if you were worried
you'd be fired for it, you won't. So, if you did want to…"

"I've never really—" Regulus waves his hand, grimacing slightly, hoping
that conveys what he needs it to.
"Well...alright, hold on. One moment." Milo raises their finger at him, then
darts back through the door. Regulus stares after them, and in the silence, he
realizes that he just told a near stranger something he's never told anyone
casually. It surprises him how little he feels about it either way. "Alright,
then!" Milo chirps as they come bustling back through the door, their bag in
their hands. They dig through it, then drop it carelessly to the floor to hold
something out. "It's just an option, if you want it. You don't have to, but you
can."

Regulus stares at the small bracelet in their palm. A black band with a small
flag connecting it. The trans flag. He knows that one—he knows most,
honestly. (Thanks, Tumblr.) "Oh. Ah, I wouldn't want to take it from—"

"Nonsense," Milo says easily. "I have loads."

"You just...carry them around on you?" Regulus asks, raising both eyebrows
at them.

Milo shrugs. "Queer representation is very important to me. Gender and

sexuality and—all of it, honestly. They clasp around at the back here. Like
this, see." They step forward and grab Regulus' arm to raise it, linking the
bracelet on his wrist with one easy snap. "Easy to take off quickly, should
you ever feel you need to. Light and stylish, if I do say so myself."

"Did you make these?" Regulus asks, slightly amused.

"Might've done," Milo says with a sheepish grin.

Regulus huffs out a quiet laugh. "Do you sell them?"

"No, actually. I genuinely do give them out in the hopes that people will
wear them," Milo admits, dropping Regulus' arm as they step back. "You
don't have to keep it, but—"

"I will," Regulus murmurs, only vaguely startled to find the words leaving
his mouth. "I'll wear it. Thank you. Remus probably would, too."

Milo's eyes bulge. "Is he—"

"As far as I know, no, but we can never be too sure, can we?" Regulus says
dryly, pointedly, and Milo groans.

"Oh, I'll never live this down, will I?"

"No, I don't think you will."

"Remus is your best friend, isn't he? Do tell him about this and laugh at me
with him, yeah? You've earned it. I've earned it, honestly," Milo mutters.
Regulus hums. "Oh, I was going to do that anyway."

"That's fair," Milo says with a chuckle, and there's nothing nervous about it.
They look at Regulus for a long moment, thoughtful, then they smile. "You
know, I'm a bit embarrassed for all of it, but I think I'm even more
embarrassed for thinking there was anything scary about you."

"No," Regulus says. "You were right about that part."

Milo grins. "Sure, mate. I should get back to work, but this was nice. You're
nice. Get out of here before I take advantage of how nice you are and beg
you to come run the till when we get the evening rush. Go on." They start
towards the door with a wink, but pause long enough to look back at him.
"It looks good, by the way. The bracelet."

"Thank you," Regulus murmurs, and Milo flashes another smile before
they're out the door. Gently, Regulus touches the bracelet on his wrist,
running his thumb over the flag, down from blue to pink to white to pink
again back to blue, then he drops his hands and almost instantly forgets
about it. (What? He knows he's trans. He doesn't have to get used to it.)

Everything that just happened with Milo has Regulus suitably distracted, so
he's not at all prepared for the sight of James leaning up against the wall
beside the employee exit, kicking idly at the ground. His head snaps up as
soon as Regulus comes out, and Regulus' breath punches out of him.
"Alright, so hear me out," James says carefully.

Regulus needs a second, but then he's got himself under wraps as he shuts
the door, pivots on his heel, and starts walking away. Predictably, James
follows.

"I'd really rather not," Regulus says flatly.

James jogs forward to turn around and walk backwards in front of him, and
all he says, solemnly, is, "Regulus, this is it."

Regulus comes to a screeching halt, and James does, too. He doesn't step
forward, leaving the distance between them. It's suddenly a struggle to
breathe. "You're giving up."

"No, Regulus," James murmurs, gentle, "I'm not giving up on you. I

couldn't. But I can give you the control. It's in your hands now, love."

"What does that even mean?" Regulus snaps, bristling.

"It means—" James swallows, then takes a deep breath and slowly lets it
go. "It means I'm respecting what you want—or what you don't want,
rather. I won't show up at the shop anymore. I won't come knocking at your
door. I won't keep trying to force something on you when it's your choice,
and I will always respect your choice. If you want me, you have me. I'm all
yours. I meant that then, and I mean it now."

Don't do this to me, Regulus thinks, his mind racing. For the very first time
in his life, he doesn't want to be in control. He doesn't want to have to be
the one to give in and take what he wants. He doesn't deserve it. He never
deserved it.

"When—if… If you want me," James murmurs, "I'll be here. I didn't want
to stop being here, really, and I can say for sure now that it's not something
I'll ever do willingly again, if you ever want me. But that's—it's your
decision."

"James," Regulus says, his chest tight, and he's scared. He's scared in a way
he hasn't been since the night he ran away. The fear of the unknown and the
loss of home.

James looks at him and smiles, and it's so sad, so very sad. It's absolutely
crushing. "I want you to know that… Well, it's alright if there's no chance.
I'll respect it, and I'm sorry that I've been pushing you. It's just… My heart
doesn't know it yet. All it knows is that it belongs to you. I haven't quite
worked out what I'm supposed to do with that, honestly, but that's not your
problem. If you don't want it, then you don't."

"James," Regulus repeats, and his voice cracks that time. He blinks hard, a
lump in his throat. "Don't do this to me."
"I'm doing this for you," James says softly. "Don't do a damn thing you
don't want to, Regulus, ever. But please, love, please do what you want.
You haven't figured that one out yet, how to do it. Whatever you want, have
it. You deserve it."

Regulus takes in a shaky breath, his mouth opening and closing, but he can't
find the words. His voice is gone.

"Can I…?" James takes a hesitant step forward, his hands twitching at his
sides. "Before I go, can I—"

"Yes," falls out of Regulus' mouth before he even makes the decision to
speak. It comes from the very pit of him. It comes directly from his heart.

"Thank you," James breathes out, moving in closer. He reaches out and
trails his hand down Regulus' arm, his fingers pausing over the bracelet, and
he looks down at it with a small smile curling his lips. "I like your bracelet."

"It's the trans flag," Regulus croaks.

"It's lovely," James tells him sincerely, then slips his fingers further down to
grasp Regulus' hand, squeezing it gently. He leans in slowly, careful like
he's waiting to be stopped. All Regulus does is let his eyes flutter shut, and
something in his chest feels like it shatters when James presses a tender,
adoring kiss to his forehead. He lingers for one beat, two, then pulls back
with a harsh exhale. One more squeeze, and then James drops his hand and
backs away, his smile small and trembling, full of acceptance and
understanding.

Regulus feels like he might cry, actually. This is it, James had said. Is it? It
has to be, doesn't it? This is exactly what he'd hoped would happen. It's
exactly what he was pushing for.

So, why does it hurt so much?

"I'll go now," James whispers. "If you ever change your mind, if you ever
decide you do want me, you have me. My feelings never changed, love.
They're never going to."

James ducks his head and turns around, walking away without another
word. He looks just the same as he did before their very first date, cowed,
the sunshine of him dimmer than he ever deserves. Regulus is taken back to
that moment so vividly that it's almost as if he's there, and he remembers
going after James, unable to help himself. He remembers thinking it was the
biggest mistake of his life, so sure that it was a bad idea, but from his
perspective now, he doesn't regret it.

Regulus doesn't regret one moment he's spent circling the sun. He'd wrap
his arms around it and cradle it in the curve of his chest, and burn, and burn.
He'd do it gladly, over and over.

James gets further away, and Regulus—can't. He just can't. How the fuck
does one live without the sun? It's the center point of everything. What
would he be without it?

He's not ready to find out.

It surprises him, the way he suddenly bursts into motion, not even fully
coming to a solidified decision. He just can't see James walk away. He can't
let him go. So, Regulus follows him and falls into his orbit, because he
never really left it.

James jerks and nearly trips when Regulus catches up to him and slips his
hand into the bend of his arm. His heart is racing, thundering in his ears,
and he's shaking with every step. It's exhilarating, in a way, and absolutely
terrifying. He can feel James staring at him, but Regulus stares straight
ahead. They walk in step together, matching stride-for-stride.

"I'm not saying I want you," Regulus says softly, "but I don't want to be
without you."

"You don't do things you don't want," James breathes out, and when
Regulus glances over at him, he's beaming. He's brighter than he's ever
been. He's glorious.

"No, I don't," Regulus agrees. "I don't want you to stop trying, James. Keep
trying."
"Yeah?" James asks, sounding so hopeful that Regulus would have to be
heartless to deny him. Regulus' heart may be cold, but it's still there, and
James warms it every time.

"Yeah," Regulus confirms, lips twitching up helplessly.

James stops, so Regulus stops with him, and they stare at each other for a
long moment in comfortable silence. It's strange that it's so comfortable, but
Regulus feels calmer than he has in a long time. James quirks a smile and
says, "I order pastries based on the color of your ties now. I got the croissant
because you were wearing green."

Regulus finds himself laughing. It just—bubbles out of him, a little

ridiculous, and he can't help it. James gazes at him with such fondness and
affection that Regulus just steps forward and buries his face into James'
shoulder, still laughing breathlessly. Despite everything, it's the easiest thing
in the world for Regulus to wrap his arms around James and hold him, as if
it's the only thing that matters, and everything else—all the confusion and
hurt and anger—never mattered at all. In a way, Regulus supposes, it didn't.
Not when there's this.

James holds him back, and Regulus whispers, muffled into his shoulder,
"You're ridiculous."

"I know," James replies.

This is a start.
It starts like this. Just like this, Regulus melting against James and feeling
safer, more secure, than he has in his entire life. Everything in an uproar
inside him eases, gets put to rest, the storm slowing to a standstill. They can
breathe here. Regulus feels like he can take in a deep breath with no catch
in his throat and no ache in his chest for the first time in a while.

James is warm, so unbelievably warm, and Regulus finds that he doesn't

want to let go. He never wanted to let go, not from the moment James dared
to wander in his path. That's the mess of it, really. Sometimes, the heart can
only know one thing, and beyond that? Well, there's not much beyond that
at all, is there? Regulus has abused James' heart enough, especially when all
he wants to do is protect it.

"Walk me home?" Regulus asks as he pulls away.

"Of course." James pats his hand as Regulus tucks it into his elbow. "I'll
keep trying to make you want me, you know. However long it takes, love."

"Sure, James," Regulus murmurs, amusement unfurling within him, his lips
continuously tugging up against his will.

James will keep trying, and the thing is, Regulus will let him. He will let
him, and let him, and is always going to let him. There's a joke here, too.
This one—well, it's funnier, really.
See, Regulus is a malicious little snake, and a liar. He's wanted James since
he stumbled in from a storm with the sun framing his lovely, unforgettable
smile.

But sure, James. Keep trying.

Keep trying.

Sirius steps back from the canvas with a frown, his head tilting as he
examines the drying paint. He fully expects to hate it later, but for right
now, he's actually quite proud of this. It's a dark scene, a black forest with a
woman rising from the spring that glitters in moonlight, casting a beautiful
figure if not for the fact that she's a corpse. Blood drips from her fingers.

It's really, truly a gorgeous painting, he thinks. Morbid and grotesque,

undoubtedly, but he loves that part. He loves getting requests like this. Art
should disturb the comfortable and comfort the disturbed. Sirius
wholeheartedly agrees with the sentiment.

He's quite disturbed himself, after all, and art has always comforted him.

There's a sharp intake of breath behind him, and then Remus is whispering,
"Oh, Sirius, that's lovely."
"Didn't ask for your opinion, Remus," Sirius says without turning around.
"I'd rather not have it, actually."

"Yeah," Remus mutters, "you've made that very obvious."

"You can leave," Sirius offers casually, and Remus falls silent, which is how
Sirius generally prefers him these days. Easier that way, isn't it?

Sirius ignores Remus as he cleans up everything around the area and safely
puts away the painting, which he will be sending out tomorrow. He's so
fucking proud of it that he's genuinely excited for feedback, and it puts him
in a rare mood where he is, shockingly, very thrilled. That makes it a bit
harder to ignore Remus, honestly.

There's a part of him that's eager to bounce right over to him and chatter his
ear off to release some of his excitement, and Remus would watch him
fondly, draw him in and let him vibrate against him as he shot off talking
like a rocket, and Sirius would touch him idly, softly, comfortably as he
went off on a tangent that most people wouldn't understand or bother really
entertaining, but Remus would listen to every word with that reliable
attentiveness of his, and Sirius would be breathless with joy by the end, so
he'd kiss him as all of that happiness in him flowed over and out, and
Remus would kiss him back, and kiss him back, and kiss him back.

But they don't do that anymore. So.

Well, honestly, they likely could. Remus would surely be more than willing
to do things such as that, and more, but Sirius will not be giving him the
satisfaction, thank you very much.

When Sirius was sixteen, he got really, properly high for the very first time
in his life. He went on a rather wild trip before he came back down, but he
does remember every detail of the experience purely because of how mad it
was. He'd had an insane dream about being a dog. Not just any dog, but a
very large, very homeless dog. One that was snarling and foaming at the
mouth; one that moved like a shadow and lived in them, too; one that no
one would provide a home or a hot meal, and one that ate rats (sorry,
Wormtail) and survived on its own.

Sirius vividly remembers the sensation of being that dog. (He had, of
course, swore that it was Padfoot coming to him in some sort of mystical
dream, and is still quite convinced of that to this day.) He remembers how
awful it had been to be that dog. Starving to the point that he was just fur
and bones. Constantly on edge and wary of people, and touch, and anything
that could ever be seen as a comfort otherwise. The scent of blood
persistently in his nose and the crunch of tiny bones between his canines.
Cold caves and raised hackles and clumped, tangled fur and a cramped,
aching stomach.

He also remembers how everything had made sense as that dog. It had all
felt—proper, just as it was. A mangy mutt with nowhere to go and no place
to call home. He was at his worst as that dog, but. Well, that hadn't bothered
him at all, at the time. He ran when he needed to run, and he ate rats
because he was hungry, and he took shelter in cold, damp caves to escape
the rain without even considering a warm house with a fireplace to lay
beside. When he curled into a shivering ball, he didn't feel out of place, or
lost. He didn't have a name for that harsh thing that lived in his blood, even
then, even as a dog.
He was just a rising mound of fur and twitching paws, his tail tucked
around him for maximum insulation. He was surviving and nothing else.
Canine. Not knowing how to apply silly human words to what he was. It
was live, hunt, sleep. He had no idea that he was yearning. He had no idea
he was lonely.

When Sirius woke up—sober and regretting many of the decisions that
brought him to his crash—he remembers thinking about that dog, and
thinking Padfoot, and thinking oh, that's me, isn't it? Because it was.
Because that starving, snarling, surviving creature was him, would always
be him, and there was something so terribly sad about it. Sirius had pitied
that dog, then. And he'd pitied himself, too. He'd wanted, inexplicably, to
find that dog—to find himself—and coax him from the horrific life he
lived, to provide warmth and food and safety from ever being lonely again.
Quite a bit like thinking of the child version of yourself and wanting to treat
them with kindness, really, especially if no one else did.

As pitiful as that dog was, Sirius wishes that he could be that dog, instead of
himself. Because that dog didn't care that he was living as he did;
unbothered by the cold; used to being hungry; unaware of his own wants,
and how he didn't even come close to having them, and never would. It was
simple for that dog, no matter how sad it was.

Because Sirius? This Sirius? He has access to silly human words, and silly
human customs, and silly humans that will hold him and make him feel safe
and whole before they fucking snatch all that away from him. This Sirius
knows what it is to be warm, to not starve, to have every single comfort he
could ever imagine and then some—and this Sirius knows what it is to have
that ripped away from him. And suddenly, he's a very large, very homeless
dog starving, snarling, and surviving again. He just knows what it is not to,
now.

That's worse. It's much worse.

So, fuck Remus Lupin, actually. And maybe that's dramatic. It was only a
week. Just one week. What's one week compared to how decent Remus has
been otherwise, since Sirius met him? One week is nothing, in the grand
scheme of things.

Just, for Sirius, that one week could not have come at a worse time. That
was the time for Remus to not fuck up. Right after he made all of his
promises, too. Oh, couldn't he have waited? Couldn't he have given Sirius
one week where he kept all of his promises, then broke them? The problem
is, he didn't.

Instead, he found a starving, snarling, surviving dog, and he came by each

day to coax it out, providing it with gentle touches, promising to take it
somewhere safe and warm. Then, one day, he just didn't come back. The
dog never really stopped starving, snarling, and surviving—it just had
hoped to. The dog wouldn't be making that mistake again.

So, yes, fuck Remus Lupin.

But also...fuck Remus Lupin?

Sirius glances at Remus out of the corner of his eye, which is instantly a
mistake. Oh, there he is, unassuming in a tawny brown sweater, the sleeves
big enough to slip over his fingers. He's leaning against the wall,
effortlessly cool and likely not even aware of it, the way Sirius himself had
tried to emulate throughout most of his childhood. Remus looks warm, and
he's frowning, his fluffy hair flopping down into his eyes, no semblance of
order to it at all, and oh god, he's so lovely. He is so infuriatingly lovely and
beautiful, and Sirius wants him.

All of his breath punches out of him, almost painfully, and it takes
approximately eight seconds for Sirius to get across the room. Remus
glances up just before Sirius is on him, and his chest swells on a sharp
inhale, his eyes darkening, and then they reach for each other without a
word.

This doesn't require talking. They keep ending up right back here over and
over, so they could do this in the dark, gagged, and with their ears covered.
At this point, Sirius is quite sure that he could do this in his fucking sleep.

(His dreams ensure that he's doing this in his sleep, because he's just that
pathetic now.)

"Mm, no, no," Remus chokes out as he breaks the kiss, turning his head.
His hands flex on Sirius' arms, and he has his eyes clamped shut so tight
that they wrinkle. "No, Sirius. I told you I wasn't doing this again. I told you
I was coming here to talk today, yeah? We're—we're talking."
"Hi, how was your day? Really? Brilliant, or unfortunate. Mine was alright,
and now it's about to get better." Sirius slides his hand up Remus' sweater,
inwardly rejoicing at the responding shudder that ripples through him.
"There, we've talked. Let's get on with it."

"That's—oh, Christ, Sirius," Remus wheezes, his head knocking back

against the wall as Sirius latches onto that tempting spot below his jaw and
sucks. Remus sinks one hand into Sirius' hair, and Sirius hums in
encouragement, resisting the urge to grin when Remus groans. "That's not
what I meant, and you know it. I—I meant really, properly talk about what
we—what we should—fuck—"

"We should fuck?" Sirius mumbles into Remus' skin, laughing gently over
his stuttering pulse. "Brilliant idea, Moony."

That slips out against Sirius' best efforts. He tries not to say it, but he finds
himself doing it compulsively. A bit like shagging Remus, really. He's a
weak, weak man. He knows this.

"Not what I meant," Remus practically gasps, his voice strangled. His head
falls back, and for all his arguments, he's the one snatching Sirius closer, his
grip desperate.

"You don't want me, then?" Sirius asks softly, dragging his mouth along
Remus' jaw, peppering tiny kisses as he goes. He makes it back to his
mouth, hovering right in front of it, watching Remus' face, the beauty of
him in the midst of pleasure.
Remus arches against him and hoarsely whispers, "You know I do, Sirius,
that's not fair."

"Then shh, sweetheart. We'll talk later," Sirius lies, gently kissing Remus
once, then twice, and by the third time, Remus is moaning in defeat and
yanking him in.

Of course, when it's over and they're a messy, sweaty pile of limbs on the
floor, Sirius has absolutely no intention of talking to Remus at all. He
gathers himself up and locates his discarded clothes, practically racing to
get the hell out, ignoring his own quivering body and thundering heart.

"Sirius," Remus starts, still dazed. He falls for this every time. A part of
Sirius thinks he can't help it anymore than Sirius can help doing it in the
first place.

What a pair they make.

"Sorry, I've loads to do. People to see, places to go, things other than you to
waste my time on. This was fun; be sure to lock up when you go," Sirius
rambles, frantically tossing his hair into a messy knot at the back of his
head. He flips Remus off and smiles with all teeth. "Hate and darkness, my
biggest mistake, I hope you have a truly shit day."

Sirius is out the door before Remus can even find his pants, and the last
thing he hears is Remus' heavy, resigned sigh.
As soon as Dorcas answers the door, she says, "Oh, you've shagged him
again. Love, Sirius shagged him again!"

"You spineless cunt!" Marlene shouts from within the flat, and Dorcas
cackles.

"Have I ever told you two just how much I hate you?" Sirius asks flatly as
he shuffles inside and makes his way immediately for the settee they have
that resembles a fainting couch enough for him to almost always
dramatically fling himself down on it every time he's over. He does so now.

"Might've done," Marlene says, grinning, and she plops down in the chair
across from him. "It's just we know the truth, Black. You love us, really."

"And you love the bloke you can't stop shagging," Dorcas adds as she
sweeps in the room, because she's even more ruthless than Marlene when
she wants to be. She dumps herself into Marlene's lap and eyes him
judgmentally. "Honestly, haven't you gotten tired of this yet?"

"You let Remus Lupin shag you and see if you can ever get tired of him,"
Sirius grumbles, then grimaces and drapes his arm over his eyes. "Or, don't,
because I'd be terribly jealous."

Marlene snorts. "Oh, you're pitiful, mate."

"I know," Sirius says sadly.

"Well," Dorcas says pointedly, "you can't do this forever. I mean, you can't
honestly think this is sustainable. It's going to crash and burn. Actually, it's
already crashing and burning."

"I'm aware of that, Cas, thank you," Sirius snaps.

"If you wanted someone to coddle you, then you'd go to James or Peter,"
Marlene informs him. "They'll baby you. If that's what you want, you know
where to find them."

Sirius lifts his arm to glare at them. "James and Peter are lovely. You two
are awful. I don't deserve to be attacked like this." Marlene and Dorcas stare
at him, unimpressed. He groans and drops his arm again. "How is this my
fault? He's shagging me, too! He could, you know, not."

"Oh, trust me, if we could get a hold of him, he'd hear it from us as well,"
Dorcas assures him. "This is very unhealthy."

"Feels quite good, though." Sirius pauses, then grudgingly admits, "Well, it
does in the moment, in any case."
"Sirius."

"God, his hands, Cas. The way he—"

"Sirius."

"No, you don't understand, Marls. The sounds he makes? Fucking obscene.
Especially when he—"

Dorcas leans over and lifts his arm to frown at him. She's nearly toppling
out of Marlene's lap to do it, except Marlene has her arms around her,
holding her, and Dorcas is trusting Marlene to not let her fall. Inexplicably,
Sirius feels like he's about to burst into tears from the sight.

"Do you remember what you told me when Marlene and I broke up?"
Dorcas asks calmly.

"That's different," Sirius mutters petulantly. "You two were still quote,
friends, unquote—and you couldn't stop going back to each other when it
didn't work out with anyone else."

"Yes, exactly, because we're in love, idiot," Dorcas says, a fond smile
curling her lips. "That's what you said to me. You're in love, idiot. Might as
well make the best of it. Consider yourself lucky, Meadowes; I'd kill for a
love like that, you said. Well, here we are. You didn't even have to kill
anyone."

"Don't quote me to me," Sirius says, pouting. "That's not fair. I'm the only
one who makes sense."

Dorcas chuckles and drops his arm, but he doesn't cover his face. "You're in
love, idiot. Might as well make the best of it."

"Well, you know, I really can't complain," Sirius drawls, arching an

eyebrow. "He does this fantastic thing with his tongue when he's—"

"You're actively fucking this up," Marlene cuts in bluntly, and Sirius scowls
at her. "No, Sirius, I'm telling you, as your friend, that you're fucking this
up. You're fucking up your own life, on purpose, and you can't keep
avoiding it. Either let yourself be happy, or commit to misery, but this in-
between isn't going to work. You can't have both, not when it comes to
this."

"It's a shit balancing act," Dorcas agrees.

Marlene hooks her chin on Dorcas' shoulder and meets his gaze, her eyes
steady. "And you deserve better. I can't say if he deserves better, but you
love him, yeah? If you do, then you want better for him. I know you do."
"How long did it take for you two to get back together?" Sirius asks sharply,
his words frosted over with agitation. Dorcas and Marlene share a quick,
sheepish look. "Nearly four months, wasn't it? Right, so—respectfully?
Shut the fuck up."

"That's fair," Dorcas concedes.

"We just—" Marlene halts, her lips twisting, and then she heaves a sigh.
"Look, those four months? Some of the worst of my life. I spent most of it
feeling…" She swallows, and Dorcas leans into her, pressing a firm kiss to
her forehead that seems to soothe her a bit. She smiles weakly, looking right
as Sirius. "I just don't want you to feel like that, is all."

"I'm fine," is all Sirius says, and they both simply stare at him until he looks
away first, uncomfortable.

Dorcas sighs. "Right. On an entirely unrelated note, why don't I bring out
the bottle so we can get roaringly pissed and regret all of our bad decisions
tomorrow?"

"Of which some of us have more than others," Marlene mutters, raising her
eyebrows at Sirius.

Sirius flings his arm over his eyes again. "I'm ignoring that, McKinnon.
Also, Dorcas, you're a genius."
The next day, as Sirius drags himself back to his flat, he reevaluates and
comes to the conclusion that Dorcas is not, in fact, a genius. They'd ended
up drinking quite a bit, well on into the night, playing cards and talking
about things other than the ways in which someone can fuck up their own
life. Sirius had passed out on their settee like a dramatic Victorian damsel,
complete with the corset because Dorcas had wanted him to model it, which
he'd agreed to with an eagerness that lended itself to refusing to take it off
after. He may be wishing for death currently and regretting every drop he
had, but he looks absolutely fantastic while he's doing it.

When he makes it back to the flat, Sirius goes immediately to James' room
and could actually cry at the sight of Peter and James both sprawled out
next to each other, each focused on the phone Peter is holding above their
heads. Sirius moves right for them, smacks the phone down somewhere on
the bed, and falls into the small space between their bodies that doesn't
actually fit him until they accommodate, which they automatically do.
Because they're lovely.

"Coddle me," Sirius demands, his words muffled in the pillow he fell face
down into.

"I was worried about you. Where have you been?" James 'I will mother you
first, ask questions second' Potter says, his hand gently sweeping through
Sirius' hair, unraveling the loose and untidy braid Marlene put it into last
night.

"With Marls and Cas," Sirius mumbles.

"Did they get you drunk again?" Peter asks sympathetically. Sirius nods
miserably into the pillow, and Peter sighs before patting his back, rubbing
small circles into it above the corset. His hand is smaller than James', but
just as comforting. "Yeah, they'll just do that like we bounce back as
quickly as them. I don't know how they do it."

"I know," Sirius groans. "Marlene had more than me, and she went for a
fucking run this morning."

"Sometimes," Peter says idly, "I'm not sure if they're human. They could be
aliens. We don't know." He pauses. "To be clear, I'd still love them if they
were aliens. That'd be pretty cool, actually. I'm just saying, we haven't any
proof that they're not."

"Do we have any proof that they are?" James muses.

Peter hums. "Honestly, I think we have more evidence suggesting they are
than the opposite. I once saw Dorcas crack open a raw egg and just—
swallow it."

"Is Mary an alien, do you think?" Sirius mumbles.

"This feels vaguely sexist," James says, audibly disapproving.

"Is it?" Peter asks, surprised. "I think they'd be honored to be considered not
of this world. Beyond it, even. Unless, of course, they are aliens. Then they
would know we're onto them, and maybe they'd wipe our memories or
something."

Sirius grunts. "I wish they would erase my memories. I have so much I'd
like to forget, starting with how much I drank last night, and it doesn't end
there."

"Oh, Padfoot," James says, "did you shag Moony again?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"You shagged Moony again," Peter says with a sigh. He pats his back
gently. "That's alright, mate. Better luck next time, yeah? I believe in you."

James clears his throat. "Well, you know, maybe the solution isn't to stop
shagging him. Maybe the solution is to keep shagging him, but just—date
him again? Maybe?"

"That is an option," Peter agrees.

"Just a thought," James adds mildly.

Peter coughs. "You know, if you're going to be shagging him anyway."

"This is not coddling. I do not feel properly coddled right now," Sirius
complains.

James and Peter promptly coo over him, which is an improvement. They're
lovely. Truly.

They fuss over him some more, even after they drag him out of bed. Peter
cooks a traditional breakfast while James makes tea, and they both send him
off to shower. He doesn't feel much better afterwards, only marginally, but
Peter and James make him eat, and that helps quite a bit.

It's Peter who asks about the corset, so Sirius goes to get it to show it off,
because he's absolutely going to be incorporating it in his outfits. It's
actually funny, though, the way James and Peter stand in the middle of the
room and try to figure out how to help him put it on properly. Just three
idiots with no idea what they're doing, but trying nonetheless and giggling
throughout the entire process.

"Actually, this is so bloody difficult that it might just be the solution to all
your problems," Peter tells him as he steps back and squints. "I'd like to see
Remus get that off easily."

"Oh, Pete, I could kiss you," Sirius breathes out, then does when Peter
offers his cheek. Sirius smacks a kiss to it with an over-the-top mwah! "This
is perfect. If I can't get undressed, that knocks down my chances of
shagging him by at least five percent. Brilliant!"

James stares at him. "Only five percent?"

"Well, my cock's not in the corset, is it?" Sirius mutters.

"Someone get this man's cock a corset," Peter says, and they all howl with
laughter immediately.

They go out to meet up with Mary, who drags them around to go shopping.
It's something of a tradition between the four of them since Hogwarts. On a
Hogsmeade trip, Mary had found herself quite alone when Lily dragged
Marlene off to a bookshop, and she'd gone off to go looking for a dress on
her own. Sirius, James, and Peter had just so happened to be walking past
with a ridiculous amount of snacks from Honeydukes, and they'd all yelped
when she'd stuck her head out of the shop and sharply called for them to
come tell her if she looked awful in orange or not. (She didn't. Mary has
never looked awful in anything, ever.)

In any case, they'd somehow ended up spending the next four hours helping
her shop, and also getting caught up in shopping for themselves, letting her
help them. It's a ritual they've repeated often through the years, one they try
to do at least once every few months.

"Corsets are the new thing for you, then?" Mary asks as she dumps another
bag into James' waiting arms.
"Yeah, suppose so," Sirius admits. "They're a bit like hugs, aren't they? Very
tight hugs."

Mary laughs. "Somehow, that makes sense. Come on, I know where we can
get you fitted for some more. The one you have now, is it made for you?"

"Cas made it. She's thinking about putting some in her stores for men, so
she wanted me to model it for her, just to see if she wanted to change
anything," Sirius explains. It's a bit nice being Dorcas' model, really,
because he gets free clothes from a lovely fashion designer. So does Peter,
Lily, and Marlene. James, Mary, Frank, and Alice don't because they hadn't
wanted—or hadn't been able—to go to photoshoots. Dorcas has had Sirius'
measurements for years, at this point.

"Brilliant!" Mary hisses in delight. "What about you, Pete? Is she making
one for you?"

"God, I hope not," Peter mumbles. "But probably. She'll at least have me
model it to see what works for my body type, but it'll likely get shoved into
the back of my closet and never touched again. I value breathing."

"Weak," Sirius says, smirking.

"Normal," Peter shoots back. "Wanting to breathe is normal, Padfoot.

You're just insane."
James clicks his tongue, shifting the bags in his arms. "Stop it, you two. Be
nice, Wormtail. Don't even think about it, Padfoot. I can see you thinking
about tripping him up."

"Oi, I wasn't," Sirius lies, and Peter snorts under his breath. Sirius shoves
him, Peter shoves him back, and James lets out a deep sigh like a mother in
desperate need of a break from her ridiculous, troublesome children. In the
end, Sirius tosses his arm around Peter's shoulders and rubs his knuckles
roughly into the top of his head while Peter squawks and squirms in his
grip. They eventually settle down when James whacks them over the head
with the bags, and Mary is nearly crying from how hard she's laughing.
"Oh, you know I love you, Pete. Tell me about your neighbor. How's that
going, yeah?"

"I tried to ask her out again yesterday, and she thought I was just giving her
back the post that got mixed up," Peter says with a groan. "Maybe it's not
meant to be."

"Oh, no, none of that," James declares firmly, skipping forward to whip
around and walk backwards in front of them. "I won't have it. We do not
give up on love. You ask her out again, Peter. Just knock on her bloody door
and skip all the formalities. Just say it."

Peter groans louder. "I've tried."

"Have you asked her directly?" Mary asks, leaning forward from under
Sirius' other arm to raise both eyebrows at Peter in clear doubt. "Have you
said, word for word, I want to go on a date with you, would you like that,
too?"

"Well...not exactly," Peter admits, his cheeks turning red. "I can't help it.
She makes me bloody nervous!"

"Ask her, Peter," Mary says firmly. "What makes you more nervous?
Asking her on a date, or never getting to date her?"

"I…" Peter bites his lip. "Alright, you have a point."

"See? Don't give up! Just keep trying, mate, and it might turn out even
better than you thought it could," James announces cheerfully, and Sirius
narrows his eyes at him.

Sirius doesn't get a moment alone with James again until two hours later,
long after he's gone shopping for corsets and got fitted for two different
styles. It's in the next shop when Mary drags Peter off to go be excited over
a display of flat caps, newsboy caps, ascot caps, and berets because the two
of them (and Lily) adore hats, especially of this kind.

Sirius corners James at a rack of scarves, leaning in to peer at him with

keen eyes. He hums. "You've made up with your mean barista, haven't
you?"
"You know, it's scary how you do that," James mutters, heaving a sigh.

"I knew he'd forgive you," Sirius says, lips curling up. "Anyone who says
someone else is the sun would have to."

"As opposed to...I don't know, calling someone the moon?" James asks
innocently.

"Don't make this about me," Sirius grumbles, crossing his arms. "So, it's a
start. Did you shag him?"

"No!" James bursts out, eyes bulging. "No, I did not."

"Alright, calm down, mate," Sirius says, chuckling, amused by James'

almost violent reaction.

James licks his lips. "I—I would never, er, disrespect him, Sirius. I mean,
I'm very—it's all very respectful, is all. Nothing, um. Well, you know."

"Oh, sure it is. Because him sucking your cock while he was working was
respectful. And you gave him his first orgasm. Nothing naughty about that
at all." Sirius grins, watching James squeeze his eyes shut, looking pained.
"Relax, James. Honestly, why would I care? Good on you, mate."
"I just really, really need you to know that I take very good care of him,"
James wheezes.

Sirius barks a laugh and waggles his eyebrows. "Oh, I bet you do."

James releases a sound that's quite close to a whimper. "No, I mean, it's all
—I don't do anything...untoward. My intentions are pure. My thoughts are
—pure."

"You're a shit liar, Prongs," Sirius says, still amused, watching James try to
lie to him about this, even if there's no reason he should. Sirius is the last
person who would judge him for wanting someone else carnally. "I can look
at you and tell. You have all these filthy little fantasies floating about in that
head of yours. It's alright, you know. I'm very sex-positive, and as your best
mate, I wish you all the best sex in the future."

"Oh my god." James makes a weak, muffled noise and flaps his hands. "I
don't—we can't talk about this anymore. Let's just focus on the fact that I'm
happy with him."

"Yeah?" Sirius feels his face soften. "Then I'm happy it's working out for
you. You deserve it."

James considers him for a moment, and Sirius knows exactly what he's
going to say before he even says it. "You deserve it, too, Sirius." Yeah, just
what Sirius thought he'd say. "No, don't make that face. I'm being—I'm not
joking, alright? What you're doing now, you deserve more than that. Remus,
too."

"James," Sirius protests, his shoulders tensing.

"What would it take?" James asks bluntly, holding his gaze, not coddling
him one bit. "I'm your best mate, Sirius. If you can't tell me, who can you
tell? What would it take for you to forgive him and let both of you be happy
again?"

Sirius holds his breath until his chest burns, and then it explodes out of him,
and he whispers, "Nothing. That's just it, James. It would take nothing at
all."

"So, you're shagging him to distract him, then running off before you two
can talk, just so you can avoid forgiving him and being happy?" James
murmurs, frowning.

"Yes, that," Sirius admits sheepishly. "The second he talks to me again, I'm
going to give in. I know I will. But how is that fair? How is that—it can't be
that simple for him."

James sighs. "Do you honestly think this is simple for him? You don't think
this is hurting him? He loves you."
"He left."

"And then he came back. That's just as important, Sirius. Because now you
know. He keeps coming back. He's always coming back, isn't he? Doesn't
that mean something?"

"Stop," Sirius snaps, looking away. He steps back, swallowing around the
lump on his throat, then he clears it roughly and turns around. "I'm going to
look at the rings."

James surprisingly doesn't follow him, and when Sirius hesitantly checks
over his shoulder, he's distracted by his phone, thumbs flying as he types
rapidly. No doubt talking to his mean barista. Good for him.

Sirius isn't envious. He's not.

By the time they're all done, there's only a few more hours before evening.
James takes off to go see his mean barista, Mary is meeting up with Lily,
and Peter leaves with all intentions of asking his neighbor on a date. Sirius
goes and sits in his silent flat, staring at a wall.

He feels it so starkly like this. Alone with his loneliness. Imprisoned with
his pining. God, fuck Remus Lupin.

But also...
"Hello?" Remus answers on the second ring when Sirius calls because he's
a pathetic, pitiful, weak man.

"Are you free?" Sirius asks.

"To shag?" Remus asks flatly, and he sounds—exhausted. He sounds very,

very tired. "No, actually, I'm not. And I won't be again, Sirius. Why don't
you ring me up when you want to do something else, like—I don't know—
talk? Until then, no, I'm not free. I'll just be waiting."

Sirius closes his eyes. "Lighten up, Moony. I was just going to ask if you
wanted to grab a pint."

"You want to go to a bar? With me? In public, alone, where we'd have to
talk?" Remus says sarcastically.

"Do you want to, or not?" Sirius snaps, and Remus is quiet for a long
moment. Long enough for Sirius' heart to drop and his stomach to twist.
"You don't. No, you know, that's fine. It's—"

"I do," Remus cuts in, and his voice is soft. "I really do, Sirius. I'm just
trying very hard not to get my hopes up right now. It hasn't gone well for
me recently, if I'm honest."
"I'm literally asking you out, you prick," Sirius hisses.

Remus chuckles weakly. "Yes, and you've been shagging me, too, but that
doesn't mean things are going well for me."

"Just be at our bar at seven," Sirius grits out. "Or don't."

He hangs up.

The worst thing about Sirius is that he genuinely marinates on the idea of
just—not going. Not showing up. Leaving Remus sitting there, waiting and
waiting and waiting, but Sirius never comes. Would Remus wait all night,
until the bar closes? Sirius would. Sirius hates that he would, and hates even
more that he has no idea if Remus would. From the bottom of his heart,
really and sincerely, fuck Remus Lupin.

Sirius goes, though. Of course he does, because—

"You're a vindictive, insecure bastard, you know that?" Reggie snaps,

glaring at him from across the table.

"Oh, is that right?" Sirius asks dryly, poking lazily at his tiramisu. He
bloody hates tiramisu. "Careful, Reggie. If Mother heard you speak so foul,
she'd smack you across the mouth, you know."
Reggie's mouth twists. "This is because I suggested you shouldn't go back to
Hogwarts, isn't it? I have nearly four years before I have to think about
getting married."

"I was only pointing out that letting you make a good impression on the
proper families will secure your chances of getting the perfect husband just
for you," Sirius says mildly.

"You always do this," Reggie whispers. "You pretend like you're not just as
terrible as the rest of us, but you are. If you've been hurt, you can't rest until
you've returned the favor."

Sirius arches an eyebrow. "Oh, is this hurting you, Reggie? Don't you want
to do exactly as Mother wants you to? Don't you want to make the family
proud?"

"You know how I feel about—" Reggie's throat clicks, and then the mask is
back. Icy eyes, thin lips, guard up. Sirius always gets a sick jolt in his
stomach at the sight; he can't even recognize Reggie like this. "But that's the
point, I suppose. Does it make you feel better, Sirius? Does it stop you from
hurting to hurt someone else?"

"You know," Sirius drawls, "it really does, actually."

Reggie smiles. It's thin. "Believe what you must. You and I both know it's a
lie. We're good at lying, aren't we? At least when I hurt people, I don't lie to
myself about why."

"Why do you feel the need to hurt people at all?" Sirius asks.

"The same reason as you," Reggie murmurs, standing up, still holding his
gaze. "They hurt me first."

Reggie walks away, having taken not one bite of tiramisu, and Sirius can't
stomach the rest of his own. Sirius feels as if Reggie just slapped him again,
because he doesn't know how he hurt Reggie first, only that it feels as if
Reggie is the one that started it. This pain they used to share, halved and
lessened, and now they turn it on each other over and over. Sirius can't find
the origin, can't figure out who hurt who first, but they're lost in the cycle of
it now. Sirius doesn't know how to stop. He wants out, but there isn't one.

He hurts, so he hurts.

"Sirius Black? As I live and breathe!"

Jolting, Sirius looks up from where he's waiting to order a drink, and then
he blinks rapidly at the sight of Benjy, who he hasn't seen in at least four
years now.
"Benjy fucking Fenwick!" Sirius bursts out, a grin blooming on his face
automatically. "Shit, it's been ages."

"Hasn't it?" Benjy chuckles and claps a hand on his arm, giving him a little
shake. "I recognized you right away, I did. Still on with that hair and jacket,
are you?"

"I know my strengths," Sirius says, and Benjy laughs, tossing his head
back. He's always been like this, booming laughter and broad smiles,
unexpectedly outgoing for him to be a beat-by-beat cliche for a scholar,
except he's not an introvert and he's probably never experienced an
awkward moment in his entire life. Everything else, though? He's a
complete swot, but in the best way. A year older than Sirius, he'd tutored
him in more ways than one on many different subjects, some most certainly
more inappropriate than others.

Benjy's eyes twinkle as he smiles at him. "It's good to see you, Sirius. Pure
luck, too. I'm flying out again tomorrow."

"Berlin, right?" Sirius checks.

"Bangkok now," Benjy says, shaking his head. "I ended up taking a transfer.
Better pay. And Bangkok is beautiful."

Sirius grins. "That's brilliant. You don't miss home?"

"Oh, London is hardly home now, really. I've been away for so long at this
point." Benjy wrinkles his nose. "Almost felt like I was a bloody tourist
when I got in."

"Well, that's a load of cockwobble, Benjy, if I've ever heard it. You're no
tourist. You even still have your accent!"

"It was hanging by a thread, honestly, until I got back here. Two days, and
suddenly it was like I never left."

"Yeah, home will bring it out in you." Sirius laughs again when Benjy grins.
He leans in, prepared to lower his voice and say something ridiculous, but
then… It's odd, really. The sudden awareness prickles down his spine, the
hairs on his arms and the back of his neck raising. He leans back, his breath
stuttering out of him, and he doesn't know where, exactly, Remus is at the
moment, but he's here. Sirius can feel him here, watching. Feels his gaze
like a tangible touch, enough to make him want to squirm.

Benjy blinks at him. "Alright?"

"Fine," Sirius says, admittedly a little breathless. Benjy's eyebrows shoot

up. "Sorry. Not you. I mean, it's complicated. This bloke I'm shagging just
showed up."

"You're not even facing the door?" Benjy replies, baffled. "You couldn't
possibly have seen someone come in. Sirius, you haven't even looked away
from me."
Sirius chokes out a laugh that's almost hysterical. "Yes, I know, but he's
here. He's...watching me, somewhere."

"That's a bit creepy that you just...know that."

"I'm very aware. I also mean that literally. I'm very aware of him. It's
maddening."

"Suppose I can do that with my wife, in a way," Benjy says thoughtfully.

"Not so much that I know the moment she walks into a room when I'm not
even looking, but…once I know she's there, I never lose track of her again.
It's an unconscious thing that I do, I suppose."

"That's adorable," Sirius admits, face softening. "How is Gisela? Does she
miss Berlin?"

Benjy hums. "Yes, but she also loves Bangkok. She's doing well. Her next
book should be coming out in July."

"Oh, lovely." Sirius perks up. "Lily's going to hit the roof. Frankly, so will I.
Gisela ended the last on a cliffhanger. That was just evil. Your wife is evil,
Benjy."
"Yes, I know," Benjy says, smiling softly, absolutely besotted.

Sirius rolls his eyes fondly. "You said you were flying out tomorrow?"

"I am. It'll be unfortunately early, too, so I really shouldn't be out much
later. I've a ride on the way," Benjy admits, glancing down at his phone. "I
should go meet it, actually."

"Yeah, alright, don't let me keep you." Sirius flicks his gaze over Benjy's
shoulder, somehow knowing before he even does it, and his mouth instantly
goes dry. Remus is leaning against the wall in that infuriatingly casual way
of his, but his gaze is sharp, dark even from across the room. He meets
Sirius' gaze, and Sirius suddenly becomes very aware of the fact that Benjy
never pulled his hand away from his arm. The way Remus is looking at
him… God, the way Remus is looking at him—it makes Sirius' toes curl in
his boots. Fucking hell.

"Christ, mate, pull yourself together," Benjy says, drawing his attention
again. He looks amused. "You look like you're about to start drooling. Or
crying. I don't know which is worse."

"Listen, I'm about to do something mildly inappropriate for completely

irreprehensible reasons, is that alright?" Sirius asks, lifting his hand to cup
the side of Benjy's neck.

Benjy sighs. "You and your schemes, Sirius Black. Gisela is going to love
this. Not even twenty minutes into seeing you again after four years, and
you're planning something."

"Benjy, he looks like he wants to eat me," Sirius says, looking at him with
his bottom lip caught between his teeth. "Please?"

"Jealous bloke?"

"Apparently. This is new information. I would very much like to exploit it.
Come on, mate, help me out. I'll owe you."

"Oh, alright." Benjy rolls his eyes. "Just don't get me into a brawl. I really
don't have the time."

Sirius allows a slow grin to spread across his face, and then he steps in and
wraps his arms around Benjy easily, one hand slipping up to his hair as he
turns his head to put his mouth next to Benjy's ear. He catches Remus' gaze
and feels it sear through him, burning hot, making his heart race. Still
looking at him, he whispers, "Oh, now he looks like he wants to eat me and
kill me. This is going to be a very good night for me."

"You're ridiculous," Benjy says with a chuckle.

"I'm in love with him," Sirius breathes out, and Benjy jolts against him in
surprise, clearly not expecting that.
"Well, that's lovely, isn't it? How's it going?"

"At the moment? It's looking up."

Benjy snorts. "Yeah? Well, get off me and go get him."

"Yeah," Sirius murmurs, gaze locked with Remus' as he drags the tip of his
nose along the shell of Benjy's ear. "Might just do that, actually. Give us a
kiss before you go, yeah? Not the mouth. He might—well, I don't know, but
I'm very sure neither of us want to find out."

"Gisela is going to laugh about this for ages," Benjy complains, but he's
laughing a little bit himself, and he does pull back to press a warm kiss to
Sirius' cheek that Sirius barely feels. He's a little busy feeling like his whole
body is on fire just because of how Remus is looking at him. "I'm off now.
Good luck, and I wish you the best with him."

"Thanks, Benjy," Sirius croaks. "I'll walk you to the door."

Sirius does just that, in fact, leaning against Benjy's side the whole way, and
Benjy is just as mischievous as him because he keeps his hand on Sirius'
lower back until they break apart. Sirius leans out the door and grins at him,
exhilarated, and Benjy laughs as he slips into his ride.
Taking a deep breath, Sirius turns back around and winds his way right over
to Remus, who hasn't looked away from him once the entire time. As Sirius
draws closer, he can see how tense Remus is, stiff, coiled tight. His jaw is
clenched.

"Is that why you invited me out tonight?" Remus asks, and his voice is so
harsh that Sirius feels goosebumps break out all over his body. "Are you
trying to—what? Sirius, what are you trying to do? What was the fucking
point—"

"I never took you for the jealous type, Moony," Sirius muses, struggling not
to grin, feeling a zing of excitement skitter down his spine. He wants to
wriggle around, ridiculous as that may be. He wants Remus to touch him.

Remus narrows his eyes. "Oh, I'll just go find someone to entertain myself
with tonight, shall I? Is that really what you want to happen, Sirius?
Because I can."

Sirius has never lost a smile so fast in his life. "You better fucking not," he
snaps, and it's so sharp that it startles even him a bit, but not enough to
temper the surge of pure rage in his chest at the thought of Remus with
anyone else. A rising beat of possessiveness burns hot under his skin like an
itch of mine, mine, mine. Remus is his. He just—is.

"I never took you for the jealous type, Padfoot," Remus mocks.
"Well, we're just learning a lot of things about each other tonight, aren't
we?" Sirius bites out.

Remus arches an eyebrow. "Apparently so. And, apparently, you felt the
need to invite me here to...what, make me jealous?"

"No, that was just pure luck, really," Sirius says, and Remus' nostrils flare in
anger, eyes blazing. Honestly? Sirius fucking shivers. "Moony. Moony,
you're really—this is really doing it for me, actually, so could we—"

"I'm not shagging you," Remus hisses. "No. Absolutely not."

Sirius bites his lip and gazes at him, imploring, barely able to stand still.
Remus holds his ground, and then Sirius clears his throat and mumbles,
"Well, I could always follow him and—"

Remus has him in the stall in the loo in less than five minutes, and god,
Sirius loves him so much.

Fuck Remus Lupin? Why yes, exactly that.

"I can't do this anymore," Remus says softly when they're both sitting on
the admittedly grimey floor, their backs against the wall, finally catching
their breath. "I can't keep doing this with you, Sirius."
"But you will," Sirius murmurs.

"But I will," Remus agrees, resigned. His head hits the wall with a dull
thunk. "I'm in love with you, so I will. What else can I do? I'd have you any
way you'd let me."

Sirius squeezes his eyes shut, because he can't look at him, can't see him or
anything, when he rasps, "I hurt, so I hurt. I do it like it's going to make me
feel better, but it doesn't. I don't feel better. I just feel worse, and it's like a
punishment for letting myself get hurt in the first place."

"You didn't let me hurt you, Sirius. It's not something you should expect and
always be on guard for," Remus murmurs, his voice careful like this is too
fragile for him to speak at regular volume. "It's something I did to you, and
it was wrong, and I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"You can't—please, Remus, please don't—" Sirius' words choke off, and he
ducks his head, his eyes stinging even though they're still closed.

"Sirius," Remus whispers, his hand gingerly landing on top of Sirius',

fingers curling in between the slack spaces left open.

Sirius swallows convulsively and clings to Remus' hand as he lifts his head
and opens his eyes, not even surprised to find his vision blurry with tears.
Even the cloudy watercolor of Remus is breathtaking. "Don't do it again, or
I really will kill you."

"Okay," Remus says with a choked laugh, and his free hand lifts to cup
Sirius' cheek, thumbing away tears as gently as if they're crystals. "I'll
always come back, do you know that? No matter where I go, I'm always
coming back to you."

"Even when maybe you shouldn't," Sirius can't help but point out, because
Remus has made that clear by now.

Remus hums. "I couldn't help it. I tried so bloody hard, but I just don't know
how to leave you alone."

"This is an ideal trait in the love of my life," Sirius mumbles, leaning over
into him.

"Is that what I am?" Remus asks thickly.

Sirius pauses, then tips his face over into Remus' palm, his eyelids drooping
as he relaxes. So much tension seeps out of him so suddenly that he almost
starts crying again, because he feels lighter than he has his whole life.
"You're my Moony. I'm quite sure you're the love of all my lives, all the
ones before, and all the ones after. And this one. Definitely this one."
"I'll come to you in the next, too," Remus assures him.

"I miss you," Sirius confesses.

Remus tips his head forward and presses his forehead into Sirius'. "I'm here.
I'm right here."

Sirius tips his head up to kiss him soft and slow and sweet, as if to make
sure, and he is. He's here.

He's right here.

Chapter End Notes

Pandora, Peter, Mary, Marlene, and Dorcas my beloveds <3

Also, not James Potter being the most romantic fucker on the planet
😭 pls I'm in love with him

Meanwhile, Remus, the man with NO resolve when it comes to Sirius

Black whatsoever.

Sirius and Regulus have so many issues, I love those mentally ill
bitches ❤

Edit: oh yeah, see you all on Friday :D

Edit, AGAIN (because I'm a mess of a human being): I keep meaning

to tell you to come check me out on Tumblr and interact with me if
you like. I randomly post things about this fic. My url is:
regulusbrainrot
 Chapter 10
Chapter Notes

heyohhh, it's friday!!! :)

Warnings for this chapter: some spice as always, it's not explicit,
only referenced and implied with maybe a few heated moments that
make it pretty clear that things are...well, spicy. for those of you who
do not like heavy smut, which is perfectly valid, be assured that there
are no descriptions of things going into places. also, there's a brief
mention of top surgery and a brief discussion of...nipples (you'll, uh,
see when you get there). third warning: there's a brief reference to a
scene in a movie in which someone murders someone else and gets
covered in blood (it's like, the characters are watching the movie and
briefly talk about it) and there's a mention of blood, stabbing, and
death—surprisingly lighthearted, considering the topic.

with that being said, go forth and enjoy! :)

See the end of the chapter for more notes

James loves it when a plan comes together.

Does he perhaps have some lingering guilt about hiding the fact that he's
dating his best friend's brother, from both the brother and the best friend?
Well, yes, but it's an improvement from the guilt he had when he attempted
to stop. Maybe, in a year's time, or two, or...five, this will all be one big
joke that they all laugh about together, because one day, one day, there will
be no lies and no hurt between any of them.

Today is not that day, however, but that doesn't mean it can't be a good day
regardless. It has been so far. He came in this morning early and was
actually permitted entry into the shop before they opened, and he spent
almost half an hour bickering with Regulus about his new pattern to
ordering pastries (he insists it's even more spontaneous like this, while
Regulus finds it ridiculous because he claims he's essentially just choosing
what James will order for him, but James is perfectly fine with that,
actually), and Regulus had made him his coffee just as he likes without
pretending he didn't know, and then Regulus agreed to let him come to his
flat for the first time in the nine days since they...got back together?

Alright, so James is a little unclear on that part, but you know what? He's
being optimistic about it. He's more than willing to take it slow and let
Regulus steer this ship.

"Do you know what I really miss?" Regulus muses from where he's curled
up on the sofa, his socked feet tucked under James' thigh. There's a book
with a ridiculous amount of colorful tape and different annotations (which
James finds adorable) sitting closed on his knee. He has a wistful
expression on his face.

James tips his head over on the sofa and gazes at him, a fond curl of warmth
in his chest. "No. What do you miss?"

"Pineapples from the Lost Gardens of Heligan," Regulus says with a soft
sigh. "£1000 for just one, you know, but god are they worth it. I haven't had
one since I was eighteen."

"You ate pineapples that were worth £1000?" James asks, his eyebrows
flying up, then he blinks. Wait, of course Regulus did. He was rich. James
almost forgot, but he'd know, wouldn't he? After all, Sirius came from a
very wealthy family, so Regulus did as well. "You were rich!"

Faintly amused, Regulus glances over at him. "I was, yeah."

"And now you're not," James concludes as soon as he realizes it. He stares
at Regulus in surprise.

"Not so much, no. Comparatively, I've gone from riches to rags, which is—I
can assure you—less fun than the more glorified inverse of that trope,"
Regulus says dryly. "I wouldn't say I'm poor, exactly. I do alright for
myself. I'm certainly doing a lot better than I was when I first left home."

"When you first left home…" James swallows, an anxious knot tightening
in his stomach. "I take it your mother didn't send you off with the proper
funds."

"Mm, no, she did not." Regulus, shockingly enough, looks amused by the
thought. "I didn't leave with nothing, of course. I planned it properly."

"You saved up, then?"

"Hm? Oh, no, I stole it."

James' eyes bulge. "You stole from your mother?"

"What? No, of course not. She would have killed me." Regulus wrinkles his
nose, grimacing, then his face relaxes into a genuine smile. "No, I stole
from my brother."

"You what?!" James chokes out, jerking up straight as he gapes at Regulus

in pure disbelief. "You—why would you—"

"Trust me, it's nothing he didn't deserve," Regulus says sharply, and James
has to physically bite his tongue to keep from instinctively defending Sirius
as he wants to. "Our Uncle Alphard had recently passed away before I ran
off, and he left a lot of money to my brother. Always liked him best. He
was a paranoid bastard, though, and he was worried Mother would find a
way to keep the money for herself; I have no idea if she actually managed
to, or even tried."

James once again has to press his lips firmly together to stop from telling
him that no, no, she did not. Sirius did, in fact, inherit the money and was
actually quite saddened to hear about his uncle's death, as he was one of the
few in that family that Sirius didn't wholeheartedly despise.

"In any case, Uncle Alphard had left a sort of...treasure hunt, I suppose you
could call it." Regulus' face does something strange. "He was always a bit
different, our uncle. It worked out well for me, at least. I found the physical
money and took that for myself. It wasn't even a quarter of what my brother
got, but it gave me something to start with."
"So, you weren't… I mean, you were well off enough to at least get a nice
flat," James murmurs, glancing around, genuinely uncomfortable by the
thought that he wasn't. It's so starkly different from what Sirius had when he
ran away. Sirius had James. Sirius had a home waiting for him.

Regulus shakes his head and swivels his finger. "Oh, this? No. I've only had
this flat for two and half years. Before that, I lived in a one room flat about
the size of my pantry and survived mostly on pot noodles."

"But...you stole money," James says weakly, stricken.

"Yes, and almost immediately spent it to have my tits cut off," Regulus
informs him bluntly, and James blinks rapidly, his mouth falling open. "Top
surgery is expensive, you know."

"You had your tits cut off," James repeats, his voice blank with shock, and
he doesn't even know why. He's had Regulus' chest pressed up against his
and can attest to the lack of tits.

"James," Regulus says, amused, "did you forget I had tits?"

James coughs. "Might've done. Sorry."

"It's alright. I hated them anyway." Regulus wrinkles his nose, then narrows
his eyes when James tucks his lips in, once again stopping himself from
saying something. A tiny smile flirts with the corner of Regulus' lips. "You
want to ask something about my tits, don't you?"

"Desperately," James admits.

"Go on, then," Regulus prompts, his lips twitching up even further, a
glimmer of humor in his eyes.

"Did it hurt?" James blurts out.

Regulus arches an eyebrow at him. "You're asking if it hurt to get top

surgery? Really?"

"But you…" James shifts restlessly, and his heart has fallen to the pit of his
stomach, leaving him despaired. "You did it alone, Regulus. Didn't you?
Did you have...anyone?"

"No, I didn't have anyone," Regulus says softly, looking away, his fingers
tapping mindlessly against his closed book. He sighs heavily. "I did it alone,
yes, and let me tell you, it was bloody difficult. It still—it made me really
happy, despite that. I never regretted it, no matter how hard it was."

"Were you afraid?" James whispers.

"Honestly, the only thing that scared me was the idea of something going
wrong." Regulus frowns down at his hand on his book, deliberately lying
his fingers flat to stop the tapping he was unconsciously doing. "In surgery,
I mean. I put my brother down as my emergency contact because I—I didn't
know who else I could list. I hadn't met Remus yet. I was terrified that
they'd call him for something and he'd find out."

James reaches down and puts his hand gently on Regulus' ankle, stroking
the knobbly bone. "Surely he would have supported you. I mean...he's your
brother, Regulus."

"At that point, I hadn't seen or heard from him in three years, or reached out
to him, and I had no desire for that to change. It's been eight now, and I still
don't." Regulus gives a lazy shrug, staring blankly at his book. "Anyway, I
spent nearly all the funds I had on transitioning. I was actually quite lucky,
you know. Not a lot of trans people have that privilege. I don't regret any
part of it, and I'm grateful I could do it."

"Do they—do they really just…?" James helplessly makes an odd gesture,
sort of swiping a free hand down his chest. "Do they, you know, actually cut
them off?"

Regulus looks over at him, amused again. "Well, it's usually a procedure
that last three to four hours, and they remove the nipples to—"

"They remove your nipples?!" James squawks, eyes growing twice in size,
and Regulus laughs softly. "Are you taking the piss? Like, they actually cut
your fucking nipples off? Your nipples are removed from your body and—
and just, what? What do they even do with them?"

"Fortunately, they do put them back," Regulus says dryly.

"What if they mix them up?"

"James."

"No, honestly, your nipples could be backwards. How would you know? I
need to know. This is important information to me; I'll go mad not
knowing," James continues, little chuckles spilling out of him as Regulus
laughs harder and harder, curling into himself further, shaking with it.

"S-Stop it," Regulus chokes out, still losing it until he's breathless, his hand
against his chest.

James' face hurts from where he's grinning so hard. "That would have been
my first concern when I woke up. Excuse me, doctor, did you put my
nipples back properly?"

That sets Regulus off all over again until he buries his face into the crook of
his elbow, practically wheezing.
"I—I can assure you—" Regulus has to pause and clear his throat, more
laughter humming in his tone. He turns his head and coughs. "I can assure
you, James, that my nipples are perfectly normal."

"I'd love you even if they weren't," James assures him distractedly, focused
on fumbling for his cell, immediately going to Google. "However, I need to
know if there's ever been a case where someone had their nipples put on
backwards. It's a must, Regulus. And, really, I should just—know more
about all of this. I can't expect you to tell me everything."

James does, in fact, go searching to find out about the nipple situation, and
the first thing he finds is a case of someone who had their nipples pierced
before surgery, and after, one of the piercings was lopsided when they
healed enough to put it back in. Fortunately, the patient found it amusing
and refused to get it pierced again, leaving it just as it was.

"Oh my god, look at this," James says, scooting over to show Regulus his
cell. When he looks up, Regulus is staring at him, but he does reach out to
take the phone and slowly focus on the screen. As he reads, he releases a
chuckle. "I don't think I'd get it pierced again either. That's too brilliant."

"You're ridiculous," Regulus murmurs, glancing at him with a small smile

as he passes the phone back over. James starts to reply, but before he can,
Regulus is leaning in to kiss him.

James makes a muffled sound of surprise, his eyebrows jumping as he

instantly, automatically curls into the kiss. It's a rather fierce one, and
unexpected, but James is absolutely not complaining. Regulus' hand cups
his cheek, and James drops his phone, and the kiss deepens with slow
intensity.

It makes James' head spin, the swirl of sensation swelling and dragging him
under until he's lost in it. Lost in the warmth of Regulus' mouth, the
pressure of his lips, the gentle catch of teeth because Regulus always has a
bit of bite to him that hooks James' navel and tugs, making him itch to be
closer, always wanting to be closer. And oh, oh, James does have impure
thoughts about this man, impure intentions that Sirius must never, ever find
out about, but he can't help it. He genuinely can't, because Regulus is so
lovely, so very tempting, and James desperately aches for whatever he can
have.

"What—what was that for?" James croaks as soon as Regulus breaks away,
and then Regulus kisses him again, quick and soft, before backing off
entirely.

Regulus just smiles and locates his cell in between the cushions, holding it
out. "Because I wanted to. Go on, you were researching, weren't you?"

"Right, yeah," James mumbles, dazed.

"Just you wait. If the nipples shocked you, well…" Regulus shakes his
head, lips twitching.

"I'm sure it'll be fine," James says with unearned confidence, jumping back
into Google again. Not even five minutes later, he's gasping. "Oh my god,
Regulus!"

"Hm?" Regulus, who had picked up his book, glances up with amusement.
"What is it?"

James stares at him with wide eyes. "You said you didn't have a cock!"

"I don't exactly have a traditional one. It's growth from the testosterone,
James." Regulus pauses, looking briefly thoughtful, then he hums. "Well, I
do have a cock. It's in my bottom nightstand drawer."

"You—what?" James blinks at him.

"Actually, I have a few. Size options, you know."

"I...do not know."

Regulus chuckles and focuses on his book. "Keep researching, James."

James does just that, learning quite a bit, and about twenty minutes later, he
makes an inquisitive noise. "Oh, but you could get a cock. I mean,
surgically." He tilts his head as he reads on. "Bloody hell, this is brilliant.
Just, even from a medical standpoint, but also for those that want to do it.
Bit of a process, though. The first time for a trans man was in 1959, but
they were doing it in the 1930s after World War II for, I imagine, soldiers
who were injured and in need of it."

"Yeah?" Regulus asks idly, sounding bored.

"You didn't know?" James murmurs, looking up.

"No." Regulus glances at him, arching an eyebrow. "Just because I'm trans
doesn't mean I know everything there is to know, James."

"Yeah, alright, that makes sense." James raises his eyebrows at him. "You
didn't want to do that, then?"

"No," Regulus says. "I never felt the need, and I rather like the cock I do
have. Also, I quite enjoy getting fucked."

James drops his phone again, flustered in an instant, and Regulus watches
him fumble and repeatedly clear his throat with a small, hidden smile at the
corners of his mouth. "Yeah. Right, of course. Makes sense. That's—that—
yeah, alright."

"Oh, don't go getting any ideas," Regulus tells him, clearly enjoying
himself. "You have to earn that. If anyone's getting shagged first between
us, it's you."
"I—sorry?" James blurts out, his eyes simply just about to roll right out of
his head. He's choking on air. "I am? I—what?"

Regulus considers him for a moment, his eyebrows furrowing. He slowly

tilts his head. "James, have you never…?"

"I've—I mean, with Lily, and then I tried—well, after her, I dated around a
bit, men and women. But I've never shagged a man, no. Well, what I did
with you, but not anything further than that," James admits slowly, and
Regulus just stares at him. There's a long beat of silence, one so long that
James awkwardly fiddles with his shirt, a sense of anxiety crawling through
him. "Is that—does that...change anything?"

"It does, a bit, but only from the shagging angle. Not how I feel about you,"
Regulus says, closing his book with a snap and standing up. He holds out
his hand. "Well, come on, then."

"Come…? What, now?" James wheezes.

"If you don't want to, we won't," Regulus informs him simply, no
judgement at all.

James, being James, doesn't even really stop to consider it; he just dives in.
Heart racing, he slips his hand into Regulus' and stumbles after him to his
room, feeling a bit in over his head and still unwilling to back down.
"Is it going to hurt?" James asks, and he's mostly just curious about it, if
he's honest. He knows the logistics; he has access to the internet and
happens to fancy men, so of course he does. But, even if he didn't, he lives
with Sirius. There's no shame between them, honestly, and Sirius has never
felt the need to spare any details about such things.

"I'll take care of you," Regulus says, and he sounds so sure that James finds
that it'd be impossible to doubt him. "I know what I'm doing, and I know
how to make it good." He drops James' hand and goes over the crouch
down by his nightstand. "Of course, you might just not like it. Some people
don't, which is fine. If you want to stop, we'll stop."

"Right," James mumbles.

Regulus cranes his head and narrows his eyes. "I mean it, James. If you
don't like it, you need to tell me. I know you're a people-pleaser by nature,
but this isn't a situation where you should care about my desires above your
own. To be clear, it would please me more if you were honest about what
you want, rather than doing something just because you think it's what I
want. Do you understand?"

"Yeah, I do," James says quickly, bobbing his head.

"Hm." Regulus eyes him for a moment longer, as if checking for

authenticity, then he swivels back around to start digging through his
drawer.
James shuffles closer to peer down in it over Regulus' ducked head, and he
huffs out an incredulous laugh. "Oh, you weren't joking about size
choices."

"I never joke about size choices."

"Wait, so do I get to choose?"

"You'd choose the largest," Regulus says.

"Should I...not?" James reaches up to readjust his glasses, leaning forward

curiously to...well, peek.

Regulus tilts his head back to raise his eyebrows at him. "For your first
time? I'd recommend against it."

"Is it impossible?"

"James."
"What? I could handle it," James insists, his unearned confidence back for
another visit.

"James."

"I could!"

"Really?" Regulus challenges, turning to sift through his drawer and, a

moment later, drop something heavy on his bed, swiveling around to look at
James again.

James stares. "That...is a very big cock."

"Thank you," Regulus says.

"You know...maybe…" James coughs and scrunches his face as he lifts his
hand to scratch at the side of his neck with one finger. His stomach fully
tilts just at the thought of...that. He's tempted to take a step back, actually. "I
could, of course, but I wouldn't want to pressure you. Do what you think is
best."

"Oh, you don't want to pressure me, is that it?"

"Exactly. Obviously I—could."

"Mhm."

"But you seemed so against it and all."

"Right."

"So I'm respecting your choices."

"Are you?" Regulus asks, lips puckering slightly like he's fighting valiantly
not to laugh at him.

James nods, clearing his throat. "Absolutely. So, you know, I'll just let you
decide, even though I could handle it."

"Of course." Regulus laughs under his breath and casually returns some of
the air back to James' lungs by switching a different one from the drawer
with the one on the bed. This one is less intimidating. "Might be best to
start here."

"Sure, Regulus, whatever you say," James says and hopes that he doesn't
sound as relieved as he feels.
As Regulus stands back up, he holds out his hand once more and smiles.
"Don't worry about that now, yeah? You need to be relaxed. I've a few ideas
about how to help you with that."

"Oh?" James breathes, slipping his hand into Regulus' again, finding it so
easy to do, and Regulus tugs him to the bed.

Less than an hour later, James is staring at the ceiling without really seeing
anything because Regulus had asked, then gently tugged his glasses off his
face and sat them on the bedside table, folded nice and neat. He's in no state
of mind to grab them, and frankly, he doesn't even want to see at the
moment. Currently, he's on his back beside Regulus with his head resting in
the crook of Regulus' arm and shoulder, and Regulus is calmly, repeatedly
dragging his fingers through James' hair.

His ears are ringing. His brain is all fuzzy. He thinks, suddenly, about all the
times that he'd heard Sirius and his boyfriend—Remus, he now knows—get
particularly loud through the walls of the flat, or watched Sirius come
stumbling out after things finally got quiet, sometimes in search of
something to eat or something to snack on, and he'd have this dazed look on
his face like he just got his entire world turned upside down. He thinks,
also, about how Sirius repeatedly could not stop himself from shagging
Remus, back when things were awful for all of them. James comes to the
swift and only correct conclusion that he gets it, because if whatever they're
doing is half as good as what just happened to him...

Yeah, he gets it.

When James thought about sex with Regulus—because he has thought
about it, for all that he is willing to swear by the opposite when speaking to
Sirius—he never quite imagined this. (Mostly because he wasn't aware it
was an option.) In fact, all of his thoughts paled in comparison, barely even
getting this far at all, and in the rare times they did, he was always the one
doing the shagging, just because… Well, honestly, he's not sure why; likely
because he's never been shagged before, and the unknown is hard to
imagine.

In any case, James has learned quite a lot today. For one thing, sex has
always been fun for him. He likes to feel good; he especially likes for others
to feel good. So, sex? He's very much in favor. It's always been a happy,
blissful experience for him, loose and relaxed, giggles and grins and
satisfied bodies at ease with the world and each other.

That's not to say it wasn't that with Regulus, not at all, because it was. But it
was also...intimate. Very, very intimate. James didn't know that there was a
level of intimacy that high, not expecting to feel so—connected to someone
else, unaware that he could feel that way. There's a vulnerability in it, an
amount of trust required that he's sure most people don't feel as starkly as
him, but he felt it like a second skin, like a pulse in his fingertips where
they ran over Regulus' body with a reverence he couldn't fake. He'd been
honest; naked and honest and stripped bare; laid out with every part of him
left open to be studied. Regulus didn't have to take care of what he saw, but
he did. He really, really did.

James felt—still feels—safe. Cherished. Wanted. He also feels inexplicably

spoiled, just from the way Regulus made sure everything was good for him
(really good), practically raining pleasure down on him from beginning to
end. It was intense at times, nearly overwhelming at others, but James loved
it. Swaddled in Regulus' storm, there wasn't one moment that James wasn't
very delighted by the turn his day had taken.

Slowly, James turns his head, only just able to make out the lines on
Regulus' chest, scars that James recalls, at one point, pressing gentle kisses
to. It's a bit fuzzy now, because James has truly awful vision, but he recalls
the shape of them. He'd traced them with careful fingers, all too aware of
what struggles Regulus must have faced to have the scars at all. Regulus
deserves to be proud of them, honestly, for fighting for them, for fighting
for himself—but he'd only rolled his eyes and seemed entirely uninterested
in being soppy about it.

"Regulus?" James murmurs.

"Yes, James?" Regulus replies, satisfied like the cat that caught the canary.

"Does this mean I'm still your boyfriend?" James asks, tipping his head
back to blink at Regulus, who stares at him, then abruptly starts laughing.

Regulus laughs so hard, in fact, that he tips his head down and buries it in
James' hair, his hand braced on James' head. He shakes with it, shaking
James up as well, and James can't help but laugh with him. When Regulus
calms, he lifts his head and says, "I would bloody hope so, James, yeah."

"Oh. Brilliant. You never really said, is all, and I wasn't quite sure
after...you know," James admits.
"Ridiculous," Regulus says fondly, wriggling down to drop a kiss off on
James' mouth, then another, and another.

"You know," James whispers, grinning, "you really do have perfectly

normal nipples," and Regulus starts laughing again, pulling him closer,
holding onto him.

James tucks himself against Regulus, smiling helplessly, and thinks it has
been a very good day, indeed.

He truly does love it when a plan has come together.

Remus sighs in exasperation as Sirius tilts the book towards him to narrow
his eyes at the page. His gaze scans it quickly, then his eyebrows furrow.
Cautiously, he peeks at Remus and tentatively tugs on the book; he has
learned by now that Remus does not play about his books. Regardless,
Remus does relinquish his grip, letting Sirius take the book gingerly into his
own hands, glancing at the front.

"Oscar Wilde," Sirius murmurs. "Always did like him."

"That's frighteningly appropriate," Remus notes, lips curling up when Sirius
chuckles. "Have you read this one?"

"Yeah, I have." Sirius opens the book up again and flips carefully through
the pages, pausing where Remus has left tape next to quotes and passages
he likes. "Don't laugh, but I saw the movie first, so that's why I read the
book. I admit, I was a little charmed."

Remus' eyebrows raise. "By...the story?"

"It resonated," is all Sirius says, his voice quieter, and he doesn't look away
from the book. "Every portrait that is painted with feeling is a portrait of
the artist, not of the sitter."

"You like Basil, then?" Remus asks.

Sirius looks over at him and says, "Mm, I related to some things he said as
an artist myself. You know who I didn't like? Fucking Dorian Gray."

"Really? Why is that?" Remus says, watching him curiously. He wishes he

could step into Sirius' mind sometimes and just walk through it, brushing
his hands along the curtains, walking his fingers along the books on their
shelves, slipping the key into the locked door he lets no one enter.
"I think most people assume Dorian was innocent in the beginning; easily
influenced; malleable; persuaded by Lord Henry," Sirius murmurs, gaze
turning back to the book. He shakes his head slowly. "He was nïave,
perhaps, but he wasn't driven to madness. He had it within him the entire
time; he just let it out." He drags his finger gently down the open page,
frowning. "Dorian knew. He was disastrous long before he ever ruined the
people around him, or else he would have never ruined the people around
him."

Remus blinks. "What a limiting thing to say. Don't you believe in the
difference between what people do and who they are?"

"Aren't the things we do a reflection of who we are?" Sirius asks, thumbing

gently at the corner of a page. "Dorian killed Sybil and Basil. Does that not
make him a murderer?"

"Well, yes, but he was more than just the things he did."

"Tell that to Sybil and Basil."

"That's incredibly small-minded, Sirius," Remus insists, getting

unexpectedly heated about this. "You can't honestly be suggesting that there
were no outside influences involved in shaping Dorian Gray into who he
became."

Sirius' mouth pinches, and then he runs his finger down the page and clears
his throat. "He felt that the time had really come for making his choice. Or
had his choice already been made? Yes, life had decided that for him – life,
and his own infinite curiosity about life. Eternal youth, infinite passion,
pleasures subtle and secret, wild joys and wilder sins – he was to have all
these things. The portrait was to bear the burden of his shame: that was
all."

"That's—I mean—" Remus huffs. "He was young and innocent and
corrupted. You can't honestly read the beginning and not wish to protect
him! You think he was damned, then?"

"I think he damned himself."

"With help, and—"

"Remus."

"No, shut up. I won't stand for Dorian Gray slander. There was always that
part of him that still wanted to be good, still hoped for redemption, still
constantly worried for his own soul."

"Remus," Sirius repeats, lips twitching, "do you have a crush on Dorian
Gray?"

"Piss off," Remus mutters.

"You do," Sirius says, laughing. "Oh my god, Moony—"

"Shut up, Sirius. I'm not joking," Remus hisses, reaching out to try and
swipe the book back, but Sirius jerks it out of the way.

"Ah, ah," Sirius teases, his eyes sparkling. He tucks the book closer to
himself and flicks through some pages, grinning when he comes to a stop.
"You read this and came away fancying the fool. That's adorable."

"He wasn't—what did I just say about the slander?" Remus protests in
genuine offense.

"He was a fool," Sirius insists, "and he was something far more sinister.
Even Basil could see where he was going wrong. It's about choices, Moony,
and Dorian Gray made his own. He made them, and he took no
responsibility for them. Really, at the root of it, he saw his chance to burden
a painting with the repercussions of his own choices, thinking he'd be free
from it, only to have to actively watch the effect they had on his soul. He
tried to hide from the worst of himself, but he couldn't."

"You know, that's enough out of you, I think," Remus challenges, narrowing
his eyes.

"You're blinded by fancying him, but honestly? Dorian Gray was a shit
person," Sirius informs him bluntly. "Come on, Remus, you're fully capable
of thinking critically and rationally, so how haven't you come to this
conclusion yet?"

"First of all, I'm not ignoring his faults," Remus grumbles, rolling his eyes.
"It's just, Dorian Gray was the first character I ever felt was real, I suppose.
The message in his story got to me. The effects of society and the internal
battle with the worst and best parts of yourself. Is being bad only bad
because someone decides it's bad, or do you decide yourself? How many
choices are just mistakes you make on purpose, and do you deserve to be
forgiven for them? Is pleasure in itself wrong, and if so, why? He was
selfish and vain and, yes, awful at times, but he was also… He suffered. He
was afraid of the worst parts of himself to the point that he locked them
away and tried to separate himself from them. If only he'd… It's that, really.
If only. What if? What could have been. Dorian Gray was so human, to me.
I wanted… I wanted better for him."

"Even with the things he did?" Sirius asks.

Remus leans in closer, studying Sirius from inches away, gaze flicking over
Sirius' features. "If we were only the things we do, then I would be nothing.
How can I look at someone who is so desperate for everything and not wish
that it hadn't ruined them to go after it? I want everything, too."

"You could never be nothing, Remus," Sirius whispers. "You'd be the moon,
because the world wouldn't know what to do without you, and neither
would I."
A breath passes between them, and then Remus snatches the book out of
Sirius' hands and drops it carelessly to the floor, pushing himself into Sirius'
space to snog him half to death. Almost quite literally, because he barely
lets Sirius get in a breath before he's diving right back in. He all but
scrambles into Sirius lap and kisses him, and kisses him, and kisses him
some more, until he's dizzy with it.

"You would outshine Dorian Gray the moment you stepped into any room,"
Remus breathes out, rocking back to drag his fingers through Sirius' hair.

"Does this make you Basil?" Sirius asks, grinning.

"Basil was the fool," Remus says. "That's the worst part."

Sirius tips his head back, humming quietly as he runs his hands down
Remus' arms. "You don't think you're a fool to love me?"

"Well, do you have a painting containing your soul locked away

somewhere, displaying all your sins?" Remus teases and is surprised by the
way Sirius' face twitches.

"Not exactly," Sirius says.

Remus raises his eyebrows. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"I suppose you could say that my art contains pieces of me, in a way," Sirius
tells him slowly, thoughtfully. "Not necessarily the worst parts, or the best.
Just...me. Hold on." Sirius circles an arm around his waist to dip forward,
holding Remus steady and ignoring his huff of surprise, a borderline yelp,
as he dips him backwards to fumble for the book. Once he leans back, he
opens it to the first pages. "Right, this here."

"What?" Remus asks, peering down to try and see, but Sirius tilts the book
away and pointedly clears his throat. Remus' lips twitch, and he inclines his
head in acceptance.

"Because, without intending it," Sirius reads, "I have put into it some
expression of all this curious artistic idolatry, of which, of course, I have
never cared to speak to him. He knows nothing about it. He shall never
know anything about it. But the world might guess it, and I will not bare my
soul to their shallow prying eyes. My heart shall never be put under their
microscope. There is too much of myself in the thing, Harry—too much of
myself."

"What does that—"

"Hold on, I'm not finished."

"Oh," Remus says. "Alright, go on."

Sirius hums and continues, "An artist should create beautiful things, but
should put nothing of his own life into them. We live in an age when men
treat art as if it were meant to be a form of autobiography. We have lost the
abstract sense of beauty. Someday I will show the world what it is; and for
that reason the world shall never see my portrait of Dorian Gray.”

"God, Basil was gone on him," Remus mumbles mournfully, shaking his
head. "That's so sad."

"Moony, ignore the romance bits for a moment, you soppy thing," Sirius
says, chuckling. "My point is, I don't agree with Basil on this, and I also—
get what he's saying. Ignoring the fact that he's in love with Dorian, just his
view of what art should be in general is what I don't agree with. For me, it is
a bit like an autobiography. I—I do put parts of myself in what I create, not
because I find them beautiful, but because I don't, and I hope that someone
else will."

Remus wrenches back a little bit and stares at him, startled. He's genuinely
surprised by the fact that Sirius has shared this at all, but even more so by
what he's shared. It starts to click in his mind, then, that Sirius views
himself...harshly. Remus has been aware of that, sure, but not to this extent.

Suddenly, Remus thinks Sirius dislikes Dorian Gray so much because he

fears that they're similar. A man with his soul in art; a man with a soul that's
tainted.

"Sirius," Remus says softly, stricken.

"In any case," Sirius continues quickly, not quite looking him in the eye, "I
also do understand what Basil means in relation to...well, being in love.
Like, the drawing of you… That's—I would never let anyone see that. I was
scared for you to see it, really, because he's right. Basil is right. Look,
see…"

Remus stares at him as he dips his head to find the passage he wants to read
next. His heart is clenching and swelling in intervals in his chest.

"How often do you see him? Every day. I couldn’t be happy if I didn’t see
him every day. He is absolutely necessary to me," Sirius reads, briefly
glancing up to look at him, his cheeks flushing before he looks down again,
clearing his throat. "And then: It is not merely that I paint from him, draw
from him, sketch from him. Of course, I have done all that. But he is much
more to me than a model or a sitter. I won’t tell you that I am dissatisfied
with what I have done of him, or that his beauty is such that art cannot
express it. There is nothing that art cannot express, and I know that the
work I have done, since I met Dorian Gray, is good work, is the best work
of my life. But in some curious way—I wonder will you understand me?—
his personality has suggested to me an entirely new manner in art, an
entirely new mode of style. I see things differently, I think of them
differently. I can now recreate life in a way that was hidden from me
before."

"Sirius," Remus whispers.

"And," Sirius adds, still reading, "Dorian Gray is to me simply a motive in

art. You might see nothing in him. I see everything in him." Sirius pauses
and glances at him again, the look heavy and lingering, then he goes back to
reading. " He is never more present in my work than when no image of him
is there. He is a suggestion, as I have said, of a new manner. I find him in
the curves of certain lines, in the loveliness and subtleties of certain
colours."

"Sirius," Remus repeats, only a little louder.

"The world is wide, and has many marvellous people in it. Don’t take away
from me the one person who gives to my art whatever charm it possesses:
my life as an artist depends on him," Sirius says softly, then closes the book
and sighs. "Really, he might've just said he was in love and couldn't bear to
lose him; it's the same thing. As much as Dorian was the fool, Basil was a
fool for him, and I suppose that makes me Basil, doesn't it? I couldn't create
when you were gone, Moony. Just you. Everything was you. Dorian Gray
has nothing on you."

Remus, once again, yanks the book away and snogs Sirius like it might be
his last chance. They get a bit carried away this time, which they honestly
shouldn't. They're on the sodding sofa and anyone could walk in, but Sirius
can't say such things and expect Remus to respond normally.

There's nothing Remus could say in words to express what Sirius makes
him feel, but he can do things to at least attempt to show them. It's more
than that, too. He meant it before, about people being more than just what
they do; being who they are. How he feels for Sirius, this love beyond love,
it's in Remus the same way his blood is. He can never lose it all, and if he
did, he would be dead. He's sure of it.
Later—much later—Remus rests his chin on Sirius' chest and traces his
gaze over his face. "If we were only what we do, what do you believe you'd
be?"

"A curtain," Sirius murmurs, his eyes closed.

"A curtain," Remus repeats. "Why?"

Sirius cracks open one eye. "Nevermind that. You say we're more than what
we do, yeah? Let's go with that. It's nicer."

"You know," Remus muses, "I've never seen the movie. Well, I've seen the
oldest one in black and white. Have you?"

"There's an older one?" Sirius' eyes snap open with interest gleaming in
them, then he looks appalled. "Wait, you haven't seen the movie? Moony."

"What?" Remus says, laughing.

"No, no, we have to fix this. We simply must watch it. In that, Basil at least
gets to shag Dorian. You know, before Dorian murders him," Sirius
declares, sitting up.
Remus' eyebrows jump. "Does he really?"

"We get a snog and the shagging bit is—well, it's implied. I think Mr. Wilde
would have approved, actually." Sirius shifts to pull himself off the sofa,
practically dumping Remus into the crease his body left behind. "Such a
shame he never got to live in the modern world. I only feel that way about a
few people from history, but most of them are queer."

"Sirius, do you have a crush on Oscar Wilde?" Remus asks, amused, and he
turns his head to grin at Sirius from the cushion, his cheek smooshed.

Sirius grimaces as he syncs his cell up to the telly, preparing to play the
movie. "Only in the abstract. I've seen photos and, unfortunately, he looks a
bit like a prick I knew in school. Although, there's absolutely no mistaking
the sheer queer energy that he radiated, while Snape, in contrast, is
homophobic."

"Snape?"

"Severus Snape, a bloke we went to school with. We bullied him."

"Sirius," Remus says, propping up on his forearms, frowning now, "that's

awful."
"Yes, well, I'm fully capable of being an awful person," Sirius replies
blandly, completely unapologetic. "I have no respect for that git."

"Even if he is a homophobe, there's no honor in being a bully. I was bullied,

you know."

"Well, sweetheart, I don't want to upset you, but it's not exactly surprising
—"

"Oh, piss off," Remus says, biting back a smile. Now is not the time to
encourage Sirius being—rude.

"I wasn't awful to everyone, obviously. But Snape? Yeah, I was. Willingly
and on purpose," Sirius tells him with a sigh. "If that made me a bully, then
I was fine with being a bully."

Remus clicks his tongue. "Were you, really? So you were fine with being a
bully, even if it made other people wary around you?"

Sirius cranes his head over his shoulder, looks him straight in the eyes, and
calmly says, "Yes."

"No," Remus sputters in protest. "That was the wrong answer, Padfoot. The
right answer is no."
"Oh, you wish for me to lie." Sirius rolls his eyes and swivels back around,
still fiddling with the telly. "Why, of course, dear, I'd never be so petty and
vindictive that I'd relish in getting to belittle someone who deserves it, even
at the cost of another's feelings. I'm a considerate man who would do no
such thing."

"That's—you're—" Remus struggles for a word, and Sirius finishes up and

turns towards him, waiting. "The fact that you'd place your own sense of
satisfaction over someone's fear is… Sirius, that's really—"

"Cruel?" Sirius suggests. "Selfish?"

"Well...yes," Remus admits softly.

Sirius strolls over and bends down to brace one hand on the back of the
sofa, the other cupping Remus' cheek. Like this, Remus can see down his
collar where the lines of his tattoos curl on his chest. He smiles so sweetly
that he doesn't look capable of even knowing the meaning of the word
cruelty, let alone enacting it. Dipping in, he kisses Remus softly, tenderly,
not deepening it and not needing to. It's chaste and warm, and Remus'
frown falls away as he relaxes into it, his lips parting as Sirius continuously
glides his own over them like he's sipping the nectar of the Gods from a
mouth made of gold.

When he pulls away, Sirius hums low in his throat and says, blatantly smug,
"Mm, and you love me anyway."
"That's—well, alright, I do," Remus agrees grudgingly, squinting up at him.
"That doesn't mean I'm excusing—"

"Shh, Moony, the film's on," Sirius cuts in, grinning as he draws away to lift
Remus' legs and plop down beneath them, focusing on the screen.

Literally within the first minute, Remus sits up and turns his whole body
towards the telly. A very attractive man portraying Dorian Gray has stabbed
someone, which caused an arterial spray of blood to coat the front of him,
which means Remus is invested. He nearly blurts out a protest when the
scene pauses, and he swivels to stare at Sirius. "Why did you stop it?"

"Did you…? Did you just watch a man stab someone and perk up?" Sirius
asks him incredulously.

"Alright, listen," Remus starts, his face burning.

"I—" Sirius leans back and flicks his gaze over Remus with his eyebrows
raised. "No, you honestly just saw a man get covered in blood and was
immediately sold on watching this."

"To be fair," Remus says, pointing at the screen, "that is a very attractive
man."
Sirius snorts. "Christ, this is not going to help that torch you're carrying for
Dorian Gray, is it?"

"Just play the damn film," Remus grumbles, cheeks hot, and with a
delighted little chuckle, Sirius does. Not even ten minutes in, Remus shoots
a pointed look at Sirius. "Do you see? Look at him. He's so innocent at the
start."

"Give it an hour," Sirius says flatly.

"You know, maybe you're the cynic," Remus muses.

"If I am," Sirius retorts, "what does that make you?"

Remus purses his lips. "I take offense to that."

"Cynicism is merely the art of seeing things as they are rather than as they
ought to be." Sirius waggles his eyebrows. "That comes from our good lad,
Oscar Wilde himself."

"The cynic knows the price of everything and the value of nothing," Remus
shoots back. "Mr. Wilde said that, too."
Sirius' lips twitch, and he looks back towards the screen as he says, "Well,
he should have made up his mind, I feel."

Remus rolls his eyes and scoffs under his breath, focusing back on the film.
He wants to be annoyed, really, because how dare Sirius be—well, Sirius?
He's so bloody infuriating simply because of how genuinely captivating he
is. He's the static raising the hair on Remus' arms, fuzzy against his skin
when he's not even moving, just lying in wait to shock him with something
he always thinks he's prepared for but never is. Sirius charges up and strikes
him every time, leaving him breathless after, always anticipating what
comes next.

The truth is, Remus is quite pathetically in love with him, and that does
include the most infuriating traits he has, in spite of them—or, if he's being
completely honest with himself (which he rarely is), then a little bit because
of as well (perhaps more than a little bit, but Remus likes lies when they're
his own).

"Oh, no, that's worse," Remus complains when Dorian does in fact snog
Basil. He watches in horror.

"Basil, mate, don't do it; he doesn't even have a soul."

"Dorian has a soul, Sirius."

"Does he, though? No, seriously. It's never really clarified, is it, if he still
has access to his soul since it's, you know, trapped in the painting. The way
he reacts after Sybil's death—in the book, specifically—makes me
wonder…" Sirius trails off, watching Basil fall back as Dorian pops the
button on his—oh, this is what Sirius meant about the shagging being
implied. Right, then. "Oh, Basil, you fool. The fool's fool."

"Can't really blame him," Remus mumbles, watching with an eyebrow

arched as Dorian follows Basil down. "The idea that they were actually
lovers at any point in any capacity makes it all that more heart-wrenching."

"Basil deserved better."

"Considering how he felt for Dorian and all the experience Dorian had by
this point, particularly with receiving and giving pleasure, I doubt there was
better."

Sirius glances over at him, eyes narrowed. "All I'm getting from you is that
you'd shag Dorian Gray."

"Oh, I'd absolutely shag Dorian Gray—specifically that one," Remus

confirms, pointing at the screen.

"Why am I jealous right now?" Sirius mumbles, then purses his lips and
deliberately puts his hand on Remus' thigh. He tilts his head, something
passing in his eyes. "You know…"
"Sirius, no."

"Hear me out, yeah?"

Remus narrows his eyes at the screen, the back of his neck prickling as
Sirius drags his hand up Remus' thigh, fingers dipping in at the inner seam
of his trousers. "Absolutely not."

"What, you don't want to do a kinky thing where we shag with Dorian Gray
falling further into intense, hedonistic pleasures in the background?" Sirius
asks innocently, leaning in closer.

"Sirius," Remus says, a warning.

Laughing softly, Sirius kisses him gently below his ear, then catches it
between his teeth, making Remus shudder as his eyes flicker shut for a brief
moment. He pulls away, voice soft as he says, "Oh, but I think you'd like
that quite a bit, Remus."

"Christ," Remus breathes out, making the mistake of turning his head where
Sirius can kiss him, but some mistakes are made on purpose. This is one of
them.

Sirius presses him down into the sofa with a low hum of victory and
approval, his body following. The film becomes inconsequential so very
quickly, to the point that Remus has no idea what's even happening on the
screen. Unbeknownst to him—to either of them—Remus tosses his head
back and gasps through the lightning strike of euphoria that Sirius hits him
with just as Dorian straddles Basil and stabs him in the chest once, twice, a
third time. And, as Dorian slumps there, covered in blood and breathing
hard, Remus slumps into the sofa and tries desperately to catch his own
breath.

"Oh, Moony, you are a kinky bastard, aren't you?" Sirius teases with a lazy
grin, gaze slowly crawling to the screen.

Remus follows his gaze, sees Dorian Gray covered in blood, and
immediately thumps his head back as he says, wry, "You know, really, this
is your fault."

"I can live with that." Sirius lifts himself up to hover over Remus, flashing
that grin of his. "I would just like to point out that I wasn't complaining. In
fact, I'm rather pleased."

"Oh, I bet you are," Remus mutters, reaching up to tuck Sirius' falling hair
behind his ears, heart stuttering when Sirius smiles softly at the motion.

"I really, genuinely am," Sirius promises, eyes bright with humor and
something shamelessly naughty, and then he's sinking down to kiss Remus
again.
"Honestly," Remus gasps out, tilting his head back, "I think Basil had it all
wrong." He groans as Sirius mouths at the arch of his throat beneath his
jaw. "He could have—he had the chance, you know, to live out eternity with
Dorian. After all, Dorian had shown him the painting, hadn't he? So, he
knew the method. He knew it was possible. He should have—"

Sirius pops back up suddenly, gazing down at Remus with his eyes
darkened more than usual, his lips wet. "Do you mean to tell me that you
think Basil should have bartered away his soul along with Dorian?"

"If he were smart, that's what he would have done," Remus says, like a
secret. "Immortality and consistent youth is a curse more so than a gift, I
would think, but getting to live forever with the man you love? That's a far
more inviting incentive. Basil could have had it all, the damn fool."

"That's really quite chilling that you think that way," Sirius tells him bluntly,
leaning in to press a kiss to the very corner of Remus' mouth. "Oh, but
could you imagine the life they could have lived together? You might be
onto something, Moony."

"Always a few steps ahead," Remus chokes out, his fingers digging into the
cushion as Sirius slips a thigh between his legs, and how? How? They've
just—

"Doomed lovers. Maybe they've lived lives after death. An artist and his
muse; the damned and his salvation. Do you think, Remus? We could be,
for all I know, but for the life of me, I can't figure out who would be who,"
Sirius murmurs, practically mumbling into the skin of Remus' throat.
Remus cups the side of his head, pushing his hair back, guiding him as his
own hips move and sparks dance behind his eyes. It's ridiculous, because
there's no way they should be recovered enough to go again, but Remus'
mouth is slack and his blood is on fire. His voice is a hoarse rasp when he
speaks next. "Maybe we're a little bit of both."

"Maybe we're a little bit of all the lovers anyone's ever dared to tell stories
about," Sirius whispers, dragging his lips back up, all but speaking right
into Remus' mouth. Their bottom lips brush, but Sirius repeatedly tilts his
head back an inch when Remus instinctively, mindlessly chases him. "All
the tragedies and the triumphs, all that love everyone's always trying to find
the words to describe, all the ways in which the greatest loves have loved
one another—that's us. Isn't that us, Remus?"

"Fucking hell," Remus whines, not even meaning to, shuddering as he

buries a shaky hand in Sirius' hair.

"That's it, shh, shh," Sirius says softly, rubbing one hand soothingly up the
side of Remus' thigh as if the very touch of him isn't setting Remus ablaze
currently, inexplicably and wondrously. Remus makes another ridiculous
noise that he wasn't aware he could make at all, and Sirius presses sweet,
reassuring kisses along his jaw, murmuring gentle encouragement that has
Remus losing himself to the swirl in his head and the crackle of Sirius'
lightning bolt touch.

"Oh my god," Remus manages to wheeze afterwards, his head still

spinning, his body twitching. "Oh my god."
"I should have known this would get you all riled up," Sirius muses as he
props himself up with a grin. He couldn't look more pleased with himself if
he tried. "You know, you're never going to be able to think about Dorian
Gray without thinking of me. I've done it. I've saved you from fancying the
fool."

"You're a fool," Remus says, winded, and Sirius laughs at him gently. "Shut
up. Now we have to watch the film a second time, Sirius."

Sirius hums in blatant approval, a glint of satisfaction in his eyes as he dips

in and kisses Remus quickly. "Moony, we can watch the film as many times
as you like."

"Only once more," Remus mumbles, pressing upwards to steal another kiss.
"Surely we can make it through the whole film the second time."

It takes them four times, actually, before they manage to get through the
whole film without interruptions.

Remus was a fool to think otherwise.

Chapter End Notes

I think, genuinely, that there are two ways in which James Potter
would confess his love. 1) brazenly, loud and proud, announcing it to
the whole world. 2) casually letting it slip in the most ridiculous way
he possibly could and not even NOTICE. No in between 😭😂 we
love one (1) himbo

Also, for those of you that do not know (and I'm pretty sure that most
people do know), there's a movie called Dorian Gray (2009) with Ben
Barnes (a common Sirius Black fancast) portraying Dorian Gray. If
anyone is on tiktok and seeing a lot of Marauders and/or Wolfstar
edits, a lot of the Sirius Black clips come from Ben Barnes in Dorian
Gray (especially that one of him kissing a man, Mr. Basil Hallward my
beloved <3). I wish I could say that I specifically wrote this wolfstar
portion particularly because of that, and while it IS a bonus, it was
actually because Sirius Black would one hundred percent look at
Dorian Gray and fear that they're similar—the whole artist part of it as
well was just too good to pass up. I highly recommend watching the
movie if you haven't already, and for those of you that enjoy (and can
stomach) classic literature, The Portrait of Dorian Gray by Oscar
Wilde is a good read (in my personal opinion).

On the subject of fancasts, I'm personally not attached to anyone

(except for Timothée Chalamet as Regulus, all naysayers please
forgive me, I am weak and far too attached now to ever see him as
anyone else), and I purposefully leave it ambiguous for the most part
outside of key canon (and fanon-wide accepted) features (i.e. James'
messy hair, Remus being tall, etc). It gives you all the space to imagine
them as you see them, because the main things is that we all love them,
in my opinion.

Sorry, this got ramble-y, so I'll just cap this off by teasing that on
Sunday, we get some more of my other beloved characters again <3.

Thank you all so, SO much for all the comments and feedback and
support. It means the world to me, and I look forward to each and
every one of you yelling, laughing, crying, and being all around lovely
about each new chapter. Nothing motivates me more!

See you Sunday 😘

EDIT 03/31/22: I've done a little editing on this chapter, particularly
the section when describing Snape, as I originally wrote him how he's
depicted in canon, but it's been brought to my attention that the
descriptions JKR gave are rooted in antisemitism, perpetuating
harmful jewish stereotypes. I have absolutely NO desire to promote
that or be associated with doing it, because it's fucking disgusting and
wrong, actually. I genuinely wasn't aware (thankfully someone told
me), so I'm sorry to anyone who saw it before I was educated on the
subject.
 Chapter 11
Chapter Notes

Absolutely no warnings for this chapter, which is delightful to be able

to say. It's actually, genuinely one of my favorite chapters, and I'm not
even sure why. So, go forth and enjoy :)
See the end of the chapter for more notes

The thing is, she's beautiful. He sees her even before he realizes who she is,
and her loveliness is undeniable. Under a gray flat cap, her hair is a deep
red brushing rounded, ruddy cheeks, and he gets to watch her eyes light up,
a green so bright that they stand out like jewels.

In the distance, she calls out a delighted, "James!"

"Lily!" James blurts out like a knee-jerk reaction, freezing in place, his hand
spasming around Regulus' where their fingers are threaded together out in
the open, and Regulus feels ice crawl down his spine.

His first instinct is to hate her, and he realizes that he does already, just from
what he knows so far. He doesn't even know her, and he hates her. Because
she had James first. Because, with the way James loves, she'll always have
a part of him that isn't for Regulus to claim. Because she would still have
James, if she hadn't let him go. Because she knows what it is to have the
sun under her fingertips, and James has smiled at her, touched her, held her.
Because it takes Regulus only five seconds after seeing her to notice that
she's bright and lovely, her smiles coming easily, a gleam in her eyes that
promises she wants the world and maybe she deserves to have it.
"Hello, hello, it's cold as a cow's left tit out here, isn't it?" Lily greets
cheerfully as she comes to a halt in front of them, bouncing on the balls
over her feet. She rubs her hands together and blows on them, shooting
James a distracted, dismissive smile before she focuses entirely on Regulus,
looking fucking ecstatic as she offers her hand to him. "Hi, I'm Lily. You're
the mean barista of James', I take it?"

Regulus cuts James a sharp look, which makes him grin sheepishly, and
then he releases a muted sigh and reaches out to shake Lily's hand. "I wasn't
aware James was so fond of the moniker, but yes, that's me. Regulus is
fine."

"It's lovely to meet you," Lily tells him with apparent sincerity, still
bouncing in place. "I honestly thought I never would; the rest of our friends,
too. We were starting to wonder if he'd made you up."

"Oh, I'm not quite civilized enough to meet his friends yet," Regulus drawls
as he drops her hand.

Lily chuckles. "As if James Potter would know anything about being
civilized. You should come around sometime. We'd all love to get to know
you."

"I'm sure," Regulus says flatly, "except I don't really like people and would
rather not, honestly."
"He doesn't mean that," James says.

"No, I do," Regulus corrects.

James sighs. "We're...working on it."

"Oh, Mary is going to absolutely love him," Lily announces with

amusement. "In any case, are you two going in?" She nods to the front of
the restaurant they were, in fact, about to go into. "Can I pay for lunch and
waste half an hour with you? I'm on break. I won't stay long. Promise."

"Love?" James asks, looking right at him.

Regulus fights the inner urge to be petty, which is a lot easier to do when he
watches in real time as Lily looks outright giddy by the endearment. He
can't work out why she's so… It's odd, really, but she's outwardly happy
about—them? He narrows his eyes slightly. "Yes, sure. You don't have to
pay, though." He smiles at her with charm he hasn't used in years, brushing
the rust off and picking it right back up as if he never stopped. He offers
Lily his arm. "We'll make James pay, yeah? It's only fitting, don't you
think?"

"You're a very smart man, Regulus," Lily says, slipping her hand into his
arm and faking a curtsy as he holds the door open for her.
"Er, wait for me," James calls weakly, following behind them, but they both
ignore him entirely.

Lily and Regulus make idle conversation as they're escorted to a table,

while James hovers behind them. Lily is more than happy to tell him about
where she works—Hospital—and her current hobby (an obsession, she
claims, sounding sheepish when she apologizes for ranting about candle-
making).

James looks mildly put out when Regulus purposefully slips into the booth
beside Lily, forcing him to sit opposite of them, but he's appeased almost
instantly when Regulus slips his foot forward and hooks it around his ankle.
Other than that, he watches Regulus and Lily speak to each other like a
hawk, radiating so much anxiety that Regulus is a little suspicious. This is a
far cry from the man who said that Lily would adore Regulus, but maybe
that's it; maybe he's worried that Regulus won't adore Lily, and he really
wants this to go well.

The problem? Regulus does not adore Lily.

Oh, sure, she's lovely. She's kind and clearly lives and loves to the fullest.
There's no doubt that she's smart as well. Most of all, she's good. Regulus
can tell as he gets to know her that she's genuinely a good person, and it's
all these reasons that Regulus can't adore her. Because he's none of these
things, and all of these things are exactly what James deserves.

Regulus, of course, lets none of this show. He's polite. He's charming. He
makes Lily laugh and talks to her as if they've been friends for years. He
smiles and tells her about being on his way to be a chef, and he gives her
tips to help her when she's cooking, and he doesn't pull away when she
touches his arm and beams at him like she's so very pleased to know him.

At one point, Lily says, "Oh, I can't believe James is keeping you all to
himself. You know who would really love you? James' best friend. Sir—"

"Lily," James interrupts sharply, so sharp that Lily actually blinks and looks
startled. There's a long beat of uncomfortable silence, and James clears his
throat, his voice softening. "Lily, lay off, yeah? Regulus is a private person,
and he'll meet everyone when he's ready. Stop pestering him about it."

"Oh, shit. Christ, I'm sorry." Lily turns to Regulus, genuinely looking
apologetic. "I come on a bit...strong at times, sorry. I swear I'm not trying to
pressure you."

Regulus shakes his head, dragging his gaze away from James to smile at her
reassuringly. "It's fine. No, really, it is."

They're interrupted by the food arriving, so things fortunately don't grow

awkward, and Lily doesn't bring up her and James' shared friends anymore.
Instead, they fall into conversation about books, which Regulus has many
opinions about to keep them both occupied. Lily does as well, and they get
rather caught up in chatting about The Alchemist.

Meanwhile, James seems to relax a little, but he's still watching them like
he'll need to intervene at any moment. His leg is bouncing under the table
(Regulus can feel it), and he keeps glancing warily in the direction of the
loo. In an attempt to escape his own anxiety, he's been sucking down his
drink almost as fast as it can be refilled, and frankly, Regulus is starting to
get a bit exasperated with him.

"What?" James mumbles when Regulus tosses him a look.

"Stop being ridiculous and go to the loo, James," Regulus tells him, rolling
his eyes. "Lily and I will be fine alone for the few minutes it takes for you
to get back."

James visibly hesitates, but when Lily and Regulus both stare at him,
unimpressed, he blows out a deep breath and slips out of the booth. He
throws a few cautious glances over his shoulder as he walks away, and
Regulus softens.

It's sweet, he thinks, just how much James cares about this. He wants Lily
and Regulus to get on so badly, and Regulus can understand why. He's
rational enough to grasp that Lily and James are friends, despite their
history, and he also knows without even having to ask that James wants all
the important people in his life to like each other. It makes Regulus want to
get on with Lily just for James' sake, and—frankly—he doesn't enjoy the
reasons he dislikes her to start with.

It's a small, bitter thing, isn't it? Feeling this way. The tightly coiled
jealousy, the envy. Regulus isn't an idiot; he's quite aware that it comes from
his own insecurities.
"Well, he's been rather nervous, hasn't he?" Lily muses, looking after James
in amusement. She swivels in the booth to stare right at Regulus, studying
him. "I can't imagine why."

"Can't you?" Regulus asks quietly.

Lily hums and tilts her head. "You don't like me."

"I think you're an idiot," Regulus informs her bluntly, and to her credit, she
doesn't look offended. She only raises her eyebrows, waiting. "How did you
ever say no to him?"

"Because I didn't want to say yes, and I wasn't going to ruin his life and
mine by pretending that I did," Lily tells him simply. "Sometimes you really
don't know until someone asks you, but as soon as I did know, I did the
right thing for us both. That doesn't make me an idiot. I said no to him
because I didn't want to say yes, and I imagine you wouldn't say no because
you do want to say yes. You're not an idiot either."

Regulus stares at her for a long moment, then sighs. "It's not that I don't—
like you. I find you to be tolerable, which is more than I can say for most
people. Believe me, that's something of a compliment." Her lips curl up as
her eyebrows come down, and he looks away. "I think you're a good person.
I think James deserves someone like...that."

"Like me, you mean," Lily guesses, and Regulus frowns, glancing over at
her. She chuckles. "Well, I'm hardly a Saint, honestly. Why don't we just
ignore the part where you don't actually know me, and I don't actually know
you, and these assumptions we have about each other being good people
that James deserves are just that—assumptions? Tell me, Regulus, have you
looked past the whole messy question of what any of us deserve and
considered what James wants? Because it's quite clear to me that he wants
you, and I've known him for a long time, so I think I'm a reliable source."

"I know he wants me," Regulus murmurs.

"You want him," Lily says.

"Obviously," Regulus mutters.

Lily smiles. It's soft and a little sad. "That's what he deserves. Someone
who wants him. I'm happy he has it."

"How could you not?" Regulus asks, unable to fathom such a thing. He
genuinely doesn't understand.

"Oh, James is—he's wonderful, and I get it. I do get what you mean," Lily
tells him with a sigh. "It was never about him. I wanted him, I did, but I—I
wanted myself more. And now, I want him just as I have him. He is a very
dear friend to me, Regulus. He's been a friend longer than he was ever a
lover, if that matters to you at all."
"Don't be nice," Regulus complains, frowning. "I think I'm always going to
hate you a bit, even if I don't dislike you."

"Oh, in that case…" Lily bites her lip for a moment, then leans in to lower
her voice to a whisper. "I think I'm always going to hate you a bit, too, even
if I do like you."

Regulus narrows his eyes. "Because you…?"

"Because you know already," Lily says softly. "I can see it when you look at
him. You know so simply, and I didn't know until it was too late to stop
myself from hurting him. I loved James, but I didn't want a life with him.
You do."

"You would have spared him the pain, then?"

"If I could've. It changed him."

"I hate you a bit for that, too," Regulus admits.

Lily hums in blatant approval. "Good. I'd like you less if you didn't. You're
good for him."
"I don't—get it, honestly, because if it was me…" Regulus trails off, his
face growing hot. He clears his throat. "Well, anyway, even if I don't get it, I
do...respect you for it. I suppose you can't help what you don't want any
more than I can help what I do. Just—and I have to say this for my own
sanity, forgive me, I know how it seems, but—if you ever, and I mean ever,
so much as breathe in his direction with anything other than friendly
intentions, I will kill all three of us."

"Oh, scandalous, triple homicide," Lily says, grinning. She looks like she's
trying very hard not to laugh. "Well, a double homicide and a suicide, but
semantics. That was necessary for you, wasn't it? Did it feel very good to
say?"

"No, actually, I'm quite embarrassed," Regulus mumbles.

"Oh, come on, I liked it!" Lily nudges him with her elbow, green eyes
dancing with humor. "It's actually reassuring, if I'm honest. I don't want
James to get hurt again, so it's nice to see that he's being treated right. Just
—and I have to say this for my own sanity, forgive me, I know how it
seems, but—if you ever, and I mean ever, so much as think about hurting
him as I already have, I will lose all faith in humanity."

Regulus huffs a weak laugh. "Well, we wouldn't want that, would we? Just
to warn you, I'll probably fuck this up."

"Hm." Lily clicks her tongue. "Well, it's hard to, with him."
"You did," Regulus reminds her.

Lily huffs. "Yes, but I wanted to, as awful as that may seem. You don't. You
love him." Regulus' mouth snaps shut, and her face softens. "Oh, but you
do, don't you? That's good. Very good. He loves you too, you know."

"I know," Regulus whispers.

"He's told you, then?" Lily asks, her whole face lighting up.

"He didn't mean to. It sort of just—slipped out. He didn't even realize he
said it," Regulus says carefully, like it's a secret, like it's precious. It feels
like it is. He hasn't forgotten. A ridiculous conversation about nipples of all
things, and how Regulus' are normal, and I'd love you even if they weren't,
James had said. Regulus believes him, is the thing. He believes him.

"James told me he loved me the first time when we were eleven," Lily tells
him thoughtfully. "That's the thing about him, really. When he knows, he
knows, and he's not very good about keeping it in, even if he is being
cautious."

"I've never known anyone who loves the way James loves," Regulus
confesses.

"And you never will," Lily says.

"Thank you for…" Regulus doesn't know how to put into words what he
means. She seems to understand anyway, because she smiles brightly at him
and reaches over to gently squeeze his arm. He doesn't insult her by faking
a smile in return.

"Oh, he's coming back," Lily informs him, and they both swivel their heads
to watch him approach. "You know, you never said anything about me
breathing in your direction with anything other than friendly intentions."

"I'm gay and also—you know. Taken."

"Oh, obviously, but I want to tease James."

Regulus arches an eyebrow at her. "Really?"

"Like I said, I'm no Saint," Lily murmurs, winking, and then spends the rest
of the meal slowly making James come closer and closer to blowing steam
out of his ears. It's quite entertaining, and alright, so Regulus hates her a
little less.

Only a little, though.

When the waiter asks Regulus and Lily if they'd like to share a dessert
(heavily implying that they're a couple), that's pretty much James' last straw.
With a scowl, he reaches across the table to grasp Regulus hand and shoots
a look of annoyance at Lily, who is clearly having the time of her life.

"Don't you have to go back to work?" James grumbles.

"You are unfortunately correct. Alright, Regulus, let me out to say my

goodbyes, and I'll leave you two alone." Lily shuffles out a few moments
later and hugs James and Regulus both, though Regulus gets a quick kiss on
the cheek that he doesn't see coming and isn't sure how he feels about it.
She smiles at him and says, as she's going, "It was lovely meeting you. I
hope to see more of you whenever you're ready."

Regulus watches her go, then slides back into the booth, stifling a laugh
when James slides in after him, pressing in closer. "Something bothering
you?"

"I knew it would happen. I knew you two would meet, and then I'd be left
behind. I've read The Alchemist too, you know," James complains,
borderline pouting.

"Have you?"

"Alright, so I skimmed it for a report for class, but I'll have you know that I
received high marks for it."
"James."

"Yes, love?"

"Do you love Lily?" Regulus asks.

"Yes," James replies instantly, holding his gaze. He waits, but Regulus has
far more patience. "I do, yes. She's my friend, of course I love her. If you're
asking if I'm in love with her—"

"I'm not," Regulus says softly, and means it. "I know you were, once, and I
know you're not, now. I know, James."

James swallows, his face softening. "Thank you. I think I needed to hear
that. That you know, I mean. I don't—I could tell that you didn't… I could
tell you were faking, is all. I want you to trust me."

"I do," Regulus murmurs. "I do." He leans in and kisses James gently, soft
and warm, pulling back to watch as James sags with visible relief. "And,
while I appreciate you respecting that I'm a private person, you don't have
to feel like you can't introduce me to the people that are important to you. I
can't promise that they'll like me, but…"
"Yeah?" James leans back, chewing on his bottom lip. He clears his throat.
"Would you want to meet my parents? Not today," he adds hastily,
"but...soon? They're some of the most important people in my life. I know
you have that catering event later next week with your class, so...in a few
days, maybe, if that's something you—"

"Yes, James, I'll meet your parents in...three days? Let's go with that,"
Regulus cuts in fondly, and James beams at him. How Lily ever managed to
tell him no, Regulus will never understand. "Just tell me in advance if
there's anything I can do to keep them from hating me."

"Just be yourself," is James' very sincere response, and oh, but Regulus
does love him.

"Sorry, did we decide on dessert?" The waiter pauses, flicking his gaze
between James and Regulus, clearly looking for Lily. He blinks at Regulus.
"Oh, I didn't see your girlfriend leave. I hope she didn't want dessert."

"She didn't," Regulus says, flashing a smile. "My boyfriend and I would
love dessert, though. What are our options?"

The poor man looks confused from that moment on, and Regulus does
nothing to clear up the matter for him. James ducks his head to hide his
grin, and Regulus thinks that he and James and Lily will have to come here
in the future and give this specific waiter a minor crisis every once in a
while. That sounds like quite a bit of fun, actually.
"You're a menace," James says, his voice strangled with laughter as the
waiter sweeps off to get them their dessert.

Regulus only shrugs. "I never said I wasn't. I'll do my best to keep your
parents from learning that, though."

"Oh, don't. They'll love it. They'll love you."

"What makes you so sure?"

"Well, I do, so why wouldn't they?" James declares easily, and Regulus
holds his breath, but James honestly doesn't even realize he's said it. Again.
"Oh, are you worried? Don't be worried. You're so lovely. You have
absolutely nothing to worry about, I promise. Look, take your mind off it,
yeah?"

"How do you suppose I do that?" Regulus asks, warmth blooming through

his chest, straight from the sun. Oh, but James loves him. He does. So much
so that it's shining from him when he doesn't even realize it.

"You eat," James instructs decisively, reaching over to pluck up Regulus'

spoon and hold it out to him. "That's what you do. Oh, and you tell me
about this catering event."
"Right," Regulus says with a tiny smile that makes James' eyes light up,
fond and pleased. He takes the spoon. "Well, my whole class has to prepare
personal dishes for the guests, so a lot of strangers will be eating my food
for the first time."

"Are you nervous?"

"If you ever tell anyone, they'll never find your body."

Sirius slowly eases out of his jacket as he peers around Remus' flat. It's tiny
and open with the bedroom connected right to the kitchen, only a sofa and
small telly splitting the areas, and one other door that Sirius is quite sure is
the loo. There's a rack right next to the bed with various sweaters and
jumpers in warm browns and beiges hanging from the top, denims and
trousers folded neatly on the shelf below, and boots and trainers lined
perfectly along the bottom.

A stand right next to the bed is absolutely packed and nearly overflowing
with books on every shelf. There are at least three lamps lighting the dim
flat, and the only window in the place has a table sitting next to it with an
ashtray in the shape of an umbrella on it. The bed itself is right on the floor,
but it's made up with no wrinkle or crease in sight.
Sirius' fingers itch with the urge to draw it—this place that Remus has left
traces of himself all over. Remus sitting at the small, dinged up table with a
smoke lazily clasped between two fingers. Remus at the small stove,
watching his dented kettle with his chipped teacup resting in between his
palms. Remus lazing about in his bed, sprawled under the ridiculous
amounts of blankets he has, all fraying and patched and homely. Remus on
the sofa, a book spread open in his lap, colorful strips of tape stuck to his
bent knees in easy reach so he can mark where words have made him feel
something.

"It's not much," Remus starts, then gets derailed when Sirius cuts him off
with a gasp, having spotted the guitar case leaning against the wall next to
his shelves of books.

"Do you play?" Sirius asks, delighted, shoving his jacket at Remus in his
haste to bound over to inspect the instrument.

Remus drapes the jacket on the sofa with care, following behind as he
clears his throat. "I do, yeah."

"Were you in a band?" Sirius grins and raises his eyebrows at him as he
grasps the case and hauls it over to the bed where he plops down on it.

"No," Remus says. "I just… Well, I had a lot of free time, so I suppose I
picked up the hobby."
Sirius hums and rubs his hand over the outside of the case, gaze snagging
on the stickers all over it. Most of them are colorful flowers, but some are
short, sardonic phrases like can I interest you in a sarcastic comment and I
wish more people were fluent in silence and not responsible for what my
face does when you talk. There's a random alien sticker, an adorable
dinosaur wearing a strawberry as a tiny hat, the rolling stones logo, and a
startling amount of snakes.

"Like snakes, do you, Moony?" Sirius murmurs.

Remus chuckles as he sits down on the edge of the bed. "Not particularly,
but my best mate does. We got drunk once and thought it would be a
brilliant idea to decorate it in stickers."

"That," Sirius teases, "is adorable."

"Oh, piss off."

"You know, the school I went to was a bit pretentious. We had Houses and
such, separate wings, things like that. It was a bit of a competition between
the houses, and we had animals to represent each one. Lion, eagle, badger,
and snake."

"Which were you?"

"Lion, of course."

"That makes sense," Remus says, a gleam of amusement in his eyes. "Male
lions are lazy, prideful creatures, after all."

Sirius purses his lips. "You take that back. I am proud to be a Lion. We all
were, you know. James and Peter, too. Had a natural rivalry with the
Snakes, of course."

"Oh, of course." Remus rolls his eyes, then glances at the snake stickers and
abruptly busts out laughing like he finds something very funny. He shakes
his head. "Hated snakes, you said? James, too?"

"Yeah," Sirius admits, lips curling up as Remus laughs harder, not even
needing to know the joke because seeing Remus laugh always pleases him.
He unlocks the clasps and peers in at the guitar, running careful fingers over
the strings. He plucks one, then looks up. "Will you play?"

Remus' smile softens, and he leans over to draw the guitar out with
practiced ease, balancing it on his knees and situating his arms. "Alright.
What do you want to hear?"

"What's the first thing you taught yourself?" Sirius asks.

"Ah…" Remus narrows his eyes slightly and plucks a few chords, then
looks up with a grin. "Scarborough Fair, Simon & Garfunkel."

Sirius stares at him. "Is it really?"

"Yes."

"Oh my god. Remus, you absolutely have to play it."

"Alright, alright," Remus says with a huff of laughter, then ducks his head
to focus on the guitar. After a few plucks of the strings, he relaxes his hands
and begins to play, long fingers moving deftly, flowing like art captured in
motion. Sirius is taken wholly by surprise when he starts humming, then
sings, his voice soft and smooth with just the slightest rasp to it, a lovely,
smoky quality. "Are you going to Scarborough Fair? Parsley, sage,
rosemary, and thyme. Remember me to one who lives there. She once was a
true love of mine…"

If Sirius wanted to paint him before, it's nothing compared to the impulse he
has now. His fingers physically twitch, then curl into fists from the near-
primal urge that grips him. Remus is so very lovely, and his voice? God, his
voice.

Sirius doesn't want to be a cliche, but he falls even more in love with
Remus in that moment when he didn't think it was possible to do so. Every
time he gets in deeper, falls even harder, he always thinks he can't love
Remus more than he already does, only to be proven wrong time and time
again.

The need to capture this moment is beyond just a need, and not one Sirius
can ignore, so he pulls out his phone as sneakily as he can (being sneaky is
actually a talent of his, so he does manage it with no issues) and takes a
quick photo, then gives in and just starts filming him. It takes Remus a bit
to notice, lost in playing and singing as he is.

"Tell her to find me an acre of land. Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme.
Between the salt water and the sea strands. Then she'll be a true love of
mine…" Remus trails off as he glances up, and then he trips over a chord
and narrows his eyes at the phone. "Are you filming me?"

"No," Sirius says, grinning and holding his cell up higher.

Remus huffs and sits the guitar aside. "Stop it, Sirius. Give me that. Delete
it."

"No," Sirius repeats, jerking back with a laugh as Remus makes a swipe for
him. Remus has a small smile twitching at the corners of his mouth, even as
he raises up to follow Sirius when he starts scooting up the bed. "Come on,
Moony, let me capture the moment. Can't I keep it? I won't show anyone. I
wouldn't dare share how lovely you are. That's all for me."

"Oh, is it?" Remus laughs softly and shakes his head, then shoves forward
to lunge for the phone.
Sirius barks a laugh and scrambles backwards, holding the phone up and to
the side as Remus reaches for it. Sirius throws his arm around the back of
Remus' neck and yanks him down, keeping him out of range. Remus paws
at his arm, but Sirius just locks his legs around his waist and keeps a hold of
him, the both of them breathless with laughter as they grapple with each
other. With one final tug, Sirius manages to make Remus collapse on top of
him. He runs his free hand through Remus' hair and tilts his head down to
kiss him, still grinning.

In mere seconds, the phone drops to the bed, lost among the blankets, and
Sirius forgets about it entirely. Remus seems to as well, far more interested
in snogging Sirius in between teasing whispers and quiet chuckles.

It's not until the cell clatters to the floor over the side of the bed that either
of them manage to draw themselves away from each other. Sirius groans as
he stretches out and fumbles for the phone, stopping the video and
carelessly stuffing it back in his pocket. He relaxes back with Remus
lounging against him, in between his legs, arms folded over Sirius' chest
with his chin resting on top of them. He's so cute sometimes that Sirius
wants to fucking squeeze him.

"You really are lovely, you know," Sirius tells him, gently dragging his
fingers through Remus' fluffy hair. It's soft, if not a bit frizzy from the rain.
"You have a beautiful voice, too. How is that fair?"

"What? I don't understand."

"Do you honestly not know how dreamy you are, Moony? You're the type
of person everyone would fancy, even a little. It's effortless, and you don't
even know, which only makes you even more desirable. I'm winning."

Remus bites his bottom lip. "Are you?"

"Absolutely." Sirius traces his hand over the smattering of freckles over the
bridge of Remus' nose. "I'm the luckiest sod in the world."

"And what does that make me?"

"A man with fine, yet questionable taste."

Remus just snorts quietly and shifts his arms to lay them down by Sirius'
sides, turning his head to rest it on Sirius' chest. He seems rather
comfortable like this, and Sirius likes the weight of him, a blanket of
warmth. He keeps dragging his fingers through Remus' hair, cupping the
back of his neck, sweeping his hand along the width of his shoulders. The
way Remus breathes puts a deep sense of fuzzy contentment down to Sirius'
very bones. He sags into it, so simply happy that he can't even be bothered
to worry about anything else.

Sirius can't remember ever feeling this way about someone lying on him,
though there's something different about this altogether. It's intimate, in a
way. Special. He feels like he's in a cloudy bubble separate from the rest of
the world, and he never wants to leave it. He genuinely thinks he could stay
right here, just like this, existing with Remus forever.
Remus makes a quiet, disgruntled sound when Sirius briefly pauses in
running his fingers through his hair, so Sirius smiles softly and starts doing
it again. Remus settles back down with a breathy sigh, and it doesn't take
long after for him to start gently snoring, his body fully slack with sleep.

Carefully, Sirius drops one hand to dig out his phone, poking his tongue
between his teeth as he angles it underneath his chin to snap a picture and
send it in the groupchat with the message: Moony fell asleep on me, so I can
never move again, say your goodbyes now.

It takes less than a minute before Peter is replying. Actually, everyone needs
to say their goodbyes to me, because I'm now going to have a bath with a
radio.

What the fuck, that's so cute, Alice messages.

Following right behind her is Frank, who just sends a string of crying
emojis, but then Mary messages with: I read somewhere that your inner
child feels safe when you fall asleep on someone like that. You make his
inner child feel safe.

Almost immediately, Lily responds: I just burst into tears in front of two
patients. Why the hell would you say that, Mary?
YOU?!?!?! Sirius responds, because honestly, his eyes are stinging and his
chest is tight. If he cries a little bit, that's his business. Mary fucking
McDonald, ladies and gentlemen.

I'm drawing a bath right now, Peter updates them with an emoji of a
running man, and Lily replies, Can I join you? We'll go out together, hand
in loveless hand.

At least you won't be alone, is Marlene's response, followed a minute later

by, Also, piss off with that cute shit, Sirius. I was eating, and now I feel
sick.

Dorcas messages a moment after. She's not lying. She just checked the chat,
smiled softly, then immediately looked disgusted and pushed her plate
away.

That's my spot???? James adds with an emoji that has an eyebrow raised.
Almost everyone starts bombarding the chat with laughing emojis that
make Sirius grin.

Moony is currently occupying it. He's keeping it warm for you. Besides,
don't you have a mean barista to laze about with? Sirius replies with a quiet
chuckle that makes Remus grunt in his sleep. Sirius scratches his head
gently, soothing him, and Remus does that happy sigh again and settles
once more.
James takes a few moments to respond. I just asked him if I made his inner
child feel safe and he said his inner child is dead??? This message comes
with at least five sobbing emojis, and Sirius wheezes with laughter, trying
to muffle it and not shake so he won't upset Remus.

HIM? Peter responds.

HIM??? Alice adds, then everyone outside of Lily jumps on the train, so it's
just a wall of:

HIM????

HIM?????

HIM??????

Just that with an increasing amount of question marks, and Sirius rolls his
eyes as he texts: Nice going, Prongs. You upstaged my very cute moment.

Sorry, Pads, James replies, then immediately after: Yes, him.

We got another one, Marlene messages.

Dorcas adds, I fucking knew it.

She's lying. She was shocked, Marlene immediately corrects, to which

Dorcas responds, Fuck off.

No one in this chat is straight, Mary texts, and everyone knows better than
to doubt her. Everyone hearts her message, even Frank, because Mary is
always right, even when she's wrong.

I am not shocked by this information, because I have insider information. I

met the mean barista, Lily informs them.

Sirius is instantly betrayed. YOU MET HIM BEFORE I DID?

Get fucked, Black, I sure did, Lily responds with a smiling emoji, which
immediately makes Sirius pull his hand from Remus' hair to start typing
furiously with both hands. In the meantime, Lily sends in another message.
I met him earlier today and absolutely crashed James' date with him. He
was awful.

The mean barista??? Frank asks.

No. James, Lily answers. The mean barista was lovely. Mean, but lovely. He
called me an idiot. I adore him.

He did WHAT?! That's James, complete with sobbing emoji that makes
Sirius pause to laugh again. James beats Sirius in sending his next message.
I went to the loo for FIVE MINUTES.

That's bold. I like him, Mary declares.

He sounds terrifying, Peter adds.

Marlene messages, then. Can't wait to meet him.

He really is lovely, though. He's smitten with James, Lily sends.

James immediately replies with a picture of that deer with all the hearts
around it that he's been using for literally years now, and then adds about
ten exclamation points.

Sirius, who is still typing, watches as Lily sends an emoji with rolling eyes,
then she messages: I approve of him, in any case. He's a bit shy, I think, but
I'm very sure everyone will like him once he gets comfortable enough to get
to know us. He's witty in that dry way that Sirius likes. I get the feeling
Sirius will love him, actually. Honestly, if it was at all possible, I'd just steal
him from James and take him for myself.
Back off, Evans, James responds, sending that meme with the small, plump
duck holding a tiny, plastic knife.

It's immediately after this that Sirius finally finishes and sends his message,
which is just: Damn you, Lily Evans. Damn you straight to Hell, where you
will burn in agony for your many crimes. This is the LAST time you best me
in relation to James Potter. I am his other half, I am the very heart in his
chest, I am VITAL to him in every way, so you will lay down your weapons
and vacate the battlefield, waving a white flag of surrender as you scamper
on your way, or I will destroy you. And YOU, James. I trusted you. I never
took you for a traitor, but this is a betrayal of the highest degree. LILY met
him first? You LET Lily meet him first? I take this personally. This is a
slight against me that can only be rectified if you allow no one else to meet
him before me, or else I can never forgive you for the distance you are
putting between us. Do we no longer breathe in perfect unison? Do you no
longer ache when I ache? What has become of us? I can't believe you've
done this.

Anyway, Lily replies a few minutes later, and the chat fills with a wall of
crying-laughing emojis.

James, though… James sends a broken heart and responds: I'm so sorry,
Pads. It was an accident. I didn't mean for it to happen. Please, it was a
mistake.

You knew where it was going. You could have stopped it, Sirius messages.
I wasn't in the right state of mind, Sirius. You have to believe me. That
wasn't me, Lily took advantage, James replies.

I did, Lily adds shamelessly.

Sirius purses his lips so he won't laugh again. I just don't know if I can
forgive this.

Wormtail met Moony first! James reminds him. Then, immediately after:
Well, sort of. You know what I mean!

So this was revenge, then. That's WORSE, Sirius texts. Mine was a true
accident, but this? This means a part of you meant to do this. How can I let
that go? How do I know you won't do it again?

It takes James a moment, but then: Okay, so don't freak out, but I'm
absolutely doing it again. He's meeting my parents in a few days.

Oh, James, you're in for it now, Frank adds.

Everyone, we're gathered here today to witness the divorce of Sirius Black
and James Potter, Mary messages.
Fucking finally, Peter replies, which earns more laughing emojis that Sirius
chooses to ignore.

No, no, we can save this. I'll just come meet him then, too, Sirius tries,
because he's actually eager to meet the fellow that makes James so happy,
all jokes aside.

Sorry, mate, but he's only agreed to Mum and Dad. I don't want to pressure
him, you know? James responds.

I just vomited in my mouth a little, Marlene informs them.

Dorcas translates: She means she thinks that was sweet.

No, it is. You have to respect James for being a good boyfriend. We CAN be
intimidating as a friend group. We're a lot of people to impress, Alice points
out reasonably.

I don't know how we come back from this, Sirius messages. Bond ended
with James, Peter is my soulmate now.

Don't drag me into this, Peter texts.

James sends a few pleading emojis with the big, teary eyes, so Sirius
responds: Alright, we've come back from it. Good luck, then. You have to
tell me EVERYTHING.

One day, I will, mate. Promise, James replies.

You have no spine, Black, Lily adds.

Don't talk to me, Evans. HOMEWRECKER, Sirius sends back, and Lily
sends another laughing emoji.

Lily does message again, though. If it helps you feel any better at all, I
really do think you'll love him. Actually, he even looks like you. Potter, do
you have something you need to tell us?

James, if you're in love with me, just say that, Sirius adds, biting back a
laugh as soon as he sends it, though the idea that James is taken with some
bloke who looks like him is intriguing. Well, it's mostly hilarious, actually.

I'll have you know that the differences are FAR more obvious than the
similarities, James responds.

He has Sirius' eyes. Like, his EXACT eyes, Lily replies with an emoji that
just stares blankly, unimpressed.
They make me feel things that Sirius' do not, James messages back, then, No
offense, mate. You know I love you.

I love you, too, Sirius replies.

And I'm out, Marlene messages, sending a waving emoji, which makes
everyone else send laughing emojis, but then Dorcas explains that they
actually are going out to the cinema if anyone is free to come. Sirius
contemplates waking Remus up and seeing if he'd be open to going,
especially since Mary and Lily both agree to go.

Before he can even nudge Remus awake, his screen flashes a notification
for an email from fucking Minerva McGonagall.

"Oh my god!" Sirius blurts out, scrambling to sit up, and Remus jolts awake
with a confused noise and cloudy eyes, squinting at Sirius with a frown.
Sirius pats his head. "Sorry, sweetheart. I just—oh my god."

"What's'it?" Remus mumbles, his voice rough with sleep, and any other
time, Sirius would be determined to snog him for sounding like that, even if
his mouth is sleep-fuzzy.

Sirius shakes his head and opens the email, reading it eagerly, and then his
heart turns over in his chest. "Oh. Bloody hell, do you—do you remember
me telling you about—well, about my mentor, really? The one who
encouraged my love of art and taught me practically everything I know?"

"Minerva McGonagall. You called her Minnie, even though she scolded you
for it," Remus says, and Sirius is warmed that he does recall. Remus leans
up on his elbows a bit, blinking slowly and rubbing one side of his face.
"What about her?"

"I haven't seen her since graduation, but I have emailed her over the years
for help or questions involving my art, and she's commissioned a few things
from me, some to show her class. I never let her pay," Sirius rushes to add,
despite the fact that she always tries to, but he means it when he says that it
would honestly be an insult if he took her money. "Anyway, she just
emailed me asking if I'd get lunch with her today. The sooner the better, she
says."

Remus hums. "So, go on, then. See what she wants. It's clear that you
admire her quite a bit."

"I do, yeah," Sirius admits, because he does. He has a lot of love and
respect for her, actually. Still, he pauses. "I mean, I do want to go. Will you
—can I come back here afterwards? I'd still like to stay over with you, if
that's alright."

"Yes, Sirius, of course," Remus says with a quiet laugh, ducking his head to
press a quick kiss to Sirius' chest, fierce enough for him to feel it through
his shirt. "I'll be right here. Likely sleeping. Uninterrupted."
"Sorry," Sirius offers sheepishly. He scoots down to press a quick kiss to
Remus' forehead. "Alright, I'll give you a ring when I'm on my way back,
yeah?"

"Mhm," Remus agrees, rolling off him to give him space to get out of bed,
tugging at blankets to get bundled up.

Sirius pauses as he slips on his jacket, looking back to see Remus watching
him with lazy contentment. There's a twinge in Sirius' chest, like a balloon
swelling, so much warmth and joy filling him up that he feels like he's
going to burst, as if he doesn't have enough room to contain it all. He looks
at Remus and says, soft and genuine, "I really love you, you know that?"

"Do you?" Remus murmurs, shifting up to tilt his face in a clear demand,
and Sirius marches over immediately. Never one to take orders, or sway to
any heavy-handed request, and yet he would do absolutely anything that
Remus asks of him. He swoops down over Remus to kiss him, chaste and
warm, and Remus smiles as he draws away. "I love you, too."

"Marry me," Sirius declares.

Remus' lips twitch. "One day. We've only known each other for four
months, Sirius."

"Alright, be practical if you like, but I will be booking an appointment to

get your name tattooed on my chest," Sirius informs him.
"No," Remus says simply.

"Okay, so I won't, but know that I want to," Sirius grumbles, once again just
letting Remus tell him what he can and cannot do. Although, Sirius learns
his lesson quickly. He'll just get a tattoo of the phases of the moon and only
tell Remus after he's done it. What can Remus do then? Sirius is a genius.

"You've that look in your eye. Whatever you're planning—"

"I'm not planning anything, what are you on about? Anyway, I should be
off. Have a lunch to get to."

"Sirius," Remus calls warningly as Sirius goes.

"See you in a bit, Moony. Love you," Sirius cuts in, blowing Remus a kiss
and winking before he slips out the door, listening to Remus' exasperated
chuckles follow him out.

With a few exchanges of emails, it becomes clear that the lunch is necessary
because Minerva is only out of Scotland for a few days and will be
returning tomorrow, so whatever she wants to discuss with Sirius has to be
today if she wants to do it in person, which she apparently does. They agree
to meet at a restaurant that he suggests since he knows the area better, and
he makes it there before she does.
Still, when he sees her for the first time in six years (and he can barely
believe that it's been that long, honestly), he can't help the way his face
splits into a blooming grin the moment she walks through the door. She
looks almost the exact same as he remembers, straight-backed and iron-
spined, her hair in a neat knot at the back of her head, a few grey streaks
that he doesn't recall ever seeing before, additional wrinkles beside her
pinched mouth that he's sure he's never seen before. God, she's fifty now,
isn't she? What an insane concept. He still remembers when he met her at
eleven years old, and in his very first class with her, he splattered her face
with orange paint because he was trying to wave the brush around like a
composer. She gave him detention.

Ah, they came so far from that, though. He didn't know that he would fall
so deeply in love with art, so there's no way she could have expected it, but
she never once thought him incapable of it. When he went to her at only
thirteen, asking her if she'd help him make something for Reggie, she didn't
turn him away. She invited him in and, in a way he doubts he'll ever be able
to explain, she changed his life.

So, yes, he grins when she sweeps in, and he isn't at all surprised when she
gives him a terse nod of greeting as she approaches him. But oh, she should
know him better than that by now. No, no, he's not letting her off that
easily.

"Minnie!" Sirius bellows happily and hugs her before she can do a damn
thing about it. He hears her let out a sigh and feels her pat his back slightly,
the same way someone would pat a mangy dog they don't want to
particularly touch at all. It makes him laugh as he peels away, and despite
everything, he can see the warmth in her gaze. Secretly, he's quite sure he
was Minerva's favorite student. "You look as beautiful as ever. I knew you
couldn't stay away from me. It's alright now, isn't it? I'm not your student,
so this love we share is—"

"Sit down, Mr. Black, and call me Minerva, or I will walk right back out,"
Minerva says firmly.

Sirius sits, grinning helplessly. "Oh, sure, but only if you will call me Sirius.
I'm not your student anymore, really." She hums as she sits across from
him. "I plan to order some chips and a drink. What can I get you?"

"I'm getting this, if you must know," Minerva informs him, no nonsense,
flicking her fingers to the table. "My apologies if you've been waiting long.
The cabbie drove slow enough that I could've arrived sooner if I just
walked."

"Welcome to the city," Sirius tells her, chuckling.

Minerva purses her lips. "Well, it's certainly not Scotland."

"No, it's most definitely not. What brings you here anyway? I always
secretly thought you were trapped in that castle and couldn't leave," Sirius
teases.

"An old friend contacted me with a request, one I have no interest in

fulfilling," Minerva says, then leans back when someone comes to their
table. She just orders a drink, then gestures for Sirius to order, then waits
until they're alone to start speaking again. "I should apologize for reaching
out to you on such short notice, and thank you for accommodating me, Mr.
Black."

Sirius raises his eyebrows at her. "Minnie, it's Sirius, and it's also not a
problem. It's good to see you again, actually."

"Likewise," Minerva replies with that usual taciturn demeanor of hers, but
the real truth is all in her eyes, the way they soften and gleam with good
humor. "I would have arranged it sooner if I expected to be arranging it at
all. As I mentioned before, an old friend had a request. He's planning a
charity event soon in his art gallery, and he was hoping I would be willing
to paint something to put on display."

"You're not willing?" Sirius asks in surprise.

Minerva sighs. "I would be, usually, especially for charity, but I simply
haven't the time. It's a bit short notice, and I'm rather unfortunately busy and
booked for the next month. There's also the small matter that I would have
to attend, and I would rather not, if I'm to be frank."

"Scotland calling you home?"

"Loudly."
Sirius hums, amused. "I understand. Besides, it's not exactly the first gallery
to display your art, is it? I still go visit your painting of the Scotland
Highlands when I'm getting nostalgic for Hogwarts. Steals my breath every
time. It's like I'm there."

"Don't flatter me, Mr. Black."

"Minnie, I would never."

"Mm," Minerva hums with a vague note of suspicion like she's just caught
him whispering with James at the back of her class and knows he's plotting.
Her lips twitch at the corners. "Yes, well, in any case… All of this is to say
that I've recommended you in my stead."

"Sorry?" Sirius blinks at her.

Minerva's lips curl up more. "I've recommended you to be on display in

place of me."

"I beg your fucking pardon?" Sirius chokes out, sputtering, his eyes bulging
in pure disbelief. It's at that exact moment that a basket of chips and two
drinks get plopped down between them, but Sirius hardly even notices.
Minerva takes a calm sip while Sirius gapes at her. "Did you—did you
actually—"
"I did," Minerva confirms, sitting her drink down. She surveys him closely.
"My friend needed someone, and my mind immediately turned to you, Mr.
Black, of all the people I know. Surely you realize you surpass even me in
skill."

"Um, that's bollocks, Professor," Sirius blurts out, falling back into old
habits just from his shock. He feels like he needs to shrink down and get
smaller. "You're, like, proper famous. Your artwork is all over the world.
You sell for triple the amount that I do, and you would if you just sneezed
on a sodding napkin and declared it art. It would be art because you sneezed
on it, in fact. Surpass you? I could never!"

Minerva presses her lips into a thin line, then says, with startling firmness,
"Do not praise me in the endeavor to demean yourself. You are and have
always been exceptionally talented. I've monitored your progress since you
were eleven, all the way up until now, and I'm quite proud of the fact that I
had the chance to teach you. I hardly buy into the topic of a protégé to the
lengths that most in our field do, but if I did, you would be mine. I
suggested you because if anyone deserves to have their work on display, it
is you. The world would be lucky to see your art, Mr. Black, and I hope that
you let it."

"I—Minerva, I—" Sirius has to stop and take a shaky breath, blinking hard.
He swallows thickly. "What medium?"

"Painting," Minerva murmurs, watching him.

Sirius licks his lips. "Is there a theme?"

"Horace had asked if I'd add an element of water, maybe something that
would stir the guests and get them thinking. He insists that they'd be more
willing to donate if they were emotional from the art," Minerva says, rolling
her eyes.

"Something with water, something with shock value," Sirius mumbles, his
mind already churning. He could do something with that. "Are you sure you
want—"

"Sirius," Minerva cuts in, "if I wasn't, I wouldn't be here."

"Yeah." Sirius exhales heavily and tries his absolute best not to cry. "Yeah,
Minerva, alright."

Chapter End Notes

McGonagall being Sirius' art mentor is something that can be so

personal. It genuinely delights me.

Also, not Regulus being a jealous little shit 😭 I love him so much. He
really looked at Lily and was like "I think you're stupid, and you better
stay that way, or I'm going down and taking you and James with me"
pls, he's literally so dramatic

Also², I just think that Remus deserves to fall asleep on Sirius. I would
also like to say that, in my head, his feet were hanging off the end of
the bed because he's taller than Sirius, but was still determined to fall
asleep with his head on Sirius' chest to hear his heartbeat. It's really
important to me that you all know that.

Anyway, see you Wednesday! :)

 Chapter 12
Chapter Notes

No warnings for this chapter either. Enjoy :)

See the end of the chapter for more notes

When James was nineteen years old, he told four people that he was going
to propose to Lily Evans. Sirius and Peter, of course, had been supportive
and excited for him.

Fleamont Potter had looked at Euphemia Potter when he told them, and she
smiled softly and said, "Love is a choice, James. Never forget that."

And, when he turned up back home, heaving sobs and falling directly into
his mum's waiting arms, he choked out, "She didn't choose me."

Monty stroked his hair, and Effie held him while whispering, like a
promise, "Then choose yourself, love. It's alright not to be alright. You will
be, and you'll choose again. Never stop choosing, James. Shh, I know. I
know it hurts."

James asked her once, years later, if she knew. She didn't lie to him. She
told him that she did, and he was upset. "Why? Why didn't you stop me?
Why didn't you warn me?"
"My son, you are more than just the love you give to others. Your sole
purpose in this world isn't to take care of those around you, as much as you
try. It's alright to love as you do, but in that love, you give every bit of
yourself. It would have broken your heart if I did warn you, or try to stop
you, and we both know you wouldn't have believed me. I'm not here to add
to your pain; I am here to hold you through it and ensure that you heal
afterwards," Effie told him gently.

"I'll never love like this again," James had whispered.

"No, you won't," Effie agreed and then, inexplicably, she smiled. "When it's
time, you'll love again, and it will be entirely unique. I'm also here for your
joy, to be grateful when you have it, and I look forward to the day you find
it again. It will come, love. Believe that."

James hadn't, really, but he hadn't been in a place in his life to manage to,
but he knows now that she was right. Honestly, she always is, and he's so
thankful that she was about this.

Regulus is nervous, James can tell. It's endearing, honestly, because he

covers it very well. A stranger would think he's perfectly fine—maybe a bit
bored and unapproachable because that's just his face—but certainly not
worried. James is no stranger, though. He sees right through Regulus.

It's a stark reminder that Regulus has never interacted with a proper mother
or father, because Walburga and Orion most certainly weren't. He hasn't
opened himself up to anyone to actually meet their parents, so this is his
first time. James understands that he feels like he's walking into something
with no guide, no control, and it's hard for him. The fact that he's doing this
means a lot, and James knows it.

In all honesty, Regulus has been rather stressed planning for the event. He
keeps cooking things, then making James try them for a review, then
deciding to wave James off when he swears literally everything he makes is
amazing. While James isn't complaining about being repeatedly offered
food, he would prefer Regulus not to be so uneasy. He's having a lot of
firsts coming up, starting with meeting James' parents and ending with
complete strangers eating what he'll cook.

James hopes that this will reassure him, at the very least, because he doesn't
doubt that this first will go well. He's even preemptively asked his parents
not to bring up his friends, though the excuse that Regulus is private and
might feel pressured to meet them is very...underhanded. He knows this. It's
just getting harder and harder keeping Sirius and Regulus from finding out
about each other, and James is honestly fucking terrified that they will
before he and Remus can fully explain when it's safer to.

It's a little nerve-wracking, truthfully, the closer that Regulus gets to the
people who know Sirius. He also feels horribly guilty with each day, that
sensation only growing as he thinks about how he's actively lying to both
his boyfriend and his best friend. He can barely stand it, and he doesn't
know how he's meant to do it for however long it will take for Sirius and
Regulus to soften up at the mention of each other. He can't get over the fact
that they'd both hate him if they knew.

Nothing scares him more.

"James," Regulus says suddenly, reaching out to catch his arm, holding onto
it a bit too tight.

"Yes, love?"

"It's alright, isn't it? What I've made? I didn't ask—I don't know if they have
any allergies. I forgot to ask if—"

James covers Regulus' hand with his own and ducks his head to meet his
gaze. "Stop fretting. They don't have allergies. They'll love what you've
made, and they'll love you. Trust me, yeah? You have absolutely nothing to
be nervous about."

"I'm not nervous," Regulus lies, his eyes wide with a slightly wild gleam of
nerves flashing in them, and James is so unbearably fond of him.

"Here. Come here," James murmurs, shifting his arms to pull Regulus in
close, standing in the middle of his kitchen to hold him. It takes a moment,
but Regulus relaxes against him with a quiet sigh, tucking his head under
James' chin.

James sweeps his hand up and down Regulus' back, quietly humming under
his breath and gently swaying them. He can't help but smile, full to the brim
with affection. Regulus had asked if it would be a problem for James'
parents to come over to his flat, where he'd make dinner for all of them. It
was a good idea, James felt, because Regulus is most comfortable in his
own space and when he gets to cook, so he'd assured him that it was no
problem, knowing it wouldn't be. It wasn't, of course. Effie and Monty had
been delighted by the idea.

The table is set, and James' parents should be here any moment, but they
still just stand there and hold onto each other. Tension bleeds out of
Regulus' frame by the minute, and James likes having him in his arms. This
is the joy his mum told him he'd find one day, he knows it is.

They don't move until there's a knock on the door, and Regulus jolts, all that
tension that slowly filtered out of his body snapping right back into place.
James releases a muted sigh and pulls back, pausing to kiss him on the
forehead, which Regulus leans into with a deep draw of breath.

"I'll get it, yeah?" James offers quietly, and Regulus nods stiffly, his lips
pressed into a thin line.

When he opens the door, the first thing Monty says is, "Where is he? Where
is the man I must threaten to never, ever be mean to my son?"

James squeezes his eyes shut because his dad is loud, and his voice carries,
and chances are, that just sent Regulus into a mild crisis. Eyes opening,
James sighs and says, "I'll have you know, I rather like when he's mean to
me, Dad."

"Hm, yes, you take after your Dad that way," Monty says with a grin and a
wink towards Effie, who rolls her eyes but also smiles broadly.
"Be gentle," James whispers as he opens the door further and lets his
parents in. "He's nervous."

"No, I'm not," Regulus announces, appearing at James' elbow as he holds

out his hand, smiling with charm and warmth. It's all fake, of course, an act
—but there's a saying about acting confident to be confident and faking it to
make it, so James will take what he can get until Regulus loosens up. "Don't
listen to a word your son says. He has no idea what's going on at any given
moment."

"Insulting me comforts him," James says, and Monty busts out laughing as
he steps forward to shake Regulus' hand, holding onto it and patting the
back of it with a sincere smile.

"It's wonderful to meet you, lad," Monty tells him warmly, his eyes
crinkling. "James tells me you've taken right to ziplining. Not for everyone,
I've found, but it's nice that he has someone to do it with when his friends
won't, or can't. Loves flying, James does. Have you ever been skydiving?"

"Dad's a bit of a thrill-seeker," James admits.

Regulus hums and draws his hand back from Monty in a move that seems
casual if not for the fact that James notices his fingers trembling. "So, he
gets it from you, then? He took me on our second date. Our second. I
should have known then what trouble he would be, but I...did enjoy it,
actually. And no, I've never been skydiving. Is it very fun?"
"Very," Monty emphasizes. "We try to do it once annually. You'll have to
come with us this year."

"Looking forward to it," Regulus says politely, and James tucks his lips in
so he won't burst out laughing. Fucking liar.

James glances over at his mum, only to find Effie staring right at Regulus
with a look so searching that James' stomach drops right out from under
him. His father—bless Fleamont Potter, really—is so very oblivious, but his
mother? Oh, Euphemia Potter misses nothing, and she's been a mum to
Sirius since he was sixteen. The look on her face…

She knows, James thinks in abject panic, and Effie's eyes finally rip away
from Regulus to land on James. He doesn't know what he looks like, but
he'd bet all his quid that there's so much horror and fear on his face that no
one would miss it, surely not her. Regulus and Monty are still talking
(really, James is so very grateful for his dad), and Effie is looking right at
James, her eyes flicking over his face.

Something passes between them. James has no words for what it is, but
Effie's expression shifts minutely, and she turns away as a small smile
graces her face. She moves to Regulus to shake the hand he immediately
offers her and says, "It's lovely to meet you, dear. James tells me you're a
chef?"

"I'm in culinary school," Regulus corrects. "I want to be a chef and one day
open my own restaurant. James is just...very enthusiastic in his support."
"Sounds like him," Effie says with a chuckle. "He makes for an excellent
sous chef, if you ever find yourself in need of an extra pair of hands."

"You'll have to teach me how to keep him in line, because he only sets out
to distract me when he's in my kitchen," Regulus admits, which is—alright,
that's a little bit true.

Effie taps the side of her nose when their hands break apart, and she grins
with a twinkle in her eye. "The trick is in the task and the reward. Give him
something to do, then give him a treat when he's done it. For me, that's
usually a biscuit or a bite of whatever I'm making. I'm sure you can modify
the trick to however it best suits you both."

"I'm...sure," Regulus mumbles, his entire face turning a bright red, which
glows obviously because of his complexion, and James can't help but roar
with laughter while Regulus cuts him a sharp glare that only makes him
laugh harder.

"Now, I must say, I was promised food and something smells amazing,"
Monty says after Regulus has stepped on James' foot to make him shut up.
He claps his hands together, and Effie lazily swats him in reprimand, but
her eyes are darting towards the food on the table with interest.

It takes over twenty minutes for Regulus to actually relax and be himself,
and the only reason he does, James is sure, is because he gets caught up in a
discussion on spices (he loves spices) with Effie, who also happens to be
quite passionate about the subject. Monty raises his eyebrows at James, and
James shrugs helplessly, and they share a grin that—for all that he doesn't
look much like his father—is the exact same.

It takes Effie only half an hour to draw a genuine laugh from Regulus,
because she's a formidable woman. It took James weeks, and she has to go
and show him up. There's honestly nothing she can't do.

After that, though, Regulus stops faking. The faux charm falls away until
he's just him—wry and dry and witty, a bit inclined to dark, sardonic humor,
leaning into sarcasm like it's his first language, and still unwittingly lovely
and startlingly sweet without even seeming to realize it.

He takes right to Effie in much the same way that Sirius did at the start, and
still is sometimes. Almost in awe of her. Taken off guard every time she
calls him dear, but in a soft, pleasant way like he's warmed by it. Starved
for motherly connection in a proper capacity, leaving him helplessly
charmed by how much she exudes probably entirely by instinct. When she
praises his food and declares that they will be cooking together one day
very soon, he swallows harshly and briefly looks like he might start crying.
No one mentions it.

What surprises James is how Regulus takes to Monty. He's not expecting it,
is all, because honestly… Well, for a long time, Sirius didn't have a deep
connection with James' dad. Monty is easily distracted, so when you want
his attention, you have to make that abundantly clear. James grew up
barreling right into his father's space to interrupt whatever he was doing and
start chattering his ear off—and will still do it to this day—while Monty
immediately shifted focus and found it difficult to get back to what he was
doing before James came in, but he was never, never upset about being
interrupted to start with. In fact, he loved it. He's said on more than one
occasion that his family will always come first, and that's always been true.

It's just, well, you have to get his attention. Once you have it, it's yours
forever if you want it. Sirius hadn't grasped that at the age of sixteen, hadn't
even realized that a father was meant to pay attention. So, he simply...didn't
try. They got on well enough, and Monty adores Sirius as if he's his own
son, but it took years before Sirius cracked the code. That's when Sirius
found his connection with Monty, and James remembers the first time
Sirius had said, as if surprised, "Your dad is brilliant, mate," and it had
broken James' heart a little to realize that Sirius had no idea that a dad could
be brilliant.

It doesn't take Regulus long at all to crack the code, and it turns out he likes
the fatherly attention, because it becomes clear to James rather quickly that
Regulus is a bit enamored with him. If Effie is Sirius' favorite, then there's
no doubt in James' mind that Monty is Regulus'.

By the end of the meal, Monty has won in getting the most genuine smiles
and laughs out of Regulus (yes, James is keeping a tally, don't judge him),
and they've carried on a lengthy conversation about gardening. Monty likes
to garden, because while he's not the best in the kitchen, he enjoys getting
to contribute by providing some of the ingredients. Regulus, at this point, is
staring at him with stars in his eyes.

Monty is, of course, entirely oblivious to the fact that Regulus clearly
admires him and hangs onto every word that leaves his mouth, but that only
makes it more endearing. James and Effie, at one point, share an amused
glance, equally fond.
So, by the end of the meal, Regulus is as calm as he ever gets, helpfully
blooming under Monty's attention and approval, as well as Effie's relentless
ability to make everyone love her. He actually looks mildly disappointed
when they announce they have to go, and he insists they have to take
leftovers with them, which Monty happily agrees to the moment he offers.

"You're a good lad, Regulus. We'll see you again," Monty states, clapping
Regulus on the shoulder with a broad grin, and Regulus beams as much as
he ever does. Mostly in the eyes, really. It's adorable.

"I hope this isn't too forward, dear…" Effie trails off and steps up to him
with her arms out in invitation, holding back like she normally wouldn't.
She knows, James can't help but think again, because it's obvious to him that
she does. She knows exactly where he comes from, what his life at home
was like.

Regulus looks a little startled, but he shakes his head, even if he can't seem
to make himself move forward into the offered embrace. Effie seems to
expect it, though, and she steps up to wrap him in her arms. She's taller than
him, because she's around Monty's height, actually, only a bit shorter—
James got his height from her as well, but she's quite tall herself; he's
literally the same height as his mum. Regulus tentatively returns the hug,
delicate like he has to be very careful with her, which Sirius never was.
He'd always clung to Effie as if he was the delicate one. Regulus, however,
is exceptionally gentle like she's precious, like she might just melt away if
he touches her too firmly, and it's quite clear that he doesn't want her to.
Effie has a rule. She never breaks a hug first, because she says she never
knows how much someone might need it, and if she can provide it, why
wouldn't she? James has taken advantage of this rule, admittedly, tackling
his mum with hugs when she was scolding him or he was getting into
trouble, and even if she was angry, she never let him go first. It would bring
him to tears randomly when he felt especially bad for doing something
wrong, somehow expecting that he'd gone far enough for her to shove him
away, but she never did, not once. Sirius, of course, also took advantage of
this in a very different way, soaking up her embraces like a sponge, doing it
just to do it because he never got to do it with his own mother.

Regulus learns this rule now, because Effie does not pull away, and he's not
letting go either. James watches in real time as he slowly, oh so slowly,
sinks into her in increments as if he can't help it. His touch is still so very
soft and careful, but he holds on and can't seem to bring himself to let go.
James can see his eyes starting to water over her shoulder.

He must work out that he's going to have to break the hug first, because he
does, looking away. His jaw clenches and works so hard that his cheek
twitches, and his voice is thick when he chokes out, "It was lovely to meet
you both. I'll let James walk you out. Excuse me."

And then he's gone. He practically runs to get away, leaving them all
behind, and James is pretty sure he's about to cry here in a moment. He
hopes Walburga rots.

"Is he alright?" Monty asks with a frown of concern, apparently still paying
attention, and oh, that's sweet. He rather likes Regulus too, doesn't he?
"Must've needed the loo," Effie says airily, patting Monty's shoulder and
gently pushing him to the door.

James follows them out, all the way out until they're all on the street, then
murmurs, "Thanks for coming. It really went well."

"He's a good one. I like him," Monty announces cheerfully, and James can't
help but chuckle.

"Yeah, Dad, I noticed. I'm glad, though. I quite like him myself," James
teases.

Monty hums and winks. "I could tell. Alright, honey, I'm going to warm up
the car. James." He opens his arms, which James steps into easily, and when
they pull apart, Monty leans over to kiss Effie's cheek. "Coming?"

"Right behind you," Effie assures him, smiling, but when he's a good
distance away, her smile drops as she looks right at James and slowly,
pointedly arches one eyebrow.

"Mum," James says weakly, deflating.

"That's Sirius Black's brother, that is," Effie says, holding his gaze,
practically challenging him to try lying to her.
"Yes," James whispers.

Effie stares at him, then blows out a breath and closes her eyes. Without
opening them, she says, "Does Sirius know?"

"No."

"Does Regulus?"

"No," James mumbles, wincing.

"Oh, James," Effie groans, her eyes snapping open. "What have you gotten
yourself into now?"

James stares down at his trainers, a lump in his throat. His eyes burn and
itch. "It was an accident, Mum. I didn't find out until I was already dating
him. As soon as I did find out, I tried to stop. We both did—Regulus' best
mate, too, because he's the one Sirius has been dating, and we didn't know.
None of us knew, so we—we tried to do the right thing, but it hurt so much.
It hurt all of us so much, and we just—we couldn't."

"Well," Effie says with a heavy sigh, "this is a right mess you've all found
yourselves in, isn't it?"
"Yeah. Yeah, it is," James agrees with a wet laugh, and then he's crying
without meaning to because it's all so bloody difficult, and he doesn't know
what the right thing is, only that he isn't doing it, and he's so, so scared to
lose either of them. It's genuinely stressing him out, and he just—breaks.

"Come here, love," Effie murmurs, drawing him into a hug, letting him hide
his face into her shoulder. She sweeps her hand up and down his back. "I
can see so much of Sirius in him. You didn't notice?"

"How could I? Yeah, they look alike, but I only knew Sirius had a sister.
How did you know?" James croaks as he pulls away, roughly scrubbing at
his face.

Effie smiles softly. "A mother—a true mother—always knows. It helps that
his smile, that fake charming smile, is Sirius' true smile. Don't you
recognize it? And his eyes… Love, his eyes are a dead giveaway. I'm not
removed from the existence of trans people, James. I didn't raise you to be
either."

"I'm not," James says earnestly. "It's just—yeah, he resembles Sirius, but
Mum, he doesn't make me feel the way Sirius does. I look at him and see
him. I can't see anything else. I can barely bloody breathe looking at him
sometimes because of how he makes me feel, so you'll forgive me if I
wasn't seeing past my hope to date him to be suspicious."

"I understand," Effie tells him, reaching out to squeeze his hand. She
studies his face. "What are you going to do?"
"I don't know," James admits. "I can't just out Regulus to Sirius, but it's
more than that. I don't want to lose either of them, and Remus is in the same
predicament, and they're so happy compared to when we tried to stop. We
just want them to be happy. Is that so wrong?"

"The intent is good, and I do grasp why you would see it that way," Effie
murmurs gently, "but you're no fool, James. Friendships and relationships
aren't held together by lies; they will fall apart if you try to do it that way."

James blinks rapidly, chin trembling. "Then tell me what to do, Mum. I
don't know what to do."

"You need to tell them. You and that boy who makes Sirius so happy,
Remus," Effie says.

"I'll lose Regulus," James chokes out, his shoulders wrenching up, stomach
twisting with genuine fear. Effie reaches up to cup his cheek, frowning. "I'll
lose him, Mum, and I—I can't. I'm so scared. I'm so—"

Effie draws him back in with a quiet, "Oh, James. Just a mess. A right mess.
This is going to hurt."

"Am I being selfish, Mum?" James asks as he pulls back slightly, blinking
at her through clumped eyelashes. The thing is, he doesn't know. He's not
sure he's ever been selfish before, not really.
"Well, it's certainly not the most selfless thing you've ever done," Effie says
dryly, and it draws a weak laugh out of him. She pats his cheek. "You'll
figure it out, love. You'll get through it, all of you. In the meantime, you
seem so very happy with him."

"I am. I really am," James whispers, and feels like the most selfish person
on the planet.

"You deserve nothing less," Effie whispers back, her voice fierce with
emotion, and she squeezes his hand.

"Thanks, Mum," James rasps.

Effie leans in to kiss his forehead. "Anything for you, love. Now, go on.
He's a good boy, and he's waiting on you."

James nods and walks her to the car, saying his final goodbyes to her and
his dad, then he takes a deep breath and heads back up. When he gets back
into the flat, Regulus is in the kitchen, cleaning up with his back to James.
Carefully, James moves forward to step up to Regulus' back and wrap his
arms around him, swallowing when he feels how stiff Regulus is.

"I—I think that went well," Regulus says softly, and it comes out shaky, a
bit clogged like he can barely get the words out.
"They loved you," James murmurs.

A dish clatters into the sink, and Regulus releases a deep, gasping sob. He
curls forward, abruptly crying very hard, all the weight going out of him at
once.

James already has his arms around him, so he catches most of his weight
and makes sure he gets to the floor safely. He just crowds behind him,
holding him. Regulus leans back against him, covering his face as if to
muffle the sound of his raw, scratchy sobs. He rocks a little bit, his
shoulders heaving, and James rocks with him. He holds him, pressing one
hand flat to his chest and using the other to rub his arm. He holds him, and
holds him, and holds him as he weeps.

"My parents—they never—" Regulus can't really speak past his tears, so he
gives up quickly, but James already knows. It's ripping him apart. He can
barely stand it.

"I know, love. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," James whispers, aching, and for the
second time in his life, he feels that deep, calculated desire to murder that
entire family, minus his best friend and the one in his arms now. It doesn't
scare him as much this time.

Regulus cries for quite some time, but he does eventually tire himself out.
He just slumps in James' grip and breathes for a while, tilting his head back
on James' shoulder. James buries his face in Regulus' hair and holds him.
"Sorry," Regulus mumbles at some point, but he doesn't pull away and try
to get space, doesn't try to grasp some control to cover what he's just
shown.

James pulls back to quietly say, "You have nothing to apologize for."

"We're on my kitchen floor," Regulus says with vague disgust and agitation,
as if he's judging himself for his outburst of emotion that ended with them
here.

"I like your kitchen floor," James offers nonsensically.

Regulus huffs out a weak laugh. "You're ridiculous." He only gets a hum of
acknowledgement, which makes his lips curl up slightly before he sits
forward and shifts in between James' legs to gaze at him. His eyes are puffy
and the very tip of his nose is red, and as much as James hates that he cried,
he's absolutely adorable in the aftermath. Of course he is. He looks better,
though. Less sad. James wants to squish his cheeks and wrap him in
blankets. If Regulus sniffles even once, James will be a goner. But Regulus
doesn't sniffle. Regulus smiles softly and calmly says, "I love you."

James freezes. His eyes go wide, his heart tripping in his chest, and he
sounds breathless when he asks, "You do?"

"I do," Regulus confirms, his smile growing.

"Really?" James checks, hands shaking, and he feels suddenly as if he's
fucking flying. This is better than flying. This is the most exhilarating
moment of his life.

"Yes, James, really," Regulus murmurs, nodding his head and laughing
quietly. "I love you."

"Oh," James breathes out, then bursts into motion, scrambling forward to
catch Regulus' face in his hands to kiss him. He tries to, in any case, but
he's smiling too hard to actually manage a proper snog, so he just starts
peppering short, sweet kisses all over Regulus' face, wherever he can reach,
while Regulus laughs and lazily pushes him away. James crowds in closer,
chasing, and then he's rambling. "I love you, too. Of course I do. I really
fucking do, Regulus. I can't believe you said it first. I love you. I'm so
madly in love with you."

Regulus hums and reaches up to capture his face in between his palms,
getting him to stop rattling around. His eyes are bright and warm. "I know,
James."

"Good. Never forget it," James declares firmly and all but tackles him to the
floor to smother him in kisses, glowing as Regulus' happy laughter rings in
his ears.
Remus looks up when he hears a solid thump from the front of the shop,
then can't help but laugh as James frowns at the door and tugs at the handle
with one hand while the other rubs his nose. He obviously just ran face-first
into the door.

Rolling his eyes, Remus swings around the counter to go open the door,
saying, "He's not here. He took the day off."

"What?" James looks...lost. "He did? Why? Is he—"

"He's fine. He just has something to do for class, getting ready for that event
he's so worked up about. Didn't he tell you?" Remus raises his eyebrows.

James frowns and searches for his cell, thumbing it open. He looks sheepish
a few moments later. "Oh. Well...habit. So, wait, who are you working with,
then?"

"Woman named Molly, who usually only works the days Reg and I are off,"
Remus says with a sigh. "She'll cover for us, though, if we need an extra
day for something."

"Nice of her." James grins at him. "You miss Regulus, don't you?"

"You can never tell him."

"That's cute."

"Piss off."

"What, Molly isn't good enough?"

Remus clicks his tongue. "Molly's alright. A bit older. She has a scary
amount of children that usually show up towards the end of the shift. She's
just not…"

"Regulus," James fills in, amused.

"You know, you can leave any time now. I won't be making you a special
drink," Remus grumbles, turning around to walk back behind the counter.

James slumps against the counter with a sigh. "Regulus spoils me."

"He does."

"I want to tell you something very badly, but maybe Regulus wants to tell
you, but also it might not even be a huge matter to him, but at the same time
—"

"James," Remus cuts in, lips twitching, "it's not exactly the first secret
we've kept between us, is it? Just tell me."

"You're right. We're proper mates, aren't we?" James beams at him, looking
pleased. "I mean, we even scheme together, and that, my friend, is a bond
not easily broken."

"No?" Remus asks dryly.

"No," James assures him, nodding solemnly. "In any case, I'll tell you, but
you have to act surprised if Regulus tells you later. I just literally can't keep
it in."

Remus watches James bounce in place against the counter, biting his
bottom lip to try to stifle his grin, though he doesn't manage it by half. "I
already know you've shagged, James. Regulus told me about that."

Well, actually, Remus had noticed. Just the same way that Regulus noticed
with him all the way back in the beginning, Remus could tell that
something had happened. There is a look about someone, it turns out,
completely by accident. Remus may have pestered Regulus to get it out of
him, then teased him relentlessly every time he unconsciously smiled.
Honestly, Remus ended up with a bit too much information about James.
He didn't need that many details, but it was nice that Regulus actually
opened up to him about it. He never did before, but Remus now knows it's
because all his experiences weren't any he considered worth talking about.
James? Well, Regulus had plenty to say about him.

"He told you?" James hisses, his eyes going wide. "Bloody hell, I haven't
been able to tell anyone. I refuse to talk to Sirius about it. Christ, this is
actually a relief."

"Is that what you wanted to talk about?" Remus asks, amused.

James blinks. "Oh, well no, actually. Might circle back around to it for the
sake of my sanity. Anyway, no, it's—Remus, he loves me. He told me he
loves me."

"Did he really?" Remus stands up straighter in surprise. He supposes he

knew in the back of his mind that Regulus loves James, but that's a bit
different than Regulus knowing. The fact that Regulus told James… That's
insane. "Wait, did you tell him first? Was he just saying it back?"

"No, that's just the thing. He said it first," James blurts out, bouncing in
place again like all of his excitement is just going to get up and run away
with him. "It was after he met my parents last week. Funny thing, when I
said it back, he just said he knew. I didn't even know until I was saying it
back. Well, I suppose I did, but I was being careful not to...be too much, I
think. Sort of being cautious without even knowing it. But he said it,
Moony. He said it."
Remus laughs warmly and nods. "Alright, mate, he said it. Steady on. I'm
happy for you, and him."

"Pfft, steady on? I'm about to explode," James announces, grinning like a
madman. "You really won't tell him I told you?"

"Oh, in this case, I will absolutely be telling him you told me, only in the
effort to tease him and make him suffer," Remus informs him casually, and
James hangs his head as he groans loudly. "You're fine. He won't be upset
with you. This isn't something he would have just told me; he was probably
waiting for the perfect moment to casually say it to you while I was around,
for maximum chances of me dropping something and-or tripping over my
own feet purely from the shock."

James looks up with a frown. "Is it shocking, then? That he loves me, I
mean."

"Mm, not at all." Remus waves a hand at him. "I've known that he does,
actually. What's shocking is that he said it first. That's very out of character
for him. And honestly? It is for you, too. If I was a betting man, I would
have gone for the opposite."

"Didn't you tell Sirius you loved him first?"

"It...slipped out. Piss off, James, it's not funny. It was a very emotional
moment, and I wasn't exactly aware of all my words for the first time in my
life, so that's what slipped."

"That's hilarious, mate." James grins at him and holds his hands up in
surrender. "Couldn't be me, is all I'm saying."

"Are you going to order or continue to terrorize me?" Remus asks, eyes
narrowing.

James does, in fact, stick around to terrorize him a bit more, the both of
them chatting and laughing. Sometimes it's hard with James because they're
carrying this (as James put it) 'scheme' between them, and the guilt of that
weighs heavily. In the same breath, they were friendly with each other
before, and now with said 'scheme', they do have a bit of a bond. It helps
that they both approve of the other for their best mate.

It's easy to care about James, Remus finds. He's friendly and free with his
feelings, and Remus doesn't think he's ever met someone who wishes for
everyone to be happy the way James does. Remus wonders sometimes if
that gets exhausting, always taking care of other people, and wonders just
as often if that leaves him time to take care of himself. Maybe that's the
point, though. Maybe it's a way for James to convince himself he's always
alright, and ignore it when he's not.

It's such a sad thought that James notices the change in his mood (because
of course he notices) and asks if he's alright with genuine concern, which
only drives the point home, so Remus gives him his latte for free and makes
sure to tell him that he's a good person on his way out the door. James
brightens as he goes, delighted by the compliment.

Of course, Remus calls Regulus only minutes after he's gone.

"Why are you pestering me already?" is how Regulus answers the call,
sighing heavily. "Can't you survive one day without me, Remus? I'm getting
ready."

"Oh, come off it, I won't bother you too much. I know this is a big day for
you," Remus replies, rolling his eyes. "I just wanted to congratulate you on
falling in love with literally one of the most obnoxious, yet kindest blokes
I've ever met."

There's a beat of silence, then, "James forgot I was off today, didn't he?"

"He did."

"He told you."

"He did. He was very excited about it. Apparently you updated him on your
feelings last week?" Remus asks, amused.
Regulus sighs again. "Did you put two sugars in his latte and give him
squirty cream with caramel drizzle on top?"

"No, Reg, I didn't. Your boyfriend isn't my boyfriend."

"He is when I'm not there and you're making his coffee. He loves the squirty
cream and caramel drizzle. You don't wear ties, even. What pastry did he
order?"

"Oh, you have it bad, truly," Remus says, biting back a laugh that threatens
to escape him. "He didn't order a pastry."

"Didn't order—" Regulus huffs in apparent offense, then grunts in

annoyance. "Alright, I genuinely do not have time for this today. If you
happen to see him again, give him a sodding muffin or something. I need to
go if I don't want to be late."

Remus chuckles helplessly. "Alright, alright. I suppose I just wanted to see

if it was true, then. I have to admit, I did not expect you to tell James first."

"Oh, I didn't," Regulus informs him distractedly. "James had been casually
slipping up and dropping it before that without even noticing. It actually
took me some time to say it back. Don't tell him that, though. It made him
so happy to think I said it first; I don't want to ruin it for him."
"Ah, now that sounds more like you," Remus says.

"Mhm. Really, I do have to go. I hope your day is shit without me there."

"You know it will be. Hey, Reg?"

Regulus sighs. "Yeah?"

"Good luck tonight. You'll do brilliantly," Remus murmurs, lips curling up

at the resounding silence in response.

"Thank you, Remus," Regulus mumbles, then immediately ends the call,
making Remus grin and shake his head.

Remus does have a bit of a shit day without Regulus, to be completely

honest, which Regulus can never, ever find out about. Really, Molly isn't a
problem. She does her job well, and Remus has worked with her before,
just as Regulus has. She talks quite a bit, and towards the end of the shift,
five children come racing in with their tired, yet inexplicably happy father
trailing in behind them. The two youngest are twins and absolute menaces,
and the oldest can usually wrangle all of the children even better than their
parents can. They're all perfectly polite to Remus and never cause him any
trouble, but that may be because he sneaks them biscuits when Molly is
distracted talking to her husband.
What? Remus likes children. He's quite sure he'd be an awful parent, but he
does, nonetheless, like children. He doubts he'll ever have any of his own,
honestly, because he knows better than to think he'd be a good dad, but he
has entertained the thought before that he might one day want one. It
doesn't matter what he might want, because the best parenting choice he'll
ever make is deciding not to ruin some child's life.

Just for a moment, though, Remus thinks about it without meaning to, the
wistful edges of the daydream stealing his breath. Sirius with a child on his
hip; Sirius swinging a child up into his arms while laughing; Sirius still in
his leather jacket, but also with a baby carrier strapped to his chest. Remus
gives an almost violent blink, clears his throat, and banishes the thoughts
before they can take root.

Like he's been summoned, there's a message from Sirius waiting for Remus
that just asks if he'll come by the studio when his shift ends, which Remus
is more than happy to do.

Honestly, Remus has hardly seen Sirius this past week. Much the same as
James has been relying on visiting the shop and coming to terms with
Regulus repeatedly having to do things with his class, Remus has had to
adjust to Sirius practically hiding himself away in his studio like a hermit,
working hard on the painting that will be displayed in an art gallery. Sirius
does text him sporadically through the day, and calls him every night,
sounding exhausted, but they haven't seen each other in days. Remus is
proud of him, though. Every time he thinks about the fact that his art will be
in a gallery, Remus finds himself smiling, feeling like he's going to burst
from how happy he is for Sirius, who truly deserves it.
He just wishes Sirius wasn't so bloody stressed about it. He's working
himself to the bone, honestly, and he's admitted more than once that he's
forgotten to eat sometimes during the day, which he immediately rectifies
the moment Remus fusses at him. It's worrying, in a way, to know how tired
Sirius is, how much effort he's putting into this, even at the cost of himself.
He and Regulus are similar in this way—throwing their entire being into
what matters to them, desperate not to fail, maybe losing themselves a little
bit in the process.

Remus is looking forward to seeing Sirius, in any case. The studio is open
when he eases his way in, following the familiar path to where Sirius
always paints.

He comes to an immediate halt when he sees it, the painting directly in the
middle of the room. His breath catches.

Remus has seen quite a bit of Sirius' artwork by this point, but this… This is
something beyond anything else he's ever seen. It's a dark painting with a
figure under the surface of water, long black hair flowing out to cover the
facial features. Pale, spider-like, spindly hands drag the figure down,
gripping on and digging nails in, fingers clawing at the curve of a pale
throat, tugging the figure further into the depths. The figure is holding out
one hand, small and white against the murky black. A chain from a
necklace billows out around the figure's neck, snapped off, and another pale
hand is reaching towards the surface of the water, completely disembodied
if not for the tiny, thin scar on it that Remus would recognize anywhere. In
the scarred palm, there's a pendant in the shape of a snake, and it's quite
clear that the hand is trying to reach the fingers that the figure holds out,
only to grab the necklace instead while the figure is yanked further away.
Quite honestly, it's the most beautiful and chilling piece of art that Remus
has ever seen. He raises his hand to cover his mouth and goosebumps break
out along his entire body. It's moving. It's tragic, and glorious, like the
achingly gorgeous paintings of the greatest Greek travesties. Every line,
every single stroke of paint—it was done with care, with emotion, and it
bleeds through like an actual wound.

This has meaning, and Remus can't even begin to untangle the webs weaved
to figure out the source. He knows Sirius well, he thinks, but he doesn't
know enough to work out this.

"Horrible, isn't it?" Sirius whispers, and Remus jolts as Sirius comes to a
halt beside him, staring at the painting with no expression on his face.
There's a heavy sheen of tears over his eyes, though, and they're red like
he's been crying already.

"Horrible? Sirius, this is… This is the most… This is your magnum opus,"
Remus breathes out, stunned, his hand slowly lowering. He looks back at
the painting. "Who is that?"

"No one," Sirius says, swallowing thickly, and Remus knows he's lying.
Remus also knows, just from the look in Sirius' eyes, that he won't ever tell
the truth, not about this.

"This is haunting," Remus murmurs, "and beautiful."

"I can't do it." Sirius shakes his head and takes in a stuttered breath. "I can't
display this. I can't let anyone see it, Remus. I didn't even realize I was—it
was like I just...went into this odd fugue state. I didn't know what it was
going to be until… And I can't. I have nothing to display. I—"

Remus turns to grip Sirius' shoulders and swivel him so that they're facing
each other. "You do have something to display. Sirius, I have seen so much
of your art, and it is all amazing, but this? This is your best work. We talked
about this, didn't we? About you putting yourself into your work,
remember?"

"This is too much. It's too much of me. It's too much of something I don't
want anyone to see."

"No one knows. No one will look at this and know what it means, not truly.
I don't even know, and I know you better than every other stranger that will
see it."

"People will praise it," Sirius croaks.

"As they should. It's beautifully done," Remus murmurs. "You put so much
effort into this, Sirius. You've been working so hard. You deserve to be
praised for it."

Sirius darts his eyes to the painting, and the tears spill over without
warning. It's not as if he's suddenly crying; he doesn't even seem to notice
the tears dropping. His face doesn't change at all. "Not this, Moony."
"Are you just telling yourself that, or will it genuinely make you unhappy?"
Remus asks, searching his face. "Because you were so very happy for this
opportunity. You were happy to try to make your mentor proud. I
understand if it scares you to be seen, but if that is the only issue, believe
me when I say no one will actually know what they're looking at. They'll
only feel. You'll make them feel something."

"I want—" Sirius' throat clicks, and he looks at Remus again, blinking
twice, more tears falling. "A part of me wants to set it on fire. A different
part wants to look at it every day. But I don't want to fail Minerva, either.
It's for a bloody charity, and I already promised. I just—I don't know. I
really don't know."

Remus takes a deep breath, then slowly lets it out. "Alright, what about
this? You've been locked away in this studio for so long, you need to get out
and get some fresh air and actually spend time with people. Let's go get
lunch, yeah? Me and you. If you want, invite some of your friends; I know
you haven't been socializing much."

"I… Yeah. Yeah, that sounds nice," Sirius mumbles, looking a little dazed
and a lot worn out. He glances around, a bit lost, then apparently locates his
cell.

About an hour later, Sirius is starting to look better. It's a rare day free of
rain and cold, warm and breezy instead, and he seems to soak it up. He's
getting excited about the fact that James, Marlene, Dorcas, Peter, and Lily
all agreed to meet up and have lunch. Remus already knows Peter and
James, but he's yet to meet the others, so by all means, he should be a little
uncomfortable. He's just too worried about Sirius to really manage it,
though.

They all agreed to get different takeaway and meet up at a park where they
can sprawl out on the grass and enjoy the sun, which they all do. Marlene
and Dorcas are so kind as to bring a large sheet to spread out for all of them
since their flat is the closest. Sirius and Remus are the last to show up, so
everyone else is already settled in, waiting. Peter has his head in James' lap,
and the girls that Remus is meeting for the first time are all talking to each
other, animated and happy.

"Oh, finally," James crows the second he sees Sirius. "There he is. Padfoot,
I've been withering away without you, mate. You've been locked up in your
studio so long; look how pale you've gotten. Come here, it's been ages."

Sirius all but collapses into James and Peter, dramatically groaning, "Art is
hard," while Remus awkwardly balances the bags of food, not quite sure
where to put it.

"Here, just sit it down," a woman with red hair offers, smiling at him.
"Remus, right? I'm Lily. You know, when the light hits your hair a certain
way, you're a bit of a ginger, so I'm claiming you. Come here, sit."

Seeing as Sirius is currently being… Remus doesn't actually have a name

for the way Peter and James are fussing over Sirius, but they're all busy
with it, so Remus is sort of just left at mercy of the women. Why is he
afraid? Because he's smart.
He sits, nonetheless, and says, "Yeah, I'm Remus. Heard a lot about you,
Lily. Which one is Marlene and which is Dorcas?"

"Dorcas," Dorcas says, raising her hand.

Marlene just nods at him. "That makes me Marlene. So, Remus, this was
your suggestion, was it?"

"It was, yeah. Sirius has been...working hard," Remus murmurs quietly,
gaze darting over to Sirius with a frown. "I think he needed this, honestly.
Needed to get out of the studio."

"He is looking a bit paler than normal," Lily says, her eyebrows furrowing.

"Haven't heard from him in a few days, too," Dorcas adds, sharing a look
with Marlene. "He's usually good about checking in more often."

"If only to be a nuisance," Marlene clarifies, then flicks her gaze over
Remus, lips pursing. "Honestly, we thought maybe you went off and left
him again."

"Oh, ah...no," Remus mumbles, grimacing. They all stare at him, very
clearly willing to hold a grudge, absolutely ruthless in the way only women
can be. Remus swallows. "No, that won't be happening again. He's rather
hard to get away from, if you'd believe it."
Maybe now isn't the best time for jokes, especially when he delivers them
in his dry tone. Oh, he feels like an idiot. And yet, after a beat where they
size him up in silence for a moment longer, they all start laughing.

"Oh, trust me, we know," Lily tells him, amused. "Despite your best efforts,
Sirius Black sneaks up on you every time. It's a gift of his. I've been trying
to get away for years."

"Caught you, too, hm?" Dorcas asks in mock-sympathy, her gaze gleaming
with humor. Her eyes are so dark they're nearly black in a way that's utterly
breathtaking. When the light hits them, they glimmer like obsidian. "It's
alright. Greater people have grudgingly let him charm them into eternal
friendship, by which I mean me."

"Sadly, you're a hopeless case. He's gone and made you fall in love with
him," Marlene tells him, wrinkling her nose, which does nothing to hide her
small smile. "The only way you'll be free of him now is if he lets you go."
Her face smooths out, and her eyes narrow. "By which I mean, if you ever
pull that shit again like before, I'll dump you dead in a river, where you will
bloat and your skin will slip off your bones and, by the time they find you,
they won't be able to recognize you."

Remus blinks, then finds his mouth running away from him again. "Can I
pay you to do that now?"

"Oh my god," Lily wheezes, and they all helplessly dissolve into laughter
while Remus pinches the bridge of his nose and shakes his head, sheepish.
"Don't listen to me," Remus mutters. "I don't even have enough money."

"I'll do it for five quid," Marlene offers.

"Deal," Remus says immediately, taking her hand the moment she holds it
out. They shake on it. "I'm holding you to that."

"God, is Sirius making you that miserable?" Dorcas asks.

"No," Remus says softly, looking away as his lips tug up against his will.
"Not at all."

Marlene groans. "Oh, fucking shit, we've got another soppy git in our group
now. Where do we keep finding them? When will we draw the line?"

"You're a soppy git," Lily points out with a grin, and Marlene sputters in put
upon offense as Dorcas rolls her eyes and reaches out to drag her fingers
through Marlene's hair, which glows like spun gold in the sunlight.

"Get stuffed, Evans, I'm no such thing."

"Cas?"

"She's right, love, you are."

"Moony!" James belts out, stretching over to lightly shove Remus' shoulder.
"Mate, you didn't even say hello."

"Good to see you again, Remus," Peter says, smiling at him, one of his
hands patting the back of Sirius' head where he has his face pressed against
Peter's leg, making muffled noises like he's dying.

"You too, Peter," Remus returns, not perturbed in the least.

"We should eat!" James chirps, rocking back and leaning against Sirius'
hip.

"Which reminds me." Remus holds up a finger and leans forward to dig into
the bags to locate the container he's looking for. He tosses it to James when
he finds it, and James' face lights up the second he sees the muffin, his gaze
snapping up to stare Remus, who gives him a significant look. James all but
melts, biting his bottom lip to try and stifle his grin as he gazes down at the
muffin like it's made of gold.

Peter busts out laughing. "Ooh, Pads, you've got some competition for
James, mate. Look at him, absolutely besotted with Moony, it seems like."
"Should I be offended that James is the one we're competing for, rather than
them competing for me as, you know, Sirius' boyfriend?" Remus muses.

Lily snorts. "You may have Sirius' heart, but James is his heart. You get
used to it. Although...James does look a bit soppy."

Sirius turns his head and squints at him. "Back off my best mate, Moony.
He's mine." He pauses. "You're also mine, in case you've forgotten. Where's
my muffin?"

"I didn't get you one," Remus says blandly, and Sirius twists against Peter's
legs so he can toss his hands up dramatically, as if this is his final straw.
Remus rolls his eyes. "Oh, stop pouting, Sirius. I got you that pudding you
like."

"Did you really?" Sirius props up to beam at him, then takes it when Remus
holds it out. He flops back and holds it to his chest like it's the most
precious thing he's ever been given, looking as happy as James did. "Oh,
you do love me."

"Against my better judgment," Remus mutters, and Sirius flips him off with
a grin. He looks better already. Happier. More settled. It warms Remus' all
the way through.
Shortly after, Remus gets swept up with Dorcas, Lily, and Marlene again.
He ends up getting really, unexpectedly comfortable with them, not even
meaning to. They're brilliant and funny; it's effortless to like them. He gets
on particularly well with Lily, who's eyes simply light up the moment he
mentions To the Lighthouse. It turns out to be one of her favorite books, and
they got lost in chatting about it.

Remus does regularly peek over to see how Sirius is doing, and it's a relief
to witness him getting back to his old self with the help of James and Peter,
barking laughs and rambling in pure excitement about whatever they're all
talking about. Remus feels tension seep out of him the happier Sirius gets;
he was so worried. He can't even explain why, just somehow sensed the
way his latest painting had hollowed him out, had drained all the essence of
him right out until he was just a wisp.

As they all eat, Remus gets to hear some horror (and comedy) hospital
stories from Lily; he gets to hear Dorcas get quite passionate about gender
norms in the fashion industry; he gets to hear Marlene insult and praise the
children she works with as a football coach; he tells them a few stories of
the worst customers he's ever had (yes, Richard features) and complains a
bit about the coursework involved with becoming a teacher.

He glances over again to see Sirius cackling as he tries to toss pieces of rice
into James' mouth while James tries to throw pieces into Peter's, and Peter
tries to throw pieces into Sirius'. It's a bit ridiculous, and childish, but once
again Remus just feels himself relax further. His lips twitch, and he looks
back to find Lily watching him while Marlene and Dorcas are distracted
gathering up their empty containers.
"You're good for him," Lily murmurs, her gaze warm. "I can tell that you
really love him. You keep checking on him, and you don't know it, but he
keeps checking on you."

"No, I know," Remus admits, because he does. He can feel it when Sirius
glances over, like a soft buzz under his skin, a gentle awareness that sweeps
through him and tugs at him to look back. Maybe that's mental, but it's true.

"You two seem…" Lily tilts her head thoughtfully, clearly looking for a
word, and then she smiles. "Inevitable."

"Feels that way," Remus mumbles, ducking his head, his heart swelling in
his chest.

Lily reaches over and pats his knee. "Good."

It's easy with Lily, Remus finds. They just—connect, really. Even still, as
much as he gets lost in talking to her, even more so than Marlene and
Dorcas, he's not at all distracted from Sirius. He isn't surprised (but is
secretly pleased) when Sirius rather inevitably ends up migrating closer to
him until he's suddenly right there, leaning up against him even as he makes
a joke that has Peter roaring with laughter and lazily tosses a balled up
wrapper back and forth with James.

One of Sirius' hands land right beside Remus', and their pinkies overlap in a
move so casual and easy that Remus wouldn't be able to pinpoint the exact
moment it happened, or who initiated it. He just notices at some point, and
it makes his chest pulse with warmth, makes him raise his free hand to
swipe it over his mouth in the effort to hide his grin. His stomach swoops,
and only Sirius Black can do this to him.

Only Sirius Black could let their pinkies link between them and make him
feel flush with delight. Remus loves every fucking inch of him, down to his
smallest finger.

This is nice, as it turns out, just having a day and making more friends than
he ever expected to have. It makes him miss Regulus, though (which, again,
Regulus can never find out about), because Remus can't help but wish that
he was here. He can't help but think it would make sense, that Regulus
would fit perfectly, Sirius' little brother and Remus' best friend and James'
boyfriend. He can't help but imagine it, Regulus tucked up under James'
arm, randomly getting into petty squabbles with Sirius where they kick each
other in their ankles, sharing exasperated looks with Remus when James
and Sirius are being excessively ridiculous. He should be here, Remus
thinks. He can see how it would be just right; he wants it more than he
could ever express.

Remus wonders, as someone who always wants more, as someone who

wants everything, if he'd finally have it, then. That's the only thing missing,
honestly. He wishes there was some way to make Sirius and Regulus
understand, to see it as he and James do, but that feels like a distant dream.
He's terrified to chase after it, afraid to lose what he already has.

For now, this is enough. For now, this is about Sirius, who truly needed this.
He's calmer, happier, no longer a shell on the verge of collapsing inwards.
This is good for him, which becomes blatantly obvious when he addresses
everyone as they're getting ready to leave, gathering everything they're
about to take to the bins.

There's a pensive note to Sirius' voice when he speaks, but he sounds steady
and calm as he asks, "If any of you created a monument representing one of
the most painful things you've ever been through, something you saw as
your greatest failure, would you be willing to show it to the world?"

"Suppose that depends, really," Marlene offers, turning to frown at him.

"You're going to have to give us more than that."

"I…" Sirius grimaces, then clears his throat. "What I painted for the art
gallery is—it turned out to be very personal. I didn't really mean for it to be,
mind you, but my muse ran away from me. Moony says that no one who
will see it will even know what it means, but I'll know. He also says it's my
best work, and it—it is quite good, but I don't… I don't deserve to be
praised for it. Because it represents something horrible."

Dorcas straightens up, pursing her lips. "We had a discussion about
expression through art and fashion and the overlap of the two, do you
remember? You said to me then that what we present to the world isn't
always what the world perceives. It might represent something horrible to
you, but someone else could find their own meaning in it."

"I think you deserve to be praised for it," Peter adds with quiet sincerity.
"Even if it's something awful, you put so much effort into it, Sirius.
Regardless of what it represents, the skill and energy you gave to create it
deserves acknowledgement."
"He's right," Lily agrees. "If there's any part of you that wants recognition
for all those hours and how hard you worked, then you should absolutely let
it be praised. It might even be healing, in a way. You said it's something that
hurt you and a failure, but maybe this could provide closure and the chance
to let yourself let go a bit and breathe easier."

James nudges Sirius' shoulder with his own. "It's alright to be scared, mate.
Just don't let the fear hold you back. I always tell you to be proud of what
you make, and I mean that. Besides, Remus is right. Who's going to see it
and know?"

"Only one person, who will never see it," Sirius mumbles.

"All the more reason," James says. "It'll be like your little secret. Maybe
you'll go visit the gallery and make your peace with it in time. You deserve
that chance, too."

"But," Remus adds, "if it actually makes you unhappy, Sirius, don't force
yourself to do it. No one would blame you."

Sirius heaves a sigh. "I sound like a dramatic artist lost to his whims. I don't
even have enough time to paint anything else. I have to transport it to the
gallery in…" He pulls out his cell and grimaces again. "Right, less than two
hours. I—mostly, I do want to make Minerva proud. This opportunity is…
It's fucking brilliant, honestly. It's just, every time I look at that painting, I
end up sobbing like an idiot."
"Well, you know, it's perfectly normal for art to invoke emotion," Marlene
says. "You know what McGonagall always used to say. Art is just the
transfiguration of creation into feeling. So, you go and make people feel,
and if it helps, simply don't look at the painting. Look at the rest of the art."

"I don't really have another choice at this point." Sirius stares down at his
phone, then looks up and swallows. "I have to go, actually. I need to get
dressed, then get the painting to the gallery. Wish me luck?"

Everyone almost immediately does just that, moving in to hug him, giving
him parting words of encouragement. Remus hums when Sirius turns to
him, looking apologetic. "No, you're fine. Don't let me keep you. Just come
over to mine once the night's over, if you like."

"Thanks. You're brilliant, Moony," Sirius tells him earnestly, stepping

forward to press a quick kiss to his mouth. "You'll be alright, yeah?"

"Of course," Remus assures him, fond and amused.

Sirius bobs his head and blurts out another overall goodbye, turning to head
away, focused on his phone. Remus imagines he's getting a ride since they
didn't actually take his bike here today. He watches Sirius go for a moment,
then turns back to start helping the other finish cleaning up.
They all chat easily, and Remus gets a little swept up in it, which surprises
him. In a way, it pleases him to know that he can get on with everyone even
when Sirius isn't around. Makes it all seem a bit more real, somehow.

They're all getting ready to split off when there's the sound of pounding feet
against the ground, which makes everyone look up. Remus turns in just
enough time to get one glimpse of Sirius before his face is caught in
between Sirius' hands and he's being kissed so deeply that he actually
stumbles back a bit. Sirius' feet end up coming off the ground, briefly.

Remus is very startled by this, obviously, so much so that he releases a

muffled sound of surprise, but he's also smart enough not to stop it. Sirius is
kissing him; so, naturally, Remus kisses him back. It's as necessary and
instinctive as breathing. Like it's coming from a great distance, he can just
make out the background sounds of everyone whistling and whooping.

When Sirius pulls away, he doesn't go far. He's breathless and grinning, but
his voice is soft with sincerity when he quietly says, "Thank you. For today.
For—all of it, and you being you, and… Just, thanks. I love you."

"Whatever you need, and I love you, too," Remus tells him, laughing softly
and pushing him gently away. "Now, go."

"Yeah, alright," Sirius says, still grinning, and he steals one more kiss
before he gives his final goodbye, waving at everyone as he goes, a bounce
in his step.
Remus stares after him, fond and in love, and hopes with every cell in his
body that Sirius' night goes exactly as he deserves.

Chapter End Notes

Yeah.

Yeah, you all know what's about to happen...

Or, do you? Make your theories, if you like. But also, what did we
think about Effie and Monty meeting Regulus? Oh, and Remus
meeting more of the friends? Or James thinking Regulus said "I love
you" first, that poor himbo, I adore him. Remus loving every inch of
Sirius, down to his smallest finger. NOT Remus Lupin coming for the
romantic crown, James watch out 😭

See you on Friday. :D

 Chapter 13
Chapter Notes

Oh, my friends, I'm excited for this one. Warnings for references to
child abuse (Walburga's a+ parenting again, but not in real time) and a
panic attack, even if the character doesn't actually realize that's what's
happening. Oh, and angst, angst, angst.

Enjoy :D
See the end of the chapter for more notes

Regulus would like it on the record that he's never done a catering event
before.

Of course, he's been to many, many events just like this in various settings,
but he's never been staff. He's never stood in uniform (literally, he looks like
a butler, complete with a neat bowtie) and been given strict instructions on
how to do his job, which is to basically just stay mostly invisible outside of
keeping the rich and important pleased and fed.

It's just that he used to be the rich and important.

Walburga, if she could see him now, would absolutely die of shame.
Regulus only finds the thought amusing, so he's not even upset at all about
the turns his life has taken. In fact, he relishes it. For one thing, he likes to
be invisible, really; for another, he's sort of delighted by this station for the
simple fact that his mother would hate it. There's some strange sense of
rebellion in it, the kind that has him in shockingly high spirits, despite his
nerves.
Most students had been eager to work in groups, making a ridiculous
amount of small sandwiches, or tiny one-bite desserts such as brownies and
custard. A few, like Regulus, had volunteered to make their own dishes—
one girl had literally spent hours carefully making over a hundred servings
of quite possibly the best variety of sushi that Regulus has ever seen, and
another made six different Charcuterie plates with cheeses, gherkins, and
olives, while someone else went with a wide range of different quiches that
look mouth-watering.

Regulus had finally (and with a pinch of agitation) fallen into old habits and
settled on Scallop Mouse. While he does have a shellfish allergy, it's
crustacean based (like shrimp, crab, and lobster), not mollusks (like clams,
oysters, and scallops), and he always loved Scallop Mouse when he was
growing up. It also just so happened to, unfortunately, be his brother's
favorite thing to have before he left home. It was the very first thing that
Regulus ever properly put in the effort to learn to make that wasn't just pot
noodles and quick meals he could scrape the quid together to actually
afford.

Since he could likely make it in his sleep, despite his love-hate relationship
to the dish, that's what Regulus went with. He spent hours making perfect
replicas of small, individual shells. Three bites at most; two if the bites are
large.

They've already set up for the event while a chortling man came by and
explained a little bit about how he expected the night to go, trying a bit of
everything that would be served. Regulus almost immediately forgot his
name after he said it, more interested in how the man responded to the
Scallop Mouse, which turned out to be with delight. He pointed them out
and declared it would be a favorite among the guests, stealing a second one
with a wink before he left, and Regulus felt some of his nerves disappear
after that.

Their teacher—Chef Sprout—had made her own rendition on Briami (a

lovely homage to Mediterranean cuisine) with small skewers that have a
perfect spread of roasted vegetables, not one mistake on them. She has
nerves of steel and is so very kind when not cooking, but the moment she's
in the kitchen, or involved in an event apparently, she could probably make
Gordon Ramsay cry.

After they've set up, Chef Sprout marches them into the back room holding
various hot-boxes and coolers containing all the replacements they will
rotate when the guests finish off the first round. She groups them all up and
crosses her arms, eyes narrowed as she scans each of them individually.

They all stand there in tense silence under her critical eye, waiting. She
drags it out so long that Regulus can hear the distant sounds of guests
arriving, the volume slowly increasing until the tension is so thick that
Regulus can barely breathe. Chef Sprout gives a terse nod.

"Yes, hear that? Good. That's all you need to concern yourselves with
tonight." Chef Sprout sweeps her eyes across the group once more. "The
man you all just met, who is throwing this event, is an old friend of mine.
When he realized he needed catering, he contacted me. He is trusting me
with this, and I don't plan to betray that trust. I chose this class of all my
classes because it is the most promising. This class above all the rest has the
most talent, and I don't expect any of you will make me regret that
decision."
"Yes, Chef," the entire group choruses, Regulus included.

"Tonight, your only concerns are the guests. You will work together. Two
pairs will be going around with platters to offer a small variety to the
guests, and two people will be waiting at all times to replenish the platters
as soon as they're empty. One person will go around with glasses of wine,
offering to any guest that is empty-handed, but you must keep a keen eye
for anyone who is a bit too tipsy. Carefully avoid them, as we do not wish
for a scene. Someone else will be going around to collect the empty wine
glasses; I do not want to see anyone holding an empty glass for longer than
five seconds, am I understood? Even if someone else must help, then so be
it."

"Yes, Chef."

"If a guest engages in conversation with you, be polite, but do not linger.
You are not here to socialize; you are working. Do not instigate a
conversation with a guest outside of polite inquiries on whether they would
like more wine or something to nibble on."

"Yes, Chef."

"Mr. Black," Chef Sprout says, and Regulus freezes, "you are the only
student I'm certain of knowing every ingredient of everything served on that
table. Am I correct?"

Regulus nods and says, "Yes, Chef."

"Good, then you will be stationed at the table. You will be answering any
questions the guests may have, and you must be attentive involving
allergies. I know we have description cards out, but people will simply
ignore them and ask if what they plan to eat is alright to have. Do not lie in
an attempt to appease them. I would rather them briefly disappointed that
they can't eat something than dead." Chef Sprout raises her eyebrows at
him. "You will offer them alternatives to what they can have and do your
best to keep them all happy."

"Yes, Chef," Regulus murmurs.

Chef Sprout heaves a sigh. "For many of you, this is your first catering
event, especially at this standard. Some of these guests will be wearing ties
more expensive than your home and car combined, and I understand that it
can be intimidating. You will make mistakes. You will find yourself
overwhelmed. But you will not allow any of that to stop you. I will be here
if anyone needs anything. If one person does something to cause a scene, or
disappoint me, I will have you out of my class faster than a fire can spread
in the kitchen."

"Yes, Chef," the group says, properly terrified, and Regulus can't help but
swallow as his nerves come back in full force.

"It's three hours. We can make it through three hours." Chef Sprout looks up
like she's begging the universe to please let them all get through three hours
unscathed. When she looks down, she nods, and her face softens a bit.
"Alright, everyone, get to it."
They do.

The way it's set up, the table is one of the first things the guests will
encounter when coming in. It's out of the way, but easily accessible. The
room stretches out far enough that Regulus can't even see all of it,
especially behind the table, and it means that some guests would have to
walk all the way back if they wanted something else, which is why it's
important for people to walk around with platters.

Regulus is surprised to find himself relaxing into his role, going on some
sort of autopilot. He fixes a charming smile on his face and spends the first
hour repeatedly explaining different dishes and ingredients with a
confidence he's always known he was capable of. He delicately sways four
different people with various allergies, or simple dislikes, from specific
dishes on the table, instead offering alternatives that please them enough to
make them go away. One woman spends about five minutes bemoaning that
she can't have the Scallop Mouse (it looks so pretty, she says) because she
also has a shellfish allergy (crustacean and mollusks, the poor thing), and
there's literally no way he can appease her. She walks off still complaining,
and Regulus forces himself not to let it discourage him.

Within the second hour, the girl who made all the sushi pops up at the table
with an empty platter, her face flushed. Her tie is a little lopsided, and she
sounds panicked when she blurts out, "I'm almost out of sushi, and my tie is
coming undone!"

"If we run out of sushi, that just means that everyone loved it so much. It's a
compliment," Regulus says calmly, stepping back and shuffling over to
gently take the platter away from her. "Stagger it. Take a mix and wait a few
minutes between stopping to ask if a guest would like more."

"Won't Chef be angry?"

"No. She only cares that the guests are happy. Believe me, they won't notice
that you're not asking as often. They won't notice you at all, honestly. They
immediately forget you exist the moment you walk away, I promise you."

"Oh." She blinks rapidly. "That should be an insult, but somehow it's
comforting."

"The sushi you made is beautiful, by the way."

"Thank you. I used to make it all the time with my mother, and I don't get to
do that as much, so it's special to me. It just felt right." She smiles slightly
as she fiddles with her tie. "If I'd known people would love it so much, I
would have made more. I'm Aiko. We've never really talked before, have
we?"

"I don't really talk much to start with, to be fair. I'm Regulus," Regulus says,
moving forward. "I can fix your tie for you."

Aiko's shoulders slump as she drops her hands. "Oh, would you? Thank
you. Yours is so neat. How'd you do that?"
"It's not my first tie," Regulus tells her, lips twitching as he moves over to
fix her bowtie quickly, turning so that they're out of the way, unnoticed by
guests.

"God, I hate wearing these blasted things. They fucking choke me, Reggie,"
Sirius whines, grimacing as he shifts the bowtie at his throat. "Do you think
Mother would notice if I—"

"Mother would notice, and she'd love the excuse, you know that. Stop
pulling at it." Reggie moves forward and smacks Sirius' hands away. "Look,
I'll make it a bit looser for you, yeah?"

Sirius cranes his head back, sighing dramatically. "I hate when Mother
makes us go to these parties. Don't you hate it?"

"I'm not overly fond of them, no."

"Want to cause trouble?"

Reggie arches an eyebrow. "Do I ever?"

"Come on, Reggie," Sirius needles, grinning. He wiggles his shoulders a

little, eyes bright. "Let's have a little fun. Let's cause a scene and run off."
"Do you want Mother to kill us?" Reggie asks, slowly pulling Sirius' tie into
place, loose but neat.

"That's the beauty of it," Sirius whispers, bouncing on his toes, grabbing
Reggie's arms to sway them both, his excitement and mischief oddly
infectious. "She'll never know it was us."

Reggie pats Sirius' tie. "We'll see."

"That's a yes," Sirius declares, blinking a moment later as he rubs his

throat. "Oh, you're good at that. Bloody hell, Reggie, you should be the one
wearing a tie, as good with them as you are."

Reggie can't help but smile.

That night, Regulus recalls, Sirius had pulled the fire alarm, and they'd both
ran off, giggling as they chased each other through the streets. They'd
stayed out all night, never once suggesting that they simply never go home,
but both painfully aware that they wanted exactly that, already knowing
what was waiting on them when they got back. They were young and
stupid, but their mother was not. She knew it was them, especially because
they arrived home so late, but Regulus had thought the punishment was
worth it at the time.
On the subject of ties, Regulus did get good with them. He'd stolen one
from Sirius to wear in the safety of his own room, staring at himself in the
mirror as he tied and retied it over and over, because while Sirius never
wanted to wear them, Regulus always wished he could.

"Oh, you're good at that," Aiko informs him when he draws his hands away.
She beams at him. "Thank you, Regulus."

"You're welcome," Regulus says. "Now, go on before Chef thinks you're

shirking your duties."

"You know," Aiko says as she grabs the tray, "your Scallop Mouse is going
fast, too. You made more than I did. One man in particular steals, like, two
at a time and randomly finds me to get even more. He's nice about it, at
least."

Regulus can't help but smile.

In the third hour, disaster strikes. Chef Sprout shows up at the table in a
flurry, fussing about one of the students spilling wine on a guest. She's in a
clear strop about it, and Regulus winces when he finds out that she sent the
student right home, briefly hoping it's not Aiko. She was rather nice, he
thinks.

In any case, Chef Sprout makes it very clear that she trusts him not to make
the same mistake, then shoves a tray at him and makes it his duty to go
collect empty wine glasses. So, with one last mournful look towards the
table (he was comfortable there, left alone, not having to see all the guests),
he pushes carefully into the crowd and gets to it.

It's easy, at least. He only needs to stop beside someone with an empty
glass, and oftentimes, they'll just sit the glass down on the tray without even
looking at him, or even hold the glass out for him to take without pause in
their conversation. On rare occasions, he'll have to politely ask to take the
glass when someone doesn't notice him at all, and it's particularly hard not
to just snatch the glass and carry on while rolling his eyes.

He does see Aiko again, and she smiles at him as they walk past each other,
so he smiles back. For tonight, the entire class is one union in what
constitutes as a glimpse into Hell. If they don't all come out of it forging
some sort of bond in the fires of torment, he'll be quite surprised.

Regulus means to make a complete circuit of the room, even the parts he
hasn't seen from the table, but he comes to a screeching halt a third of the
way through.

See, tonight was never about the art, for Regulus. It wasn't even about the
charity, as awful as that may seem. He simply didn't care about any of that,
because he's been to many events just like this to know that they're all
mostly the same. So, sure, he briefly glanced at some of the paintings
within his eyesight from the table, but didn't really focus on them. He's been
to better art galleries than this; there was a time that he could have bought
an art gallery if he wanted to. Nothing he saw could really capture his
attention. This painting does.
Regulus stands stock still and stares. It feels as if he's abruptly been shoved
right out of his body, and the whole world seems to just disappear. The
tinkling of glasses, haughty laughter, and proud bragging of the privileged
all fades away, melting into a muted background. He stands in place and
does not move, unable to connect back to his senses to even make sense of
what he's feeling. Just numb to everything.

He's looking at Reggie.

There, captured in a painting so viscerally real, Reggie is being dragged

down by cruel hands while a scarred one grips a necklace instantly
recognizable with obvious anguish. Regulus can't look away. Regulus can't
move. Regulus can't breathe.

Regulus is drowning.

It's impossible, but he can feel the icy depths of the water pressing in on his
skin, weighing his body down. He can feel the ruthless grip of countless
fingers digging into his limbs, his ankles, his arms, his neck—dragging him
and dragging him further away from what he's so desperately reaching out
for. He opens his mouth to try and breathe, but a horrible wheezing sound
escapes his throat in a croak. The taste of murky water assaults his tongue,
clinging to his teeth, making his eyes burn as the world swirls around him.
His neck feels so incredibly light, so bare all of a sudden, and all he can
think about is how he promised to never take that necklace off—a promise
he broke the night everything fell apart.
When he does finally come back to himself, Regulus' heart is racing, and he
feels like he might vomit. He feels physically fucking ill, and he's shaking,
and he doesn't know—he doesn't know much of anything at the moment,
other than a desperate need to get out. He jerks back a step and fumbles
with the tray in his trembling hands, and he watches in mounting horror as
it tips. It sails to the floor in a loud clatter, shattering every empty glass that
filled it, making multiple people yelp and jump back to avoid injury.

Silence falls almost instantly, and Regulus stumbles back another few steps,
his breathing thin, only bump into someone directly behind him, who gently
grabs his wrist to swivel him around and say, "Christ, are you alri—"

The world stops again. Regulus stares at his brother for the first time in
eight years and watches in real time as Sirius' expression of concern falls
slack. His eyes immediately shift with a light of recognition. From Sirius'
free hand, half-eaten Scallop Mouse falls to the floor.

No, no, no, Regulus thinks, alarms blaring in his mind. Stop. Please stop. I
can't, I can't, I can't, I—

"Reggie?" Sirius whispers.

"Sirius," Regulus rasps reflexively, the name tumbling out of his mouth like
a whip-crack, falling between them and shattering the same way the glasses
just did.
Regulus stares at Sirius and can barely even—think. It's like everything
finds separate corners inside him to hide, out of reach from even him, and
he's left with nothing.

Sirius looks the exact same, and so very different. His hair is longer than it
has ever been, longer than their mother ever allowed it to be, shiny and
sleek where it spills over his shoulders. Those shoulders. Regulus used to
look at those shoulders and despise them, and hate them, and envy them so
badly that he ached with it. Sirius has always been broader than him, and a
bit taller, and Regulus used to hate him for looking the way Regulus wanted
to look. Sirius was careless with his appearance, reckless with his body, and
Regulus wanted to scream at him, to scream that it wasn't fair, because if
Sirius didn't care, if Sirius didn't want it the way Regulus did, then why did
he get to have it when Regulus didn't?

Regulus feels none of that envy and hatred lingering now, no longer sour on
his tongue. He has the body he was always meant to have, now. He knows
what he looks like; he knows what Sirius is seeing when he looks at him, all
the differences. There are so many that it's a surprise that Sirius recognized
him at all. How did he see him and know him instantly?

Regulus' hair isn't long. It's short. He doesn't wear makeup anymore. He's
filled out and shaped differently. His voice has changed, and so has his
entire appearance. He looks just as he always saw when he stared at himself
in the mirror, just as he always wanted to, just as he was always meant to;
he looks like the man he is, and always was, and always will be.

Sirius has never seen him before, not really, but he recognizes Regulus
despite that. How? How?
"Your hair. You cut your hair," Sirius breathes out, visibly stunned, his free
hand lifting like he's about to actually touch Regulus' hair. Regulus snaps
his hand up to grip Sirius' wrist and halt him, and Sirius' gaze darts to the
motion. Regulus sees his gaze snag on the bracelet, the one with the trans
flag, and then his eyes are darting up to drink in Regulus' face again, wide
with wonder. "Reggie—"

"That's not my name," Regulus says stiffly, practically choking on the

words, rattling in place. He snatches both of his hands back like he's been
burned and, as he originally set out to do, he turns around and fucking
runs.

"Reggie! Wait, fuck—move, excuse me, get the fuck out of my way, Jesus
Christ. Fucking—Reggie! Reggie," Sirius bellows after him, pushing
through the gallery much the same way Regulus is, causing quite the scene
as he does, because of course he is. He wouldn't be Sirius if he didn't.

Distantly, Regulus thinks that Chef Sprout is going to murder him. There
goes his dreams of becoming a chef. Fuck.

Honestly, he can hardly focus on that. One thing at a time. The biggest
priority now is putting as much distance between him and Sirius as
humanly possible, because he can't do this. He genuinely can't do this. Why
is this happening to him? Eight years, and it had to happen now?

Regulus is still feeling sick from the fucking painting, let alone seeing
Sirius again, so the cold air outside is a mild relief. He gasps it in as he
rapidly takes the stairs down at the front of the gallery, his movements so
quick that he's jolting the entire way, feeling shaken up. He hears it when
Sirius bursts out the doors behind him, curses sharply, then starts after him.

"Goddamn you, Reggie, just stop!" Sirius calls down to him, his pounding
steps loud on the stairs, echoing like gunshots in Reggie's head and seeming
just as dangerous. "You always were faster than me, you little shit. Just—
oh, fuck this."

In the next second, the drumbeat of Sirius' chase goes silent, replaced by the
sharp whir of fabric along metal, and Regulus snatches his hand from the
rail just in time for Sirius to come sliding right past him, hopping down a
few stairs below. He's panting as Regulus jerks to a sudden halt. They stare
at each other, neither of them moving, Sirius blocking the path and Regulus
entertaining the desire to shove him into the street.

Swallowing, Regulus croaks, "Move, Sirius."

"I won't be doing that, actually," Sirius informs him, stubborn as always.
His face shifts and twitches as he flicks his gaze over Regulus from head-
to-toe, assessing. "You—"

"Whatever you're about to say, don't," Regulus snaps, and ah, finally.
There's that reliable fury he's been waiting for. It's so much safer. "I'm not
doing this with you, and I rather think you have an event to get back to. A
painting to show off."
All the color drains from Sirius' face. "You saw—"

"Yes, Sirius, I saw."

"Reggie—"

"That's not my fucking name," Regulus hisses, dropping down one step, his
voice so cold, so harsh, that Sirius' mouth snaps shut seemingly on instinct.
Regulus hates it, but he knows he can sound so much like their mother
sometimes. He can't help it. "Move out of my way. I think you've ruined my
life enough for one night, and I want to go home."

"I—I didn't—I never thought—"

"No, of course not. You don't think. You never have. I'm not surprised that
hasn't changed in all these years."

"Just—just give me five bloody seconds to catch up," Sirius bursts out,
flinging up a shaking hand. "It's been eight fucking years, and the last I saw
you…"

Regulus steps down again, his jaw clenched. "What? Go on, Sirius, say it. I
know you want to."
"Piss off," Sirius grinds out. "I can argue with you and insult you without all
of that. Believe it or not, I'm fully capable of hating you properly without
fucking misgendering you."

"Oh, lovely, would you like a reward for the bare fucking minimum?"
Regulus retorts sharply.

Sirius growls and moves up on the step directly below the one Regulus is
on, bringing them to the same height. "I would like to know what the fuck is
going on! What happened? I—I don't understand why you're here. Mother
would never let—"

"Mother," Regulus cuts in through clenched teeth, "doesn't let me do

anything, or stop me. If you haven't noticed, I don't do the things Mother
would have wanted me to do."

"Yes, I've noticed, which can only mean that she's died within the last eight
years. Has she? Please tell me she has. That would honestly recover this
night from utter ruin."

"Well, I can't be sure, as I haven't seen her in five years. One can only
hope."

"You—that's impossible. Five years?" Sirius stares at him with a staggering

amount of incredulity. "She wouldn't go five years without seeing you.
You're her precious—"
Regulus waits, nostrils flaring, but Sirius presses his lips into a thin line.
His throat lifts and falls, and Regulus huffs out a bitter laugh. "Her precious
daughter, is that it? Is that what you were going to say? You always did like
to bang on about that, didn't you? Thing is, Sirius, you were wrong in more
ways than one. I was never precious, and I was never her daughter."

"Reggie—"

"Stop calling me that!"

"Then what's your fucking name?" Sirius shouts. "Christ, you're as stubborn
as you've always been, you know that?!"

"Me?" Regulus chokes out in disbelief. "Have you ever thought that maybe
I haven't told you my name because I don't want you to know it, Sirius?
Because I don't want to have absolutely anything to do with you? Because I
don't want to talk to you?"

Sirius scoffs. "Well, I don't really care what you don't want. I'm here, you're
here, things are confusing, and we're doing this. So, fucking tell me—"

"I'm not telling you shit," Regulus snarls, roughly shoving past Sirius to try
and get down the stairs, but Sirius lunges after him and grasps his arm.
Regulus whips around, gripping Sirius' fingers to peel them off and bend
them back until he yelps. "Touch me again, and I'll break your fingers."
"Ow, ow, ow," Sirius chants, grimacing. He reaches out and clamps down
on Regulus' wrist, yanking on it. "You utter fucking twat. Let me go."

Regulus does with a huff and whirls back around, rushing down the steps.
Of course, Sirius is the fucking worst, so he follows. "I'm not joking, Sirius.
Stay away from me."

"Right, yes, would love to do that, trust me, but I'm in a bit of a complicated
position at the moment, you see," Sirius says harshly, darting forward to
step in front of Regulus again, blocking him once more.

"That's your problem." Regulus digs his cell out and scowls as he orders a
ride to hopefully get him as far away from here as possible. He just wants to
go home. He wants to curl up in front of his toilet and vomit up all of these
awful feelings until he's empty. He wants Sirius to stop looking at him.

"If it was me," Sirius prompts quietly, "what would you do?"

"I'd misgender you on purpose," Regulus informs him coldly, sliding his
phone away.

Sirius stares at him. "You would, wouldn't you? Or are you just saying that
to goad me into it, so you feel justified hating me?"
"Oh, I feel plenty justified hating you," Regulus declares, and it's true. He
does. He hardly needs more reasons, but he would like them. In a fucked
up, twisted way, he wants them.

"Unlike you, I'm not an awful fucking person—"

"Oh, do you still actually believe that? I always knew you were stupid, but
it's nice to know that hasn't changed."

"And you're still a heartless, raging bitch. Nice to know that this new
freedom you have to be a bloke hasn't changed that about you." Sirius
glares at him, and Regulus can't rise to the bait, because he's scared if he
opens his mouth to retort, he'll just cry. "Just because you're trans doesn't
mean I've forgotten how much of a shit person you are."

Regulus works his jaw. "So, what, you want to point this out with the proper
pronouns, is that it?"

"Yes, well, I can't go about despising you in my head if I'm not doing it
correctly," Sirius grumbles. They stare at each other, silence stretching,
waiting for the other to break first. The same level of stubborn. Regulus
would literally die before he gives in, and usually Sirius is the same, but he
does something unusual from what Regulus remembers of him when they
were fighting. He softens. "I haven't seen you in eight years."

"Whose fault is that?" Regulus whispers and is appalled by the lump

forming in his throat. No, not now. Please not now.
Sirius squeezes his eyes shut. "That painting… I never thought you'd see it.
I'm—I didn't—"

"It doesn't matter," Regulus says, looking down. "It's a beautiful painting, in
any case. You got my hair right."

"I always liked your hair," Sirius mumbles, and when Regulus looks up, his
eyebrows are furrowed. "Even envied it, I suppose. As soon as I could, I let
mine grow out."

Regulus helplessly flicks his gaze over Sirius' hair and can see how similar
it is to how his own used to be. He doesn't hate it on Sirius the way he did
on himself. His eyes sting, and he has to swallow harshly. God, he can't do
this. He can't.

"You should go back." Regulus looks up at the sky, his eyes burning,
inwardly begging Sirius to just go away.

"There's nothing for me in there, really," Sirius says softly, releasing a deep
breath. "You don't—you're not required to tell me, but I—" He struggles
long enough that Regulus glances at him again. He looks a little lost. "It's
just a lot, is all. I can't figure out...any of it. Did you—did you leave? Five
years, you said. You would have been eighteen."

Regulus nods slowly. "I was."

"So, you did leave?" Sirius whispers.

"Yes," Regulus confirms, and Sirius flinches back like he's been slapped,
horror glinting in his eyes. "You never thought I was capable of it, did
you?"

"I—I—how was I supposed to—" Sirius stutters to a halt, but he doesn't

need to say anything else.

Regulus presses his lips together in a tight, trembling smile. He supposes he

always knew, but to have the proof hurts more than he was expecting it to.
Sirius always was the bravest out of the two of them, and Regulus was just
trying to survive. If his survival wasn't dependent on getting out, he knows
that he never would have. How was Sirius supposed to know that it was
killing Regulus to live a lie?

A car rolls to a stop beside them, and Regulus' phone pings with a
notification informing him that it's his ride. When he looks up, there's a
strain of vague panic on Sirius' face, his mouth hanging open like he's
trying to find something to say.

The thing about Sirius is, he's the embodiment of that belief that the first
horrible thought you have is less of a reflection of who you are than the
second where you correct yourself and choose to be kind, instead. He is
fully capable of being cruel and selfish first, but clings to the fact that he
always tries to change that. He wants to be good in a way that erases all the
worst parts of himself, because those parts only remind him of what he
hates, what he's afraid of.

He always seems to forget that he's just as capable of good first, too. He
never saw it that way, like Regulus did. He didn't think of it as good when
he put himself between Regulus and their mother, when he took
punishments for Regulus, when he took care of Regulus the times that he
hadn't managed to. It was never kindness, or being a good person, not to
Sirius. It was instinctive, like breathing, something he didn't think twice
about or come to resent when he had every reason to.

A part of him—some part of him—must want to do good now, to do the

right thing, despite everything.

The problem is they were once good to each other first and, along the way,
stopped knowing how to be. There is far too much of doing the wrong thing
between them to try the opposite ever again. For all the changes they have
gone through, nothing has really changed between them, and Regulus
knows it never will. They're two sides of the same coin, turning and turning
in the air, but what goes up must come down eventually. Regulus is tired of
finding himself facedown in the dark, smothered and alone, unnoticed by
his own brother who gets to have the world.

Regulus isn't doing this again. He's not letting Sirius walk away from him
this time. It's his turn.

He walks to the car and grasps the handle, not planning to look back.
Begging himself not to. Sirius never did, so why should he? But, the truth
of it is and always was, as much as Regulus wanted the world too, he
wanted his brother more.

So, he can't stop himself from looking back, feeling as if he's crumbling.
He's losing it, all of it, all sense of himself. It's as if time has been turned
back to the moment he stood at his window and watched Sirius stumble up
the street with his injured hand clutched to his chest, everything screaming
at him to go with him, an inward promise to do just that if only Sirius would
look back even once. But he never did.

"My name," Regulus chokes out, "is Regulus Arcturus Black, and I'm your
brother. I've always been your brother. There you go, you can hate me
properly now."

With that, he snatches open the door and shoves himself inside, gasping his
address and making it only ten seconds after they've pulled off and he's
curled up against the window to sob so hard that it's painful. At least he's
too busy falling apart to look back, but a small, broken part of him can't
help but wonder if maybe that's the same reason Sirius didn't turn back for
him in the first place.

Guess he'll never know.

"Sirius, m'boy!" Horace declares, dismayed. "Are you hurt? Oh, the head
chef offers her deepest apologies. We're so deeply embarrassed by… Well,
we're not quite sure what happened; you seemed to know the lad who—"

"Yes, excuse me," Sirius interrupts sharply, his tone clipped as he pushes
past Horace and the small crowd, then proceeds to march right up to his
own painting, yank it directly off the wall, and put his fist straight through
it.

Multiple people cry out and gasp, and Horace chokes out his name in shock,
but Sirius ignores him as he drags his hand back out and digs his palm into
the crater left behind to rip it even further. He then tucks it under his arm
and walks right into the front lobby where a truly ridiculous fireplace awaits
him (large and lavish because Horace cares about what people think of
him). Many people follow, their protests falling on deaf ears, because Sirius
just tosses the painting in and watches it immediately go up in flames. He
waits long enough to make sure it isn't salvageable, then turns around to
face everyone else.

"That was mine, just to be clear," Sirius says, and then he leaves without
another word.

He walks.

Sirius has no idea where he's going, but he walks. For as long as he walks,
he isn't thinking. He doesn't want to think, which is why he's walking. Not
thinking and walking; walking and not thinking.
He remembers, suddenly, the day his mother came home with the new
addition to the family. He was still a baby himself; he was so fucking
excited. His built-in best friend for life. It's his very first memory, the
farthest back that he can recall. The blanket wrapped around the new baby
had been pink.

Reggie—Regulus had told him. Regulus had—

"Oh no, Reggie, what did you do?" Sirius whimpers, his whole body
starting to shake with genuine, preemptive fear.

Reggie looks at him with big eyes and smiles sweetly, missing two front
teeth. "Don't you like it? I look just like you, Sirius."

"Why would you do that? Reggie, Mother is going to—" Sirius reaches out
and shakily drags his hand through Reggie's recently cut hair, uneven and
choppy at the hands of a six year old. Sirius has never seen it so short.
"Why did you do this?"

"I want to look like you," Reggie mumbles, voice small now that it's obvious
that Sirius is not pleased.

"You look like a little boy," Sirius says, his voice a mere breath, icy terror
crawling down his spine.
"I know," Reggie replies slowly, like Sirius is stupid for missing the point, as
sassy at this age as sweet.

Sirius swallows thickly. He's only seven, almost eight, and he's not prepared
for this. Mother is going to… Sirius' stomach twists, because this is his
worst nightmare come to life. He can't protect Reggie from what's coming.
He flicks his gaze to the scissors on the sink, then down to the pile of hair in
a ring around Reggie's feet. His mind races trying to figure out how he's
supposed to keep Mother from finding out, entertaining increasingly
ridiculous plans ranging from gathering the hair to glue it back on to
hiding Reggie away until it all grows back, but he knows deep in his
trembling bones that there's nothing to be done. Mother will know. She'll
know, and then—

Frightened and frantic, Sirius scolds Reggie. "You can't do this ever again.
It's not a joke, do you understand? Never do it again, Reggie."

"But I—I just—" Reggie's eyes fill with tears, spilling over quickly, tiny
mouth puckered into a pout. "I just want to look like you."

"I—" Sirius shudders out a deep breath and reaches out to draw Reggie into
his arms, not at all surprised when Reggie starts crying in earnest. Sirius
blinks hard and tries to put some false cheer into his voice. "Of course you
do. I'm your big brother, why wouldn't you? But it's better for you to look
like you, right?"

"Don't I look like me now?" Reggie asks, sniffling against him.

"Sirius! Regina! Come down this instant!" Walburga screeches up at them,
and Sirius' heart drops as he instinctively tightens his hold on Reggie, his
mind kicking back into overdrive again.

"Promise me," Sirius demands as he pushes Reggie back, which only makes
the crying worse, but that's actually better in this case. Sirius shakes Reggie
a little bit. "Promise me you'll never do it again!"

"I—I promise," Reggie sobs, like it's painful to say.

"Good. That's good, Reggie," Sirius whispers, then takes Reggie's hand and
drags them both down the stairs. His whole body rattles, but he busts into
the room with a shaky grin, pulling a crying Reggie behind him, and he
stops in front of their mother. "Look! Look, Mother, I've cut Reggie's hair!
She looks like me!"

Walburga's eyes go cold, and Reggie cries harder.

Sirius stops and tilts his head back to stare up at the sky, his whole body
shaking like he's a child again. The temperature has dropped drastically, to
the point that his hands are so cold they're numb. It's late. He's been walking
for a long time.

There's a bench, so he sits. He doesn't actually know where he is, but to be

completely honest, he doesn't particularly care. Nothing really matters,
because Regulus—little Reggie—had told him. Sirius just hadn't listened.
Sirius was too young to hear what it meant. Sirius was too scared of
Regulus getting hurt that he didn't realize he was hurting him first.

Why didn't he know? Shouldn't he have known? Sirius is thinking now, and
he's thinking about every comment he ever unknowingly made that only
ever pushed Regulus further and further away from him. You're my little
sister. You're Mother's precious daughter. I don't know why you can't go to
Hogwarts, but aren't you excited to go to an all-girls school, seeing as
you're a girl? Wait, you're secretly playing rugby; girls can do that? Well,
you can wear makeup, Reggie, you're a girl; I, on the other hand, would be
beaten half to death by Mother for it. All you're good for is being someone's
wife one day, or so Mother believes, but I think you could be more than that,
don't you? Reggie, go flirt with him as a distraction while I pull the fire
alarm; he likes girls like you.

"Fucking hell," Sirius croaks, shifting forward to brace his elbows on his
knees and cover his face with both hands. Guilt crawls through him, settling
like a boulder in his stomach, making him feel like he's going to sick up.

The worst part is that it's hard. It's hard for him to adjust, shamefully
enough, because he's gone all the years of his life having a little sister, many
of which he spent hating her, except he never had a little sister at all; he has
a little brother, has always had a little brother, and what's worse than even
the worst part is that a part of Sirius still hates him.

Regulus could be a fucking hamster, and a part of Sirius would still hate
him. That's so ridiculous, he doesn't even know what to do with it. What
does he do with that?
What does he do with any of this?

Sirius doesn't want to feel betrayed, but a part of him does. Not because
Regulus didn't tell him. He's old enough that he understands exactly why he
wouldn't. No, what stings is the fact that Regulus got out anyway. He
fucking left, just like Sirius did, and if he was going to do that anyway, why
didn't he—why was he so—why wouldn't he just—

The truth is, Sirius painted how he felt about it. His biggest failure, seeing
Reggie—Regulus slip further and further away, dragged down more and
more each time Sirius came home to check, and he couldn't save him.
Maybe he didn't try hard enough. Maybe he came to hate him so much that
he didn't want to try harder. And all he had to show for it, for all that they
went through, was a scar and a necklace.

He's never really made peace with that, not really, but he'd found a way to
move past it. See, he imagined something entirely different from reality.
When he did think of Regulus, he thought of Regina, a wife to whichever
husband their mother picked out, possibly with child by now; it had never
crossed his mind to think that his nonexistent niece or nephew would be
abused as he and Regulus were, simply because he knew—even after
everything—that Reggie would never stand for it. But the same cycle of
everything else—the pressure, the expectations, the demands, the lack of
freedom—Sirius did expect that to repeat, if not directly from their
nonexistent mother, then from their very real, very horrible grandmother.

But, as it turns out, when Sirius did think of Regulus, he thought of

something that didn't exist. Regulus isn't Regina, was never Regina.
Regulus isn't someone's wife, will never be someone's wife. Regulus isn't a
mother, and won't ever be either. Sirius was so wrong. He couldn't have
gotten it more wrong if he tried, and it's making him fucking cry.

Here he is, eight years later, and he hasn't moved past it at all, as it turns
out. At most, he ignored something that wasn't even real to start with. And
for what? For what?

Regulus got out anyway.

Sirius hunches his shoulders forward and chokes out a muffled sob into his
palms, because why didn't Regulus come with him? Why wasn't he enough?
After everything they'd been through, even the worst of it, didn't he know
that Sirius would have accepted him and saved him, if only he'd let him?
God, why didn't Regulus let him? Sirius wanted to; it ripped him apart how
much he wanted to. It crushed him to realize that he couldn't, that Reggie
didn't want to be saved at all.

Except he did, as it turns out. Or, maybe he didn't. Maybe he genuinely

stopped needing Sirius and just saved himself. That should make Sirius
proud, because it's a good thing, isn't it? It's good that Regulus got out, that
he went after his own freedom, that he was strong enough to fight. But it
hurts. It really fucking hurts, because Sirius wasn't enough, and Sirius
wasn't the reason, and Sirius wasn't there.

I haven't seen you in eight years, Sirius had said, and Regulus had
whispered, Whose fault is that?
"I don't know," Sirius groans, dragging his hands down his face. He stares
down at the scar on his palm, tracing it through the thick layer of tears in his
eyes. "I really don't know."

He doesn't know. He doesn't know anything. He doesn't—

He buries his face in his hands again.

And, really, he doesn't care that Regulus is trans. Well, he cares, of course,
but it's not a problem. Sirius couldn't ever imagine anything like that being
a problem. For their parents, surely, but never for him. He's quite sure that
Regulus could have told him at any point in their lives, and he would have
been in full support; he's in full support now. That's not the issue. So he has
a brother. Brilliant. Thanks for the update, he will adjust accordingly, and if
anyone dares to say any different, he will simply beat the everloving shit
out of them.

That's not the problem here. The problem is that Sirius was fucking done
with his family. Mother, father, even brother. He was done, and nothing—
absolutely nothing—could ever change his mind. Nothing could ever make
him regret that.

But he's seen Regulus again, he's laid eyes on his little brother, and oh god,
oh god, he regrets it.

Sirius still has his anger, and his hatred, but…

Exactly that: but.

It's so different from what he'd always imagined that he can't just—just
move past it. Is he meant to just let it go? He has so many fucking
questions. Too many, like: Why did Regulus leave? Was it specifically to
transition, or did something else push him to it? Did he run away in the
middle of the night like Sirius, or did he simply never come home one day?
What does Mother know? Where did Regulus go when he left? Did he have
people to rely on, or was he alone? How did he end up here, serving at a
bloody art gallery? The Scallop Mouse was him, wasn't it? Is he okay? Is he
safe?

That can't just be it. That's not it, is it? It can't be. Sirius belatedly bolts to
his feet, swinging around, only to come to an abrupt halt when he realizes
he's eight years too late.

"Fuck," Sirius whispers, and he drops back down on the bench, sobbing all
over again.

He thinks about how Regulus looked. Just that first glimpse of him. The
same eyes, the same sharp jaw, the same frowning mouth. That's it, though.
That's really all that's the same besides his thin wrists and small hands (they
were always so frail, but not so much when he was threatening to break
Sirius' fingers, the prick) and likely his bony ankles that Sirius used to enjoy
kicking underneath the table to try and break Regulus' poker face while
their mother ranted about something (he never managed it; Regulus has
always had an infuriatingly impeccable poker face).
Even his voice is different—smoother and deeper—and Sirius remembers
thinking he'd give a lot to hear Reggie's voice just one more time, even in
the midst of a fight, only to find out he'll never hear it the same way again,
and he's entirely okay with that, but that same wish to hear it again hasn't
left him at all. He wants to hear it as it is now.

The horrible, messy truth of it is, Sirius loves his brother the same as he did
the day he showed up wrapped in a pink blanket, and hates him the same
way he did the night he left, bruised and bleeding, and hurting even more
for the fact that he refused to let himself look back.

So much has changed, and nothing at all has, really, but…

There it is again.

But.

A car drives by on the street, and Sirius' head snaps up, a harsh breath
punching out of him. He's shivering. It's cold, and late, and he doesn't know
where he is. His eyes are crusty, his face is swollen, and he doesn't know
what to do.

But he can't do nothing, he does know that.

So, he shakily pulls out his cell, but it's been dead since before he ever saw
Regulus, seeing as he never charged it while he was holed up in his studio.
He shoves it back in his pocket, stands up, and starts walking again.

Eventually, things start to look familiar. He's exhausted and aching, but he's
relieved when he realizes he's not too terribly far from Remus' flat. He's
only been there on his bike, just once, so he gets lost and misses the
building twice before he finds it. There's no doubt in his mind that it's well
past midnight at this point, so he can only hope that Remus isn't asleep yet,
or—if he is—that he wakes up easily.

Yet, only seconds after he knocks, Remus wrenches his door open and
immediately makes a low, choking noise the second he sees him. Sirius
doesn't even get to blink before Remus has his hands practically all over
him, touching his arms and pressing into his shoulders and cupping his
cheeks.

"What the fuck, Sirius? Where have you been?" Remus bursts out, his voice
shaking, and he doesn't wait for an answer before he's yanking Sirius into a
tight hug.

He can't just do that right now. Sirius is so fragile at the moment that he
pretty much immediately starts crying all over again, dropping almost all
his weight against Remus.

"What's wrong? What happened? Sirius, are you hurt? Sirius," Remus rasps,
pulling back to flutter his hands all over him yet again, clearly freaking the
fuck out, and Sirius just keeps crying. He can't seem to stop. "I need you to
tell me if you're hurt, alright? Just nod or shake your head. Are you—"

"Not—physically," Sirius manages to get out, his voice strangled, and

Remus only seems to calm by a small bit.

"Alright, I can—I can work with that. Christ, you're like ice, you're
shivering. Bloody hell, get inside." Despite the stress in his voice, Remus is
exceedingly gentle when leading him into the flat, immediately taking him
to the bed and making him sit on the edge of it before wrapping him in no
less than three blankets. He breaks off to go into the kitchen, starting some
tea, swiping his phone as he goes. He puts the phone between his ear and
shoulder, his voice softening to a low murmur as he starts talking. "James,
I've got him. Yeah, he just showed up. Not physically, he says, but
something has clearly happened to him. No, I don't think so. I don't know.
You'll tell the others? Good, yeah. I—honestly, mate, I'm not sure. If it's
something like that, I'll let you know. Yeah, alright, as soon as he's ready. I
know. Breathe, James, I've got him."

Sirius can guess what a mess James must be just listening to Remus
reassure him, and he can also guess that the others that were mentioned are
the rest of his friends, who were likely also worried about him. It makes
him wonder if Regulus has someone he loves that would frantically check
him over, or a best friend who would be on the verge of a panic attack at the
thought of something happening to him, or any other friends who would
worry about him if he went missing. He doesn't know, and that makes him
start crying again.

He's mostly stopped (it seems to come in waves) by the time that Remus
comes over with a cup of tea, gingerly pushing it into his hands and
kneeling in front of him.

"What time is it?" Sirius whispers.

"Half past three," Remus murmurs, reaching up to gently nudge Sirius'

wrist, urging him to drink.

The first sip makes him shudder, and he realizes how cold he is, but it does
warm him. His fingers are starting to thaw out around the steaming cup. It
stings a bit, but in a good way. He takes another sip and croaks, "Sorry."

Remus takes a deep breath and slowly lets it out, his hands falling to Sirius'
knees, squeezing them. His fingers are shaking. "Let's not worry about any
of that right now. You're going to drink your tea, and then we're going to get
you out of that suit and into something warmer, yeah?"

Sirius doesn't agree, or disagree, but that's what happens. Remus says it, so
Sirius does it. He finishes his tea in complete silence and feels mildly better
after, more human, certainly warmer than before. Remus pulls the blankets
off, then removes his shoes one-by-one, then carefully tugs on his hand to
make him stand and starts peeling him out of his suit, one layer at a time.
There's nothing sensual about it, but there is an intimacy to how tenderly he
touches Sirius, translating how much he cares through every brush of his
fingers.

Remus is taller, so the pajama bottoms he gives Sirius pool down over his
socked feet, but they're soft and worn and comfortable. Remus also happens
to wear sweaters too big for him, so Sirius fits into one easily. It's as warm
as Sirius always associates them with Remus, and he twists his fingers in
the gentle wool of the sleeves, soothed by it.

After that, Remus bundles him up in blankets again, and Sirius lets him
even though he's warm now. They sit on the bed right beside each other, and
Remus stuffs one hand in the folds of the blankets just to tangle their fingers
together, like he needs something to hold onto but doesn't want to push too
much.

"Was everyone very worried?" Sirius mumbles.

"James was out with Peter and Mary looking for you all night. Lily went
between hers and Mary's in case you went there since they're neighbors, and
Dorcas went to Pete's in case you showed up to his, and Frank went to
yours and James' flat in case you went home, while Marlene, Alice, and I
stayed at ours in case you came to us," Remus explains.

Sirius squeezes his eyes shut. "Fuck. I—I didn't even—my cell is dead, and
I didn't even think—"

"No, don't, Sirius. All that matters is that you're alive and safe. That was the
outcome we all wanted, so don't be upset. This is better than—" Remus has
clenched his eyes shut when Sirius opens his own to check. He swallows,
then opens his eyes to look at Sirius. "We were all just worried, so everyone
will be relieved to know you're alright."
"I didn't know I was out so late," Sirius admits.

Remus squeezes his hand. "You never showed up, even when I knew the
gallery was closed, and you didn't call. I thought, at first, that you just went
home, but you didn't even message me. Something just felt—wrong, so I
reached out to James just to check, just to make sure, but he said you never
came home. He reached out to everyone else, and by the time we all
realized that no one knew where you were or had heard from you, it was
close to midnight. We've been waiting ever since, and I'm not telling you
this to make you guilty; I'm telling you this so you know we're all relieved
you're safe."

"I'm still sorry. I didn't mean to put any of you through that. I just—I—"
Sirius' mouth screws up, lips trembling as his eyes somehow flood with
tears again. How does he have more tears to shed? Though, really, he
knows that's a stupid question. He always has more tears to shed for
Reggie.

"Sirius," Remus says cautiously, "what happened? I just—I don't want to

push, but I want to—I need to make sure that you're not—that no one did
anything to—"

"I set my painting on fire," Sirius blurts out, and Remus' mouth snaps shut.
"I just...tore it from the wall, put my fist through it, and threw it into a
fireplace."

Remus studies him carefully. "So, it was the painting, then? That's what
made you…"
"He saw it," Sirius whispers, his head wobbling to the side like it's too
heavy to hold up. A hoarse laugh escapes him. "The one person who knew
what it meant, who was never supposed to see it, he was there. He saw it."

"Oh, Sirius, I'm sorry," Remus murmurs, his eyebrows drawing together.
"I'm so fucking sorry."

Sirius shakes his head and sniffs, shrugging weakly. "He said it was
beautiful, actually. But, ah, do you—do you remember asking me if I was
an only child, or if I had any siblings, and I said no to both?"

"Yes," Remus says slowly, straightening up slightly as he stares at him,

something like fear blooming in his eyes.

"I wasn't an only child. I have a little—brother," Sirius admits in a croak,

letting out a shaky breath. Remus is frozen, not even breathing. "I saw him
tonight for the first time in eight years. My little Reggie, I saw him. I saw
—" Sirius can't finish for crying so hard, but he's abruptly snatched right
out of his own sorrow by Remus yanking away and shooting to his feet,
moving right for the door. Sirius stares after him, his shoulders heaving.
"Moony? Where are you—"

Just as suddenly as Remus moved away, he stops. He comes to a jerky halt,

his back to Sirius for a long moment, and then he slowly turns around. He's
pale. He says nothing.
"Please don't—I'm sorry I didn't tell you, but please don't leave me," Sirius
chokes out.

"No, Sirius. No, of course not," Remus whispers, his voice faint, and he
comes right back to the bed. He sinks down beside him, swallowing
harshly, blinking rapidly.

"I know you don't know everything, but it's—it's really complicated," Sirius
admits, reaching up to swipe shaking fingers over his cheeks. "I can't—I
can't explain all of it, I'm sorry, but I just—I just really need you right
now."

Remus reaches out and gently pulls him in, holding onto him, even through
the lump of blankets. He cups the back of Sirius' head and doesn't complain
when Sirius hides his face into the curve of his neck, breathing him in, still
leaking hot tears like he'll never stop. "I'm here, Sirius. I'm right here."

They stay just like that, Sirius leaning into Remus and Remus holding him,
until Remus rearranges them to lay together on the bed. He shifts the
blankets until they share, and then they press together without saying
anything else. Sirius doesn't stop crying for a long time, and Remus stays,
and Remus holds him, and Remus doesn't leave.

Sirius loves him so much that it hurts.

Eventually, the tears do stop again, hopefully for the final time tonight (or
this morning, really). Sirius lays there and feels Remus slowly fall off into
fitful sleep, likely exhausted and emotionally drained from the hours he
spent fretting. Sirius can't fall asleep, though. His eyes are sore, and he's so
tired, but his mind won't let him rest.

As carefully as possible, Sirius slips out of bed and moves around as quietly
as he can to dig his cell out of his discarded pocket. He shuffles to the table
under the window that's still open, the umbrella ashtray full and an open
pack of smokes left with only three waiting, telling Sirius that Remus sat
right there and stress-smoked all night.

Sirius takes a page out of his book and settles at the table, plugging his
phone into the charger Remus has. He has one smoke while he waits for his
cell to charge up enough to power on again. Bracing one hand against his
forehead, Sirius just sits there and stares at the dingy tabletop with itchy
eyes.

As soon as Sirius cuts his phone on, it starts flooding with notifications for
missed calls and messages immediately. It's thankfully set on silent, so he
just clears them all without even looking at them, very much not in the state
of mind to deal with it at the moment. Tomorrow, after he sleeps, he will
make sure to reach out to everyone and apologize, and thank them, and let
them know he loves them all a truly ridiculous amount.

But Sirius can't sleep yet. He taps at the screen, going to Google, and takes
a deep breath before typing Regulus with one hand, while the other drags
the smoke to his lips so he can inhale and let it burn, burn, burn in his lungs.
Just as he thought, the first thing that's suggested is Regulus star, and Sirius
knew. Of course he knew, because he used to brag about being named after
the brightest star in the sky enough that he was at least a little aware of the
ones that he outshined.
My name is Regulus Arcturus Black, Regulus had said.

What a horribly pretentious name, Sirius had thought, and wanted to laugh,
and wanted Regulus to laugh with him, and wanted so desperately to ask
why he chose it.

Sirius clicks on Regulus star and isn't at all prepared for what he finds out.
As he reads the description, his eyes blur, because he apparently will be
crying again. He reads the words and hangs his head, covering his mouth
with his free hand to muffle the sound of him weeping harder than he has
all night, because now he knows, and it rips him apart.

Regulus UK: US, designated α Leonis, is the brightest object in the

constellation Leo and one of the brightest stars in the night sky, lying
approximately 79 light years from the Sun. The Leo constellation is in the
shape of a lion, and due to Regulus' placement, the star is also commonly
known as Qalb Al Asad, from the Arabic phrase meaning, “the heart of the
lion.”

Sirius wonders if Regulus can feel his heart breaking.

Chapter End Notes

Me, when writing this and researching Regulus' star: oh my god, heart
of the lion??? WRITE THAT DOWN, WRITE THAT DOWN ✍✍ ✍

Also me, when seeing that the Regulus star is 79 light-years away from
the sun: aw, James is the sun, and Regulus canonically dies in 1979,
the dots, I've connected them 😭
Also, fun fact, the line "Sirius belatedly bolts to his feet, swinging
around, only to come to an abrupt halt when he realizes he's eight
years too late" made me cry and stop writing for two days.

Anyway, thoughts?
 Chapter 14
Chapter Notes

So, got some surprises for this chapter! New characters, new
information, and a POV switch of a sort! In this chapter, and the next
one, the POV will be split differently from all the ones before it.
Usually, it's Regulus to Sirius, then James to Remus. In this chapter,
it's James to Sirius, and the next is Regulus to Remus. It's important to
the plot, trust me.

Heavy warnings for this chapter: angst, of course. characters

misgendering Regulus on account of not knowing he has transitioned.
brief reference to the horrible reality of trans people, abused people, or
abandoned people, or all three, committing suicide. a brief discussion
about a character committing suicide (fake news, not real, inaccurate).
brief reference to Walburga's A+ parenting. brief discussion about
child abuse, about the fact that Sirius and Regulus were abused as
children.

Lighter warnings for this chapter: some spice, believe it or not again,
nothing genuinely explicit or descriptive, but it's obvious what
happened. a character gets sick, but it's not very descriptive, you just
know it happens. mild jealousy, some protective older brother stuff,
and some good old fashioned lying.

This chapter is...a lot. It's a whole whirlwind, so enjoy ;)

See the end of the chapter for more notes

James ends up at Regulus' door. He doesn't really mean to, but he hasn't
gotten much rest, and he can't shake off the awful fear that's been clinging
to him since last night.
It's only once James is in front of Regulus' door that he realizes he never
reached out to Regulus to ask how the catering event went. He had no room
to care about literally anything when his best friend was missing. His worry
for Sirius entirely encompassed everything else, and it wasn't until after
Remus called him that James finally crashed. What little sleep he did get
was fitful, making him wake up nearly every hour, somehow feeling that
something had gone really wrong. He eventually gave up, dragged himself
from bed as the sun started to rise, showered, then found himself...here.

Because, really, James just wants to stop feeling like this. For those hours
that he didn't know if Sirius was safe, if he was alright, it was like
something bleak and insidious slithered into his veins and started rotting.
Like a dying garden in desperate need of rain, James is drawn to Regulus,
wanting the safety and reassurance of his storm. He can't go to Sirius, who
is likely still asleep at Remus', and honestly? The only person James can
imagine making him feel better is Regulus.

James knocks and is immediately startled by the sight that greets him when
the door opens. Regulus is wearing a short, silk robe with a belt barely
keeping it closed, the front of it open wide enough to bare most of his chest,
his top surgery scars visible to the world. The end of it barely reaches the
top of his thighs, and James knows instantly that Regulus is naked
underneath, was probably naked moments before and simply threw the robe
on to answer the door.

Briefly, James is momentarily distracted by legs and thighs and a chest and
the slip of shoulder where the robe rides down. However, when Regulus
pulls up the shimmering fabric to settle it properly on his shoulder, James
quickly darts his gaze up and feels his heart drop when he actually, properly
takes in Regulus' face. There's a hollowness to his eyes, completely devoid
of any spark, and he's pale with soft purple-grey impressions under his
bloodshot eyes. He looks washed out, exhausted, and worryingly empty.
"I was attempting to sleep," Regulus informs him quietly, no emotion to his
voice at all. He doesn't sound harsh or gentle, simply...robotic. "Wasn't
actually managing it, though, to be fair. Would you like to come in?"

"Please," James murmurs, and Regulus steps to the side to let him in.
Regulus shuts the door and brushes past him to head to the kitchen, and
James follows. "Are you alright?"

"No," Regulus says, then doesn't elaborate. He doesn't even glance back as
he starts, by the looks of things, making them hot cocoa. "I could ask you
the same thing. What's wrong?"

James swallows and goes to lean against the counter beside Regulus, not
looking at him as he wraps his arms around himself. "My best mate went
missing last night."

"What?" Regulus' hand lands on his arm, and James glances over to see the
first genuine flicker of life in him since he opened the door. He's frowning,
and there's a furrow of concern between his eyebrows. "Is he alright? Was
he found? Should you even be here right now, James?"

"He's safe," James croaks, blinking hard. "He's with his boyfriend now,
probably resting. I don't know all the details, but I spent most of last night
out looking for him. I was… Regulus, I was so—I was really—"
Regulus sits a mug down firmly and turns to reach out and cup James' face
between two cold hands. "I'm sorry. I know that must have been
frightening. I—I'm sorry I didn't call or message; I would have helped you
search."

"You—"

"James, of course, even if I don't know him. He's your best friend. He's
important to you, and you're important to me."

"Thanks," James whispers, and he feels his shoulders slump with the
additional weight of guilt and complications. The thing is, Regulus does
know Sirius. It's awful that Regulus didn't even know his own brother went
missing last night. James can't even fucking tell him without ruining
everything.

"I'm sorry it happened," Regulus says softly, "but he's alright, you said?
That's all that matters." He brushes his thumbs over James' cheeks, then
slides one hand around to grip the back of his neck, gently urging James to
lean into him. James does exactly that, practically crumbling into his arms,
releasing a sharp, rattled exhale. "I suppose last night was just shit for
everyone. Fucking awful night for us all. I do wish you could have escaped
unscathed, though."

"You had a shit night?" James asks with a frown, pulling away to scan
Regulus' face. "The event didn't go well?"
Regulus' face just drops, all the life draining right back out like it never
existed in the first place. "You could say that."

"I'm sorry, love. Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not at the moment. Right now, I just want…"

James reaches up to push back the swoop of hair over Regulus' forehead.
"What do you want?"

"I want—" Regulus cuts himself off, swallowing harshly, and he fixes a
calculating look on James for a long moment. Then, pressing forward,
Regulus kisses him. James tries to kiss him back gently, with the idea of
comfort, but Regulus kisses him harder, harsher, deeper. One of his hands
winds into James' hair, fisting the messy strands, and he presses him back
into the counter with intent, kissing with tongue and teeth and no intention
of slowing down.

"Mm, mmph, Regulus, love," James says, muffled as he turns his head,
squeezing his eyes shut. Regulus turns his attention to James' jaw, fucking
sinful when he wants to be, and James shudders. "I—yeah, of course, but
are you sure you're in the proper state to really—to, ah—"

"James," Regulus says firmly, pulling back to glare at him, eyes narrowed,
"I'm not intoxicated, and I'm a full adult man who can make my own
decisions, so for once in your fucking life, stop being so bloody noble. I
want this. I want you. So, please, if you would be so kind as to fuck me, that
would be lovely."

James blows out a breath so deep that it rounds his cheeks out like a
chipmunk. "Christ, Regulus."

"I want to feel—" Regulus stops, then slides his free hand down to tug the
loose belt on his robe apart, letting it fall open. Regulus holds his gaze and
whispers, "I want to feel."

And, really, James gets it. Maybe he shouldn't, because it's the exact
opposite for him, but perhaps that's why he does get it. James feels too
much and only wants to feel this one thing, the way Regulus makes him
feel. In turn, Regulus is feeling nothing and wants to feel the way James
makes him feel. They want to lose themselves to each other, and it's so easy
to do.

Almost helplessly, James drags his hand up Regulus' silk sleeve, tracking
the progress of his fingers as they slip up, bunching fabric, brushing over
ruffles. His hand reaches where the robe is open and slack over the dip of
Regulus' shoulder, and James can't rip his gaze away as he helps it slip all
the way off, the robe pooling to the floor.

James pulls Regulus in, and Regulus drops his head back with a sigh of
relief, a hum of triumph, as James' mouth gets lost in the curve of the
column of his throat.
They do lose themselves in each other after that, a blur of clothes hitting the
floor, mouths and hands on skin. Snapshots of a storm progressing across
sunny skies: the clatter of mugs being pushed aside mindlessly and
frantically as James sits Regulus onto the counter, moaning into his mouth;
Regulus gasping as his back thuds against the wall, arms around James'
shoulders, legs around James' waist; fingers tangling, kisses unraveling,
bodies lost and not found for quite some time.

In the end, they never even make it to Regulus' bedroom. They get about
four steps away from his door and get no further.

"Well," James says, shaky and a bit blind without his glasses. He turns to
put his back against the wall beside Regulus, their chests heaving, the wall
mostly holding them up at this point.

"Well," Regulus agrees, his head thumping back against the wall. He huffs
out a soft laugh, then proceeds to slide down the length of the wall, naked
and trembling.

James follows suit, blinking slowly. "So, how do you feel?"

"Tired," Regulus says, then chuckles. That sets James off, and then they're
both just laughing in pure exhilaration, and Regulus drops his head over on
James' shoulder.

"Good, then?" James asks, grinning.

Regulus lazily swats James' bare chest. "As if your ego needs the
compliment."

"I don't know," James murmurs, his smile fading. A serious note fills his
voice. "Sometimes… Well, sometimes it does. Not necessarily about sex,
but just… It's nice to—to be told nice things, is all. Do you know what I
mean?"

"Yeah." Regulus is silent for a beat, then he pushes himself forward with a
grunt, getting to his feet. He holds his hand down to James. "Come with me.
We're getting a shower."

James takes his hand, and they do, in fact, get a shower together. It's a bit of
an experience. James has never actually showered with anyone else before
(Lily never offered, and James never thought to ask), and he's not expecting
it to be so...well, fun. It should be vulnerable and intimate, shouldn't it,
seeing as they're both naked and not in the midst of shagging.

But, honestly, they just flick water at each other, and James playfully gets
handsy while Regulus rolls his eyes. They wash each other's hair, and James
cackles when he spikes Regulus' hair into a sudsy Mohawk, and Regulus
makes teasing insults about the fact that James can't read the small script on
the shampoo bottle. They try to shag simply for curiosity's sake, only to end
up laughing because no, no, that doesn't work at all. James starts belting out
a One Direction song (Baby, you light up my world like nobody else, he
sings directly into a bottle of body wash he can't read, pointing at Regulus
as he does), and Regulus swats him on the arse as he gets out.
James actually has clothes to change into, things he's left behind after
staying over so often, and Regulus finally gets around to making hot cocoa.
They settle on the sofa, leaning into each other, sipping from their mugs.

"I love you," James announces without warning, turning to look at Regulus.
"I just want you to know that. I love you so very much, Regulus."

Regulus looks down with a small smile, and he looks better than he did
when he answered the door. Still tired, but it comes with a calm, satisfied
undercurrent now. "I do know that, and I love you."

"I'm glad you know," James murmurs fondly.

"You know what you should know?" Regulus takes a quick sip of his cocoa,
then sits it down, reaches out to grab James' to sit it aside as well, and shifts
on the sofa to—well, he pretty much just clamors into James' lap with
basically no finesse, getting his foot stuck and needing James to pull it out
and help him situate properly. Once he's there, though, Regulus looks right
into his eyes. "You said before that it's nice to be told nice things, and I
don't tell you nice things very often."

James lazily taps his fingers on Regulus' hips, giving him a very pointed
look. "Well, you know I like it when you're mean to me, love."
"Oh, I'll always be mean to you; that will never change. But I can do both,
James. This is just rarer." Regulus reaches up and runs his fingers gently
through James' hair. "I like your hair. I like the little indents you have on
each side of your nose from your glasses. I like your smile—sometimes, it
feels like the best part of my life, simply getting to see it, having it focused
on me. I like that you have a dimple sometimes, but not all the time, and I
like that I never know when it will appear. I like your laugh, how rich and
textured it is, almost like I can taste it. I like the width of your shoulders,
and the small curved bone in your pinky finger like you're always ready to
make a promise, and the way you can never, never truly sit still for longer
than five seconds, even when you're sleeping. I like some of your most
ridiculous jokes, and how you love to make people laugh, and the way you
love your friends and family and me. I like that you call me love, and I like
that you're the sun, and I like, most of all, that you're mine."

James is quite sure that he could lift a fucking bus at the moment. He has
absolutely no idea how it feels like he needs to curl up and fold himself as
small as he can get, while also feeling as if he needs to expand until he just
explodes. He's smiling so hard his cheeks hurt, and Regulus is so rarely
open with all the affection and fondness and pure, inarguable love he
unleashes in his expression, in his eyes, the way he is right now. James feels
like he needs to run laps, and also as if he's just sunk into a warm bath that
untangles every tense knot he's ever had in his body. Oh, he loves him. He
really does.

"Who would have thought?" James says, breathless. "Can you imagine us
getting here from the day I came in from the storm that led me right to
you?"

"Do you want to know something really nice?" Regulus asks, his lips
twitching.
"Go on," James urges, ridiculously eager.

Regulus' eyes sparkle, and he leans in like he's telling a secret as he

whispers, "I fancied you the moment I saw you."

"No! Did you really?" James blurts out, eyes bulging, and he's so delighted
by this new information that he jolts up straight and nearly upends Regulus
from his lap.

"I did, really," Regulus confirms, laughing softly into the enthusiastic kiss
James immediately drags him into.

They snog for a bit, until Regulus just slumps against him with a satisfied
hum. James has worked out by now that Regulus likes to sit like this when
they're lazing about. Likes using James' shoulder as a pillow, and likes
nosing at James' neck and pressing random, mindless kisses to it in between
quiet murmurs. Likes stuffing his fingers up James' shirt to warm them on
James' stomach or sides, and likes pinching his sock-clad toes into the side
of James' legs. Likes squeezing his knees together against James' hips to
silently urge him to keep sweeping hands up and down the hunched curve
of his back, and likes the surprise of every kiss James ducks in to drop off
on his cheek, neck, hair, or whatever he can reach.

The thing about Regulus is, he's as touch-starved as Sirius is and has always
been. He's just much more reserved and less willing to allow himself to be
satiated. Once he's comfortable and all his defenses have come down,
though, he can't seem to get enough, and James is more than happy to
provide.

Yet, in the same breath, just as this position and steady contact can calm
him, his mood can change like shifting winds. Always when least expected.
That's the thing about natural disasters; it's in their nature. Regulus is the
same, and when his mood turns, there's nothing to be done but brace for
impact and weather the storm.

"Alright?" James asks carefully when Regulus pulls away abruptly, no

longer at ease, his face worryingly blank.

"I did something last night that I didn't want to do," Regulus tells him, jaw
clenching, hands balling into fists on the inside of James' jumper.

James frowns. "What did you do?"

"I left," Regulus whispers, and his eyes are suddenly, without warning,
getting shiny with a flood of tears collecting at his eyeline, on the verge of
falling in mere seconds.

"The event?" James mumbles, eyebrows drawing together, genuine concern

making his jaw clench.
Regulus opens his mouth, but his lips tremble around words that don't seem
willing to come out. He closes his eyes tight, then manages to choke out,
"My brother. I left my brother."

James freezes. His breath catches in his lungs, a sharp twist surging through
his chest, and it's like a record scratches in his brain. His body is reacting
before his mind latches onto what those words mean, and later, he thinks,
he'll be very fucking grateful that Regulus isn't looking at him right now,
because he has no idea what his face is doing, but he has no doubt that it's
very telling.

"He was there, at the event. First time I saw him in eight fucking years, and
he was displaying a horrible, lovely painting about—about me," Regulus
says with a hoarse, scratchy laugh, his expression crumbling. "What do I
even do with that? You know what I did, James? I ran. I ran right into him,
and he recognized me instantly, and then I ran from him, too. But, of
course, he couldn't just leave me alone; of course not. He saw me, and we
argued, and I didn't want to—I didn't—but I left him there, and now I'll
never—"

Regulus breaks down, all the tension in his body going out at once, causing
him to slump to the side a bit, where he curls in on himself and slips right
out of James' lap. It's a good thing that happens, so James doesn't have to
shove him aside as he launches to his feet and bolts.

In his defense, he's been feeling queasy since last night, that sickly
sensation only recently soothed with Regulus' help, and when it slams into
him with full force once again, he literally can't tolerate it this time. It's so
much worse this time. Bad enough that he slams his way into the loo, drops
in front of the toilet, and finds that the hot cocoa is not as good coming up
as it is going down.

James has never actually given it much thought, but if asked, he wouldn't
say he has a weak stomach. It's just that this is honestly one of the most
awful things that's ever happened to him. Fucking hell, Sirius saw Regulus
last night, which explains why he went missing, and James can't even begin
to imagine how Sirius has been feeling since. And what did James do? He
went and shagged Sirius' little brother to feel better, because he was worried
about Sirius to start with.

The guilt makes the rising bile burn.

"Fuck," James gasps out, shuddering, and he squeezes his eyes shut as he
shakily flushes the toilet. A cool hand touches the back of his clammy neck.
James can't stop himself from groaning and curling into the contact,
because even now, even knowing what he does, he can't help but want
whatever Regulus will give him. "Sorry."

"Were you feeling sick? What's the last thing you had to eat, James?"
Regulus asks quietly.

James swallows convulsively and sniffs, not opening his eyes. His stomach
is still churning. "I had takeaway yesterday. Nothing else since. Well, the
hot cocoa."

"It has cardamom, which—"

"—helps with nausea. I remember."

Regulus hums pensively, then passes his fingers through James' hair before
pulling away. "Give me a moment. I'll be right back." True to his word, he's
not gone very long before he's there again, holding out a glass to James.
"Rinse your mouth. You can use my toothbrush after."

"Thanks," James says weakly, then doesn't say anything else until he's
dropping the toothbrush back in the holder, his mouth minty fresh. The
nausea remains, and the guilt hasn't alleviated one bit, but he's been given a
moment to gather his wits. He needs to see Sirius as soon as possible, but he
doesn't want Regulus to be alone either. He can't say anything, can't just
break and tell Regulus everything the way he wants to, because Remus is in
this as well. How is that fair? They're in this together. James wants to
scream at the sky when he realizes that there are so many variables involved
in this, so he's always betraying someone, isn't he? All he's trying to do is be
loyal to them all. Why is this so fucking complicated?

"How do you feel now?" Regulus murmurs, stepping close to lay the back
of his hand against James' forehead, a frown of concern etched onto his
face.

Like a shit person, James thinks. "A bit better," James lies. Well, it's a half-
lie. He doesn't feel like he's going to vomit a second time (mostly due to the
fact that he has nothing left to give), so that's technically a bit better.

"Have you slept at all?" Regulus asks, eyes narrowing.

"Not much," James admits wearily.

Regulus' lips press into a thin line. "Go home, James. Go home and rest,
and see your best friend. The worry and stress aren't helping. No, don't
argue with me. You—"

"What about you?" James argues anyway. "You saw—"

"Yes, and I'll get over it," Regulus declares sharply, like it's a command, like
it's law. "If you're worried about anything, he didn't—he wasn't awful about
me being trans. It's not like that. I just… I hate him. I hate my brother.
That's all it is."

James shakes his head. "Don't say that. You don't mean it."

"I do."

"No, Regulus, you don't. You can't. I—I mean, you said you didn't want to
leave him, right? What does that mean? That has to mean something. It—it
has to mean—"

"James," Regulus snaps coldly, "leave it. It doesn't mean anything. It never
did for him, and it doesn't for me. I'm not talking about this anymore. Go
home."

"Regulus—"

"Go home."

"But," James protests.

Regulus bursts out, "James! I said fucking leave it!"

They stare at each other, and the way Regulus is angry, the way he lashes
out, is so familiar because it's Sirius. Regulus' rage is cold and sharp, while
Sirius' is fire and heavy like a direct hit. Equally dreadful, equally cruel
when pushed far enough, but distinctly different. Regulus doesn't raise his
voice when he's furious. His face doesn't twist, and his eyes don't blaze, and
his blistering emotions don't spill out. No, that's Sirius. For Regulus, his
anger is quiet and deadly. His face goes blank, and his eyes are empty, and
he just shuts down. But this? This is Sirius through and through, and James
feels lost.

"I'm sorry," James whispers, and he's apologizing for so many things. More
than he can even begin to explain.

"No, I—" Regulus swallows, then clears his throat and looks away, face
going blank now. The flames James didn't even know he was capable of die
down, and ice forms in their place. All traces of Sirius disappear. "I
shouldn't have yelled. I'm sorry. I know you're just—worried, but I'm fine,
really. You, on the other hand, need to go home and see your best mate. And
you also need to sleep. I mean it, James. Promise me you will."

James sighs. "Yeah, alright. I promise. Are you sure—"

"Quite sure." Regulus looks at him and steps forward to kiss him at the
corner of his mouth, pulling back to gaze at him for a long moment, his
hand resting on James' chest, right over his heart. "Come on, I'll walk you
out."

Regulus does just that, and when the door shuts, James is on the other side,
feeling worse than he did when he arrived.

WE HAVE A PROBLEM, James texts Remus as he heads home, his heart

racing in his chest.

Yes, we do. You've seen Reg, then? Remus doesn't message back until James
is nearly home.

I'm leaving his flat now.

How is he?
It's not good, Remus. What about Sirius?

It takes a few minutes for Remus to respond. I don't think he slept last
night. We just got back to your flat now, and he's in a right state. I've never
seen him like this before.

We need to talk.

I know.

When James pushes inside his flat, things are alarmingly quiet. He heads in
cautiously, only to find Remus on the sofa with his head in his hands. Sirius
is nowhere to be seen.

"Remus?" James asks warily, moving over to sit next to him, and Remus
looks up with a deep sigh.

"He's having a shower," Remus murmurs, gaze darting towards the

direction of the loo. They both listen to the background sound of water
running. "James…"

"I know, mate," James croaks.

Remus stares at him. "We have to tell them. We need to tell them as soon as
fucking possible."

"I agree, but now? Today? After the night they had?" James says, his voice
strained. "That would just be worse on them. Can't we give them one
bloody day to calm down?"

"Haven't we waited long enough? James, they've met again. We can't just
keep—"

"Yes, but is now the best time?"

"There is no best time, haven't you worked that out yet?"

"Yeah, sure, but this is certainly one of the worst, isn't it?"

"It's—it's not great," Remus admits with a wince. He heaves a sigh. "Christ,
James, what have we done? They're never going to forgive us. Never."

James swallows. "Tomorrow. We will tell them tomorrow. You tell Sirius,
and I'll tell Regulus, and we can—we'll just sit them down and explain as
calmly as possible, then give them both whatever space they need. I know
they're not the most, ah, level-headed when they're angry, but maybe… I
mean, surely they will at least be able to see we were only just trying to
keep from losing them, or hurting them, or both. And—and I think it's best
if it's coming from—"

"The accidental lover and not the traitorous best mate?" Remus suggests
dryly, grimacing as soon as he, presumably, realizes that he is also a
traitorous best mate in this scenario.

"Yeah," James says miserably. "Sirius is going to kill me."

Remus lets out a harsh exhale. "Yeah, I doubt I'm living past tomorrow as
well, but we can't keep lying. Isn't it eating away at you? I feel physically
fucking ill sometimes, honestly."

"You have no idea," James mumbles.

"I want to see him," Remus whispers. "I wanted to go as soon as Sirius
mentioned seeing Regulus. I just want to be sure that he's okay."

"I'm not sure that he is," James admits. "I don't want him to be alone, but I
need to be with Sirius right now, too."

"I'll go when Sirius is out of the shower," Remus murmurs, and he reaches
out to squeeze James' arm. "Don't feel bad for the comfort you two found in
each other. You love him, he loves you. That's the thing, isn't it? We all love
each other. Even they love each other. We just have to fix it."

"Because it was a mistake," James says softly. "It was, wasn't it? We should
have never done this."

"I know," Remus rasps.

"And I still can't bring myself to regret it fully, because I…" James looks at
Remus helplessly. "I love him. I love Regulus so much. How could I ever
regret him? Do you regret Sirius?"

"Not even for a moment," Remus says, blinking hard.

"I'm so scared, Remus," James breathes out, his eyes burning.

Remus swallows thickly. "Me too."

They don't say anything else. Instead, they sit there in silence, the weight of
so many things sitting between them, hanging over them like an axe
threatening to fall from the single thread that's already fraying. James
wishes he could go back in time to when he and Remus first learned that
Regulus and Sirius were brothers, so that they could just—sit them both
down and come clean immediately. What were they thinking, lying like
this, deceiving people they love the most?
James never thought himself capable of it.

When Sirius comes out of the shower, he looks clean, but there's a wild
gleam in his eyes that makes dread crawl through James' veins. He smiles at
James, though, soft and apologetic, almost like he's guilty.

"Sirius," James says softly.

"Sorry I worried you, James. It's been...a long night," Sirius croaks, moving
over to snatch him into a hug the moment that James stands from the sofa.

James takes a page from his mum's book and doesn't let go first, holding
Sirius tight until Sirius actually breaks away. He tries for a smile, but he
knows it's wobbly. "I'm just glad that you're safe, mate. That's the most
important thing."

"Did Remus tell you?" Sirius asks.

"A bit," James says delicately, hoping Remus won't mind. He does not have
a good enough poker face to pretend he knows nothing, so it's for the best.

Sirius exhales shakily and whispers, "I have a brother. A little brother. Little
Reggie is my little brother."
"Yeah, didn't see that coming," James admits weakly.

"No, neither did I," Sirius agrees with a brittle laugh, then swallows.
"Should I have? Shouldn't I have seen it?"

James frowns. "Mate, don't do that. Don't—"

"Make this about me?" Sirius cuts in, his lips twisting. He heaves a sigh.
"Yeah, suppose I shouldn't. His name is Regulus Arcturus Black, you know.
Regulus means—" Sirius screws his eyes shut, swallowing harshly. "It's in
the Leo constellation, and it's known as the heart of the lion. The heart of
the lion, James. He chose that. He—"

"Christ," James can't help but mumble, his heart flinching in his chest. He
remembers when he first met Sirius. They were both eleven and proud to be
Lions, and Sirius used to constantly bring up how little Reggie would have
been a Snake if allowed to come to Hogwarts, something he used to say as a
joke, just teasing, until he started saying it like an insult before he stopped
saying things like that altogether.

"Sirius," Remus says gently, "I need to go, and you need to sleep, but I'll see
you tomorrow, yeah?"

"I know, sweetheart," Sirius murmurs, shifting away from James to go to

Remus, kissing him softly, offering him a warm smile when he pulls away.
"Thank you for—everything, and I'm sorry for worrying you."

"Make it up to me by actually getting some sleep," Remus tells him,

reaching up to cup the side of his neck in an intimate gesture, swaying in to
kiss him again.

"I will," Sirius says. "Go on. I'll ring you later."

Remus lingers a moment, then swallows. "I love you."

"Oh, Moony. My lovely, wonderful Moony," Sirius mumbles, gazing at him

with unhindered adoration and love that James has never seen him focus on
anyone before, "I love you, too."

As soon as Remus is gone, Sirius is a whirlwind of motion. He darts into his

room with barely a word, then darts back out moments later, fully dressed
and slinging his leather jacket onto his frame. James is alarmed instantly.

"What are you doing, Padfoot?" James asks cautiously.

"Why, Prongs, it's what we are doing," Sirius corrects, heading for the door,
and he doesn't even have to say a word or look back before James follows
after him.
"And what, exactly, are we doing?" James presses, strained, already
dreading the answer because it's very clear that Sirius is in something of a
manic state at the moment, not slowing down, focused entirely on his
mission.

Sirius glances back over his shoulder with a large, rather feral grin and says,
"We're going to find my brother."

Sirius has not slept in a little over twenty-four hours, but that's alright. He's
just fine, actually. At least four hours ago, he tipped over from exhausted to
that strange level of tired where it's mostly fueled by delirium. The kind
where you can't slow down or you will honestly just drop.

Sirius has no plans to drop. He has things to do today.

"Again, I am begging you to tell me where we're going," James mumbles,

his gaze darting around warily.

It's odd, because Sirius hasn't ever seen James anything other than
enthusiastic to get caught up in his wild plans before now. James is
unexpectedly resistant to this whole idea of finding Regulus, and Sirius—
well, Sirius doesn't actually care why. He suspects that James is just worried
about him, but at this particular time, Sirius can't soothe his concerns.
The best he can do is toss his arm over James' shoulder and keep herding
his reluctant frame up the street. Sirius could do this alone, but he'd prefer
not to. Of everyone, James is the only one who truly knows the most about
Sirius' complex feelings about his family. Lily knows a bit, and that's only
because she has a strained relationship with her sister, so she could relate
and understand. Even Peter is under the impression that Sirius would sooner
spit on Reggie in the street than...what he's currently doing. It's
complicated, and Sirius just wants his best friend, who he can trust, who
understands him, along with him as support. Sue him.

"That," Sirius says, pointing at a building as they walk towards it. "That's
where we're going."

James looks a little constipated. "Sirius, why are we—what are we doing
here?"

"Just keep an eye out for a bloke who looks like me, only shorter with
shorter hair," Sirius mutters distractedly.

"Well, I'm sure he doesn't look that much like you."

"No, he does. You can't miss him."

"Um, no, I—I definitely could," James wheezes, and Sirius ignores him,
because he has the utmost faith in him. "You think he's here, then?"
"Could be, but he's actually not who we're here to see," Sirius says, leading
James into the front office, where he immediately flashes a smile at the
woman behind the front desk. It's a help center. Perfect. "Hello, miss. I was
wondering if you could tell me where the culinary department is?"

"Yes, sure," she replies simply and does just that.

"Sirius, why—"

"Regulus was working the event as catering. I have absolutely no idea why,
but I'm about to find out, and—hopefully—get closer to finding him in the
process."

"Do you even know where you're going?" James asks.

Sirius hums. "Not at all, but I saw the head chef running the event last night
a few times. I overheard Horace mention she taught classes, so I looked
online until I found her picture and worked out her name. She should have
an office that—ha! Just here." Sirius beams at a closed door. "Chef Pomona
Sprout."

"Maybe she doesn't know anything, Padfoot," James hisses under his
breath. "Maybe she just—hired people. Maybe your brother just needed the
work and she doesn't even know—"
"I highly doubt it," Sirius interrupts bluntly. "I kept eating Scallop Mouse,
which Reggie and I loved as children, but it was always my favorite before
I left home. I'm convinced that he made it. Had no idea the wanker could
cook, but…"

"Sirius, maybe—" James cuts himself off with a muffled groan the moment
Sirius knocks on the door. Sirius turns to see him covering his face with
both hands, then gets distracted from James' unreasonable dismay by the
door opening.

"Hello, can I help—" Chef Sprout comes to an abrupt halt, her face clearing
as she looks at Sirius with a mild frown. "Ah, are you that artist from last
night? Come in, lad, come in."

"I am, yes. This is my assistant," Sirius says blithely, inwardly snickering
when James huffs quietly behind him as they're both led in. "I hope you
don't mind the intrusion, Ms. Sprout."

"Not at all. I'm grateful to have the chance to offer my sincerest apologies to
you in person. I'm not entirely sure what all happened, and frankly, neither
is Horace. He says you were so distraught by the slight from my student
that you destroyed your own painting?" Chef Sprout asks, sweeping behind
her desk and settling in her chair with a frown.

Sirius coughs. "Your student, you said?"

"Former, I can assure you," Chef Sprout informs him with a firm nod. "Mr.
Black will not be welcome back in my classes. It's a shame; he was my
most promising student, if I'm honest. Sometimes the pressure can get
overwhelming in this industry, but the scene he caused last night…"

"Wait, you're—you're kicking him out?" Sirius asks, tension bleeding into
his shoulders.

Chef Sprout hums. "Indeed I am."

"You can't do that," James blurts out, unexpectedly, and Sirius glances over
to see him looking horrified. He opens and closes his mouth with a few
false starts, glancing between Chef Sprout and Sirius. "I—I just meant… I
mean, you said he was the most promising, yeah? That kind of talent—
surely you don't think it should go wasted."

"I'd like for it not to, but I did make myself clear before the event began,"
Chef Sprout says. "Mr. Black has not contacted me yet, but when he does, I
will let him know—"

"It's not his fault," Sirius says quickly, an old instinct rising in him that he
thought he lost. It takes over, and his mouth just runs away from him. "My
name is Sirius Black, Ms. Sprout, I'm his brother, and the only one to blame
is me. I planned it, you see. He didn't even know I was going to be featured
in the gallery; I hadn't told him so it could be a surprise. I thought it would
be funny to play a prank on him, is all. I'm the one who pushed the tray
from his hands, just as a joke, but I didn't know it was such an important
night for him. I'm—it was me. It was my fault. Not his. He shouldn't be
punished."

Chef Sprout stares at him for a long moment, then her mouth presses into a
thin line. "Is that so? You deliberately sabotaged the event...for a prank?"

"I thought it was funny," Sirius says with a grin, waggling his eyebrows at
her, not finding it hard at all to fit the role of troublemaker. He is, after all.
"Why do you think I ruined my own painting? Purely for the drama. Only,
well, my brother is upset with me, you see, and now I know why. I had no
idea that I would be putting his future in jeopardy by doing it."

"That was exceedingly irresponsible, Mr. Black," Chef Sprout says, clipped.
She looks rather scary when angry, shockingly, because she looked so kind
before.

Sirius nods quickly. "Yes, I realize that now. I am truly sorry, Ms. Sprout,
and I implore you to reconsider Reggie's place in your class. Please, it
wasn't his fault. I take full responsibility."

"And why didn't Mr. Black contact me to explain this situation himself?"
Chef Sprout asks.

"He's embarrassed," Sirius says, and he's quite sure he's not lying now.
"Embarrassed of me, really. Of what I did. And he thinks that his future is
lost to him. Please, if you would just reconsider and reach out to him to let
him know he still has a place under your tutelage, I know you won't regret
it. I mean, I had the Scallop Mouse. He made them, yeah?"

"He did."

"Exactly. They were marvelous. He could go on to do great things, and we

both know it. Won't you help him?"

Chef Sprout eyes him for a long time, and he and James are both holding
their breath, because they exhale in perfect sync when she sighs and says,
"Under these circumstances, I can't see the justification in not letting him
back. I'll contact Mr. Black and let him know I expect him in class on
Monday."

"Brilliant!" Sirius bursts out, brightening, standing taller as he beams at her.

Like with most people, it makes her look reluctantly amused and
exasperated.

"Oh, and Mr. Black?"

"Yes, Ms. Sprout?"

"If you ever sabotage one of my events again, or nearly cost me my best
student, I will be sure that you don't get off so easily. You're fortunate that
your little scene, in a strange turn of events, led to more donations for the
charity."

"Oh, people like that love a scandal. They'd pay to see it just to have
something to gossip about."

"Mm, I cannot argue that," Chef Sprout says wryly, then she narrows her
eyes, "but that is no excuse. Now kindly see yourself out of my office. I
don't want to see you again unless it is to do with supporting your brother,
am I understood?"

Sirius lays his hand on his chest, grinning again, and says with mock
solemnity, "Yes, Chef. Also, can I just say, those skewers you made?
Absolutely lovely, by the way."

"Out."

"Right."

It's smart not to stick around, Sirius feels, so they beat a hasty retreat. As
soon as they get back outside, James swings around and stares at him. Sirius
raises his eyebrows.

"You lied," James says softly.

"Anyway, we should be off," Sirius announces quickly, trying to move past
James, who catches his shoulder and pushes him back. Sirius refuses to
meet James' searching gaze.

James ducks his head forward to chase his gaze, no matter how much Sirius
evades him. "You lied, Sirius. You didn't prank your brother; you didn't
push that tray out of his hands. Mate, you just took the blame for—"

"It's not like that, alright?" Sirius snaps, glaring at him. "I didn't do it for
him."

"Really? Because it seems like you did, actually," James insists, lips curling
up. "I can't work out any other reason why you would, in any case. You
helped—"

Sirius knocks James' hand from his shoulder (gently), scoffing under his
breath. "Don't go there, mate. You know better than anyone how much I
hate Reggie, and you know why I have every right to. Just because I—well,
like I said, it's not like that. I'm not helping him. I'm just…"

"Just…?"

"Piss off, Prongs. I hate him."

James purses his lips. "Right, sure. So, why are you so desperate to find
him, then?"

"I want answers," Sirius says. "You can't honestly expect me to just—let
this go. I mean, James, nothing is as I thought it would be. I need to know.
I'll go mad not knowing."

"And it has nothing to do with you being concerned for your little brother,
maybe even...missing him?" James suggests, studying him closely.

"Am I supposed to miss the person who helped make my life fucking
miserable?" Sirius asks sharply.

"But...he didn't always, did he?" James mumbles, his throat bobbing, a
weak quality to his voice. "I mean, when you were younger, it was different,
wasn't it?"

"We're not children anymore, James," Sirius murmurs, looking away, "and
things haven't changed that much."

Sirius brushes past him, and with a heavy sigh, James follows once more. It
takes him a bit to work out that they are not, as he presumably expected,
heading in the direction of home. As if Sirius is just going to give up. No,
absolutely not. Sirius is seeing this through to the end. He'll have his
answers, all of them, and then he'll go back to staying as far away from
every member of his family as he can possibly get.
"Er, Sirius, where are we going now?"

"You'll see."

"It's just—I mean, it sort of...didn't work out, did it? With the chef, I mean.
You tried, at least. Maybe you should—"

"Mm, no, I have a better idea," Sirius cuts in, already ordering a lift on his
phone.

"Padfoot, please," James says wearily. "Just trust me, yeah? You're
spiraling, mate, and you're in no state to… What you need right now is to
sleep, and then, tomorrow, you'll—"

Sirius interrupts yet again (he's barely listening, if he's honest) to crow, "Ah,
excellent! Only two minutes away. Come along, James, we've places to be."

From behind him, James groans.

A little over an hour later, Sirius drags James into yet another building,
though this one is certainly different from the last. It honestly makes Sirius'
skin crawl to be here, but desperate times call for such measures.
"Can I help you?" Yet another woman behind a front desk, but she doesn't
look nearly as susceptible to Sirius' smile.

"Yes, please," Sirius says, smiling warmly. "I need to speak to Evan Rosier
immediately."

She crooks an unimpressed eyebrow at him. "Do you have an appointment

with Mr. Rosier?"

"Not as such, no," Sirius admits sheepishly, and she looks less impressed by
the second, "but it really is quite important. I assure you, he'd be willing to
see me."

"Unfortunately, Mr. Rosier is currently unavailable—"

"Yes, I'm sure, but—"

"Sir," she cuts in, visibly annoyed, "if you wish to speak to Mr. Rosier, you
will have to make an appointment with—"

Sirius sighs and says, "Tell him Sirius Black is here and would like to speak
with him."
The woman's face drains entirely of color, making her dangerously pale,
and her mouth hangs open for a long moment. She stares at Sirius with wide
eyes, and he simply arches an eyebrow at her, which seems to spur her into
action. She shakily grabs the phone off the desk and presses a few buttons,
her gaze flitting to the side.

"Mr. Rosier, I'm sorry to interrupt, but there's a Sirius Black at the front that
wishes to speak to you." She falls silent, darting her gaze back to Sirius,
then she swallows. "Yes, sir. He does, sir. Right away, sir." She stands up
and clears her throat, pushing down her skirt as she fails to meet Sirius'
eyes. God, he hates the way she's acting, like she needs to respect him, and
to do that, she has to make herself smaller. "Right this way, Mr. Black. I
apologize for the delay."

Sirius makes a face at James as they follow behind her, and poor James
looks so lost. His family is better off than most, admittedly, but the Potters
aren't powerful the way the Blacks are. The only people that hold power the
way the Blacks do are the corrupt, honestly. That's what Sirius comes from.
It still holds weight, even to this day, even after eight fucking years.

The ride up on the lift is stilted, to say the least. James keeps shooting him
furtive glances that Sirius honestly doesn't want to acknowledge. Sirius,
who is suffering from a severe lack of sleep, literally can't be still. The poor
woman looks like she wants to just disappear, refusing to look at either of
them.

They're led to an office, and she opens the door, head ducked as they step
past her. She shuts the door, and Sirius instantly recognizes the man sitting
behind the desk in the middle of the, frankly, overly extravagant office. He
would, since he's known Evan Rosier since he was a little shit of a child,
who grew into a little shit of a teenager, and who likely grew into a little
shit of an adult. Sirius hasn't seen him in eight years either, since Evan was
fifteen.

Surprisingly, Sirius also recognizes the only other person in the office
besides him, James, and Evan. Barty Crouch Junior, who was a terror as a
child and likely still is, who props up in the chair across from the desk Evan
is behind, his eyebrows raised as he peers over the back of his chair.

"I honestly thought Pamela was having me on," Evan muses, a slow grin
spreading on his face. Like an idiot, he proceeds to drawl, "Well, well, well.
It's been some time, Sirius."

"Eight years, hasn't it?" Barty asks mildly.

"Oh, just about, I'd say," Evan agrees.

Barry lazily grins at Evan. "Begs the question, doesn't it?"

"Which question would that be, Barty?"

"Oh, you know, just what brings him to us now, Evan."

Evan hums, tapping his chin. "That's right. What a question that is, one that
baffles the most brilliant minds, even."

Sirius has to resist the strong urge to roll his eyes. In truth, he never liked
Evan and Barty, especially around Reggie. They were never the right sort,
as far as Sirius was concerned, but Reggie listened to Sirius on that subject
as much as Sirius listened to their mother on any subject—that is to say, not
at all. Evan and Barty were always going in one direction in life, and Sirius
isn't surprised to find he was right without even having to check. Evan is
working at his father's company, likely scamming many people out of a lot
of money, and Sirius doesn't doubt that Barty works right alongside him,
rather than taking the politician route like his father.

They're both idiots, honestly. They were the sort of boys to do whatever
they liked, because they knew they would never have to face consequences
for their actions; Sirius suspects they live by the same values even today.

Though, really, what does he know? At this point, he can't be certain of

absolutely anything. Regulus made sure of that.

"Neither of you have brilliant minds, and let's not pretend that you do,"
Sirius says flatly.

"No, do go on underestimating us, Sirius, please," Evan replies dryly,

leaning back in his chair.
Barty snorts. "Didn't miss that."

"Didn't miss him at all," Evan mutters, reaching out to grab a thick, crystal
tumbler with dark, amber liquid in it that briefly reminds Sirius of Remus'
eyes. "As you can see, I'm sharing a drink with a colleague, Sirius. If you
don't have a proper reason for interrupting, best be on your way."

"I have a reason. My—Reggie," Sirius says, the words stilted, and he
grimaces as he realizes he has to tread very carefully until he has
information. He doesn't want to go outing his brother to people.

Wait, does James count? Fuck. Fuck, Sirius technically outed his brother,
didn't he? Bugger. What's the rules for this? Should he not have said
anything? Shouldn't he correct the assumption that he has a sister to those
he knows it's safe to do so? Sirius can't just misgender him, and it never
even crossed his mind to think that doing so to James was necessary. Oh,
Regulus would be furious, wouldn't he? Or, well, would he? Would he
prefer that Sirius is making it very fucking clear to those that don't even
know him that he's Sirius' little brother, actually? Christ, Sirius doesn't
know.

"Reggie?" Evan asks, sitting up in his chair. Barty also perks up, his interest
very evident. "What about her?"

Fucking hell, Sirius thinks, his hands reflexively balling into fists. He itches
to correct them, then beat them if they argue, but he is very sure that
Regulus would be furious if Sirius did out him to old acquaintances. He
clenches his jaw, running his tongue under his top lip, then he exhales
sharply.

"Do you remember when I cleaned you both up after a fight and came up
with a story that kept you from getting in trouble with your parents, and
mine?" Sirius asks.

"Oh, we remember," Evan grumbles. "You're the one who beat us."

Sirius scowls. "Because Barty was sneaking into Reggie's room, and you
were helping him."

"Fucking worth it, too," Barty announces with a lecherous grin, sharing a
look with Evan, who rolls his eyes. "I risked my life for Reggie many times,
if I recall."

"Mrs. Black would have killed us," Evan says, wrinkling his nose when
Barty shrugs unapologetically.

"Reggie was always worth it."

"You mean her tits were."

"Well, that too," Barty allows, eyes sparkling.

"Piss off!" Sirius barks, and both Barty and Evan jolt a little in their seats,
grimacing in unison. "That's my little—Reggie you're being filthy about,
yeah? I beat you for it then; don't think I won't now."

"Ah, really? We were under the impression you didn't much care about
Reggie, actually," Evan says.

Barty scoffs and drapes back in the chair. "Don't waste your breath, mate.
You know Sirius has always been fiercely protective of his little Reggie.
Broke my nose that night, I remember. Never set right on my face after that.
Still have the crooked, little bump."

"And yet, you were right back the very next week," Evan says with a snort.

"Well, she had very nice tits," Barty points out, then jumps out of the chair
with his hands held up the second Sirius takes a step towards him. "Alright,
let's not do this today, yeah? She had very nice...everything else, too."

"It might be in your best interest to just shut the fuck up," James snaps,
looking ready to start throwing punches as well, particularly in the way he
used to when Snape had said something to make Lily cry.
"Did you assemble a Reggie defense squad eight years too late, or
something?" Evan asks, sounding amused by the concept.

"As if Reggie ever needed anyone to defend her," Barty adds with a grin,
but then he squints at James. "Actually, who are you? What are you even
doing here?"

"He's my best mate. James. Perfectly delightful until he's peeved off, then
he's a bit of a problem," Sirius says pointedly, darting his gaze between
Barty and Evan. "I'm not here to listen to either of you reminisce about
Reggie. You remember that night, and you both begged me to keep you out
of trouble from your parents and especially mine, and I agreed. You both
said you owed me, and I told you I'd hold you to that. It's a bit late, but here
I am, holding you to that."

Evan shakes his head, awed. "It's been eight years, Sirius. Only you would
remember that and actually use it."

"Well, no, Reggie would, too," Barty says, and Evan inclines his head in
amused agreement.

"You seem to know Reggie quite well," James notes, audibly grinding his
teeth.

"Oh, yeah, we were quite close, by which I mean—" Barty halts, gaze
swinging between an equally on edge Sirius and James. He delicately clears
his throat. "You know, best not get into the details. We were friends."
"Were," Sirius says, latching onto that. "As in past tense."

"Well, yeah, hard to be friends with the dead," Evan says slowly, and Sirius
feels his whole body go cold, despite the fact that he literally saw Regulus
just last night.

Barty clicks his tongue. "Well done, Evan. That's a lovely way to inform
someone their sister is dead."

"Well, he'd know if he hadn't left, wouldn't he?" Evan stares at Sirius with
no remorse. Out of the two, Barty was always the most cruel, always
desperate to ruin his father's reputation, but Evan? When he was truly, truly
angry with someone, he never held back, going for the jugular immediately,
taking the kill shot without caring how it reflected on him.

"Dead," Sirius repeats, his voice empty of emotion, a void where nothing
exists. He isn't, you know he isn't, Sirius tells himself, trying to stay calm.

"Reggie's been dead eight years now," Barty informs him with a loud sigh,
like this conversation is an inconvenience.

Sirius narrows his eyes. "Is that right? What happened?"

"Well, your mother thought marrying her off to Mulciber was the best thing
for her. You remember Mulciber, don't you? She never much liked him, but
your mother didn't much care what she liked," Evan muses, lips pressing
into a thin line. "She was different after you left, your mother. Reggie, too,
if I'm honest. In any case, Reggie was engaged for maybe a week before she
left. No one heard about it until Mucliber started spouting off about his
runaway fiance. By the time Barty and I could get any proper information
and actually have the resources to find her, we found...nothing. No matter
how hard we looked, it was like Reggie just stopped existing at eighteen."

"She didn't tell us anything before she left, and she was so bad off by that
point…" Barty makes a face, visibly displeased. He shakes his head.
"Wasn't too terribly surprised by the idea that she'd offed herself. She didn't
really seem to have much she was living for anyway, by then. We
monitored for a few years, but nothing ever, ever came up. Not one thing.
An absence like that in the world—it only means one thing, doesn't it?"

Evan sighs. "A shame, that. Reggie was always a good friend, even if she
didn't know we were friends at all."

"And she had nice tits," Barty puts in, then smirks when James starts to
move forward, only for Sirius to catch his arm.

"What do you mean Reggie was bad off?" Sirius asks quietly, dread
tangling his stomach into knots.

Barty and Evan share a long look, and it's Barty who looks right at him and
says, "Well, you can't honestly think things were better for her once you
were gone, can you? I mean, we weren't blind, even if we were ignorant.
We knew how awful your mother was. Do you think that stopped after you
left? No, Sirius, it got worse. Much worse."

"So did Reggie, honestly," Evan agrees. "It was like… I don't know. You
were always banging on about how cold she acted, like she was becoming
even more cruel, but you don't know the half of it. For a bit there, I thought
you were the only thing that kept Reggie sane, because once you left…"

"She could always be a bit terrifying, you know that, but it was bad enough
that we stopped coming round as much. It just got a bit uncomfortable, is
all." Barty frowns. "Then, around her eighteenth birthday, she was off. A bit
like a ghost. Or a robot. She didn't really seem...alive, towards the end."

"So, you know, well done," Evan says blandly, his top lip curling into a
sneer. "You hated her by the end, so you must be so relieved to know you
fucking killed her."

But Sirius didn't. Because Regulus is alive, possibly more alive than he's
ever allowed himself to be. Sirius recalls last night, that spark in Regulus'
eyes, the way he fought.

If Sirius didn't have the reassurance of seeing Regulus alive and shockingly
well last night, then this would likely fucking ruin him. He is self-aware
enough to know that it would fuck him up if this was the truth. It's fucking
him up that it could have been. Because Sirius doesn't know the numbers,
but he's certain that the statistics of that exact thing aren't easy to stomach.
That's just thinking of trans people, not including the abused, or the
abandoned, or all three.

Sirius feels like he's going to vomit.

"We're going. Sirius, we're going," James declares sternly, his tone allowing
no room for argument, an edge of command to it that no one would dare
defy.

James reaches out to grasp Sirius' arm, throwing a withering glare at Evan
and Barty that promises future bodily harm, then pulls him right out of the
office. Sirius doesn't say a word. He doesn't even—feel his own body. He
can't make sense of much at all outside of how ridiculously difficult it is to
breathe. Why is it so hard to breathe, suddenly?

Sirius sort of blanks out the entire trip out of the building, mildly worried
that he's blacking out from exhaustion. Maybe he'll start smelling colors
soon, and it'll all be worth it. He doesn't really come back to awareness until
he finds himself sitting on a deserted bench with James kneeling in front of
him, both hands braced on his shoulders.

"Sirius," James says gently, "I need you to listen to me."

This, right here, is how Sirius imagines James will speak to abused children
he's attempting to save. The soft quality to him, the steadiness of him,
reliable and safe. He's been Sirius' safest haven since they were eleven,
especially at sixteen, and still is here at twenty-four.
"Alright," Sirius rasps, because it's James. Because he can always, always
trust James.

"Regulus is not dead," James murmurs, holding his gaze, unwavering.

"Your little brother is not dead, and you did not kill him. Do you
understand?"

"I—I know. But I left him. I just left him there, James, and—and it could
have—it might have gone so differently—"

"Stop. Just stop it. You left an abusive household for your health and safety,
and I will not sit here and let you blame yourself for it. It might have gone
so differently for you as well, don't forget that. You are not guilty for
wanting to live, Sirius."

"But Reggie," Sirius protests.

James shakes his head sharply. "You were sixteen years old. You were a
child. It was not your responsibility to suffer; you are not a bad person for
doing what was best for you. The pain you endured was wrong. The only
people at fault are your parents. Not you, not Regulus, them."

"I—I should have just tied him up and dragged him along, even if he fought
me the entire way," Sirius chokes out, balling his hands into fists on his
thighs. His nails bite into his palm, and he pushes them in harder.
Punishment. "I hated him so much by the end, and I—I didn't try hard
enough. I just left him. I spent so much of my life protecting him when I
could, and then I left him."

"Sirius, you should have never needed to protect him," James insists,
reaching out to cup his fists and gently peel his fingers out straight. There's
a strain around his eyes beneath his glasses, shared anguish. "You were
abused. You and Regulus were abused, and it was wrong. You were both
children, and neither of you should have suffered as you did. Listen to me,
nothing that happened to Regulus was your fault. Before you left, or after
you left. It was your mother. She is the problem, not you. No one deserves
what you both went through."

"It is my fault that I left, though. You can't deny that. I made that choice,"
Sirius whispers, his voice cracking.

"Yes, because you were in danger, Sirius. You had every right to leave. You
were a frightened child. Would you look at another frightened child in your
situation and blame them?"

"Reggie was a frightened child, and I left him. He was in danger, too. And I
blamed him, James. I did. I blamed him like he was weaker than me. He
could have been—"

"Sirius," James says softly, swallowing.

Sirius lets out a muffled whimper and gasps out, "He could have been dead,
James, and it would have been my fault. And the worst part is, if I didn't
know what I know now, I would have blamed him."

"Stop it," James breathes out, hands sliding up to capture Sirius' face
between his palms, forcing him to look right into his eyes. "You were both
just children. Regulus isn't dead. He's alive, and he loves you. He does."

"How could he?" Sirius asks.

James swallows. "The same way you still love him. You're his brother. It's
going to be alright, mate. I promise it will be alright. Let me get you home,
so you can sleep, because you're dead on your feet. As soon as you've had
rest, we'll all talk, and it'll be alright. Tomorrow, it will all be alright."

And Sirius nods, because Sirius trusts him. Sirius lets James tug him to his
feet and take him home.

Chapter End Notes

The negatives: Sirius is sad, and James is stressed, and no one has had
any sleep 😭😭😭

The positives: Evan and Barty are here!!!! We do see them again,
actually. That's... That's literally the only positive, I know, but well—
no, actually, Remus and James plan to tell the brothers, so that's nice.
Oh, and Sirius saving Regulus' future career 😭 so sweet of him. He
deserves all the rest 😔

James, watching Sirius threaten to beat Barty up for going on about

being into Regulus: oh, my life is flashing before my eyes rn
Also James: move over, mate, I'm going to kill him, and THEN you
can kill me

Man's has his priorities straight

Anyway, I'm actually really, REALLY so tempted to post the next

chapter tomorrow, simply because they're kind of parallel to each other
in the same time frame. I don't know if I should deviate from my
posting schedule, though, even if I'm so tempted to. Should I? I don't
know yet, still thinking about it, so I may or may not post the next
chapter tomorrow. If not, then I'll post on Wednesday.

So, thoughts? Love and appreciate all your comments, by the way!

See you either tomorrow or Wednesday! ❤

(EDIT: I've just seen that it's a commenter's birthday today

(madmaxmaggie), so this one is for them! Happy birthday!)

(EDIT²: OKAY SO I WILL BE POSTING TOMORROW! and I'll

explain more in depth tomorrow why, so for those of you happy about
this, you're welcome. For those of you who like routine and structure,
well, you can always wait until Wednesday and have TWO chapters to
read, so that's nice! In that case, see you all tomorrow 😘)
 Chapter 15
Chapter Notes

The only warning I have for this chapter is a character being briefly
insensitive about trans people in the way only uneducated cis people
can be. To be clear, if anyone is worried, Regulus is not offended by
this because he simply Does Not Care about idiots.

Now, to clarify, I wanted to post this chapter so soon after the last one
because it is literally taking place around the same time as the previous
chapter. This is still the same day, just from a different POV. If this
chapter and the one before it could have been one chapter without it
being massive or messing up the flow of two split POVs that I have
going on for this fic, then I would have posted it all as one. I'm a
bit...neurotic about certain things when writing, specifically pacing and
such, so it was making my brain unhappy that these chapters weren't
exactly paired together. Posting it one right after the other helped
scratch the itch in my brain, so thank you to everyone who encouraged
me to do it and didn't mind the brief deviation from my usual schedule!

With that being said, go forth and enjoy!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Regulus, in a strange turn of events, has found himself doing something he

hasn't done in eight years.

He's questioning his love of cooking.

It's just that, if he'd chosen anything else, he might not have ended up in
that gallery, his past back to haunt him and his future up in flames. Why
couldn't he have a deep passion for, like, tech support or something?
Computers are interesting, aren't they? Or maybe he could be doing
something pretentious that requires a lot of traveling. Maybe something that
wouldn't have him in the same country as his brother. He vaguely
remembers a little bit of French; he could have brushed up on it and ran off
to France. He could have been a chef there; loads of chefs learn there, and
they're brilliant. Why did Regulus even stay?

It had never, not once, crossed Regulus' mind to put that much distance
between himself and all that he was running from. A rather large oversight
on his part, now that he's thinking about it. That would have been smart. He
called Sirius stupid, but he's beginning to think that they were both hit on
the head one too many times as children.

Thank you, Mother. Your heavy hand robbed us both of critical thinking,
Regulus thinks, rolling his eyes.

A knock sounds at the door, and Regulus doesn't move from where he's
sitting on his center island in his kitchen, across from his stove and
cabinets. He's staring at all of his pots and pans and dishes accusingly,
having brought them all down to do just that and consider setting them all
on fire, perhaps never stepping foot in a kitchen ever again.

Another knock. Regulus ignores it. If it's James coming back, then he can
leave again. Regulus doesn't want to be bothered. He wants to be alone; he
wants everyone to go away.

"Regulus," Remus calls through the door, "can I come in?"

Except for Remus. Remus can stay.

"Yeah," Regulus calls back, but he doesn't move. He has his legs drawn up
to his chest, his chin resting on one knee, his socked feet half-hanging off
the very edge of the counter. He continues to glare at the wide variety of
dishes spread out on the counter across from him, even as Remus lets
himself in and finds him in the kitchen.

"Right," Remus says, then moves over to haul himself up on the island with
Regulus, his legs swinging over the side. He's quiet as he joins in with
surveying all the dishes. "Have you taken everything down from your
cabinets?"

"Yes."

"To...glare at them?"

"Yes."

"Alright, sure."

Regulus scowls at his favorite knife. "I'm going to throw it all out, I've
decided. Never cook again."
"Drastic," Remus notes. "Right, well, let's explore that, shall we? How do
you plan to eat?"

"Takeaway."

"You're going to have takeaway every day for the rest of your life? How is
that beneficial, especially financially?"

"I could make it work," Regulus mumbles.

Remus hums. "I'm sure you could. Just seems to be a waste, is all. These are
all things you've bought for yourself; throwing them all away is a bit…"

"Drastic?" Regulus asks dryly.

"Well, yeah," Remus confirms.

Regulus huffs. "Piss off."

"You know what I think you'll miss first? A toastie. Who doesn't love a
good toastie, yeah? Warm, crunchy bread and hot, melted cheese…"
"I make very good toasties."

"I've never even had one," Remus says solemnly. "You also promised me
tiramisu. I'm not getting that, then?"

"You're awful at this," Regulus informs him.

Remus heaves a sigh and leans over to lightly knock their shoulders
together. "Alright, in that case, I'm about to be terribly sincere."

"Oh, don't."

"No, I am. I will, because you love this. You love to cook, Regulus. It
makes you so very happy, and you should do the things that make you
happy. Besides, you're a wonderful cook. It'd be a shame if I never got to
eat anything of yours again."

"You know," Regulus whispers, "my mother would have hated it. It's not the
most glamorous profession, in her eyes. I'm serving the public when she'd
want the public to serve me."

"All the more reason to keep doing it," Remus points out.
Regulus swallows harshly and drags his gaze up to stare at the ceiling. "I
saw my brother last night. He was at the event. It turns out he's an artist, and
he had a painting on display. I saw it, Remus, and it was…" He blows out a
deep breath, shaking his head. "It was the most horrible, most beautiful
painting I've ever seen. It was me. It was about me. Why would he paint
something about me after eight years?"

"Because you're still important to him after eight years," Remus says
quietly. He's silent for a beat. "How did it...go?"

"Oh, well, you know," Regulus mutters with a hoarse laugh, dropping his
head forward to stare at his knees. "I saw the painting and almost instantly
tried to run, which caused me to drop a tray full of empty wine glasses.
Mortifying as that was, it was nothing compared to me stumbling back right
into my brother right after. He recognized me straight away."

"Oh," Remus whispers.

"Yeah," Regulus agrees thickly, then clears his throat. "He was shocked, I
think. First thing he pointed out was that I cut my hair, but he saw my
bracelet—the one Milo gave me with the trans flag—and my brother,
despite being an idiot, has always been frighteningly clever."

Remus doesn't say anything. Staying quiet. Simply listening. It's one of
Regulus' favorite things about him, that he always seems to know when not
to talk.
"I ran, of course," Regulus confesses. "I never really thought about what I'd
do if I saw someone who recognized me. It's not that he—I mean, he wasn't
awful about it. Struggled a bit, I could tell, but he refused to misgender
me."

"Isn't that good?" Remus asks.

"He just wanted to hate me properly, really. Those were his words, mind,"
Regulus says, a reluctant smile tugging at his lips. Remus huffs out a weak
laugh, then abruptly cuts himself off and coughs. "No, it's alright. You can
laugh. It's a bit funny, isn't it? He wanted to be a shit, but respect my
pronouns at the same time. Who does that? Only he would, you know."

Remus hesitates, then murmurs, "I don't know if that's all it is, Reg. I mean,
who's to say that he wouldn't have jumped at the opportunity to hurt you if
he actually wanted to? Like, ah, even if he is the biggest trans supporter, to
hurt you he still would be awful about it. For example, if he loved large
noses and still mocked someone he hated for having a large nose."

"Noses and gender identity are not even comparable."

"I just mean… Maybe he didn't want to hurt you. Maybe he doesn't actually
hate you at all."
"No, he does," Regulus insists, because he's sure of that. "It's alright. The
feeling is mutual."

"Is it?" Remus asks.

Regulus turns to frown at him, and Remus meets his gaze boldly,
challenging him. Regulus looks away, because he's in no mood to play
chess with Remus in this conversation. Remus is always a few moves
ahead. "We argued a bit, I suppose. He wanted answers, and I wanted
nothing to do with him. He's so fucking stubborn, honestly." Remus makes
a low sound of understanding. "I know. I am, too, but he's worse. He never
knows when to quit; it's supremely irritating. I don't doubt he would have
stood there all night trying to talk to me."

"Is there no part of you that wishes to talk to him?"

"To what end, Remus? That meeting had the benefit of my transition being
enough of a shock that it wasn't as awful as it could have been. It wouldn't
be like that a second time. We would fight. I'm not entirely convinced that
we wouldn't try to kill each other, actually. It would be—bad. Explosive."

"But maybe—"

"No, I'm telling you. It would be pointless. A complete waste of time. He

and I didn't leave off on good terms, not eight years ago and not last night,
and we'll never be on good terms. I don't even want to be on good terms
with the wanker."
Remus sighs and leans forward to stare at him, catching his gaze. "Don't
you miss him?"

Regulus' throat all but closes up, a wellspring of emotion rising up at the
question, but he does the emotional equivalent of shoving it back down,
ruthlessly smothering it. His voice is unfortunately rough when he rasps,
"Not at all."

"Reg," Remus says carefully, "I think—"

"I'm not talking about this anymore," Regulus cuts in sharply, his jaw
clenched. "Leave it, Remus."

"Fine," Remus grits out, frustrated, and he exhales a harsh breath through
his nose. He narrows his eyes. "Fine, but you have to make me a toastie. I'm
starving."

"You're a terrible best friend," Regulus informs him. "I just told you I'm
never cooking again. Haven't you been listening?"

"Honestly, I barely listen to the things you tell me. Go on, then. I'll make
you one, you make me one, and we'll see who's better," Remus says.
Regulus rolls his eyes. "I'm not falling for that."

"I'm really quite good at making them," Remus announces casually.

"Possibly even better than you. It's the one thing I know I'm good at
cooking. My mum taught me how to make them so that they're perfect."

"Mine are perfect."

"Well, I wouldn't know that, would I? Until I know otherwise, I'm staying
firm about mine being better."

"I know what you're doing."

"I know you do, but it's going to work. You can't resist competition, and we
both know it."

"You hardly count as competition, Lupin," Regulus grumbles.

Remus just smiles politely, that mild smile of his that promises mischief,
despite the fact that your brain automatically wants to trust it. "Oh, but I do.
Care to find out?"
Regulus scoffs. Remus just waits him out in calm silence. He lifts his legs
straight out, turning both feet towards the left, then the right. He has
ludicrously long legs, and Regulus drops his own off the side of the counter
to hold them out and compare the length of them. Remus' legs nearly reach
all the way across to the counter opposite of them, while Regulus' hardly
makes it halfway. Briefly, Regulus wonders if Remus' neck and shoulders
hurt from stooping all the time, especially when he's talking to Regulus.
The top of his head barely even reaches Remus' shoulder without shoes, the
lanky bastard.

"Why are you so fucking long?" Regulus asks incredulously, appalled by it.
"No, genuinely, you're like a fucking tree, Remus. My best friend is a tree."

"Are you only just realizing that I'm tall?" Remus says, sounding amused by
the prospect.

Regulus presses his leg right up against Remus', horrified to find that his
foot only just reaches below Remus' knee. There's an entire second half of
that leg he isn't reaching. "No, but how is it worse when we're sitting?"

"I have longer legs than you."

"No, really? I hadn't bloody noticed."

"Your torso to leg ratio is different from mine, Regulus, that's all it is,"
Remus tells him, chuckling.
"That's a nice way to call someone short, you prick," Regulus complains,
reaching over to shove at Remus' arm.

Remus snorts and sways with the motion. "You're not short because you're
shorter than me. Most people are."

"Yes, because you're six feet tall."

"6'2, actually."

"Remus, I'm 5'7."

"That's not short. What do you reckon James is? 5'10? 5'11?"

"5'11, the bastard. Is He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named shorter than you?"

Regulus asks.

"Yes. Not much taller than you, really. I'd say about 5'9 or 5'10," Remus
muses thoughtfully.

Regulus smirks. "Do you have to bend down to snog him?"

"I do have to duck my head a bit sometimes, depending on his shoes and
where we are," Remus admits, his face softening. He laughs suddenly and
bumps his leg into Regulus'. "As if James doesn't have to do the same to
you."

"Shut it," Regulus mutters. "I'll start wearing platforms."

"Do it," Remus says instantly.

"You want to see me fall, don't you?"

"I would literally pay for the experience."

"Are you forgetting my girl phase, Remus?" Regulus arches an eyebrow at

him. "I used to wear court shoes all the time."

Remus blinks. "Did you really?"

"Yes, really, and I used to wear makeup and curl my hair and put on
dresses," Regulus tells him, always a bit amused that people forget this
about him. Five years ago, he wouldn't have been able to get the words out
without contempt and distaste; now, he mostly just finds it funny. "I can still
walk perfectly in heels, if I'm honest. Also, my eyeliner was fucking
amazing."

"Hasn't it been at least five years since you've done any of that, though? I
mean, don't the skills sort of...go away?" Remus looks mildly baffled. "It is
a skill. I know that. I'd break my ankles, and as for makeup, I'd likely poke
my eyes out."

Regulus snorts and hops down from the counter. "No, the skills don't go
away when you were doing most of them since before puberty, really, and
doing it well. Hold on, I have shoes put back somewhere. Make me a
toastie."

"Alright, but I'm not making me one, because you're making me one,"
Remus calls after him. "Don't think I've forgotten, Reg! You can't get out of
this!"

Regulus ignores him and goes off to find the only pair of shoes he kept
from before he transitioned. It was with the intent to sell them, because
they're quite expensive and could get him a good amount of quid in a pinch,
but he could never bring himself to part with them. Even when he was on
his last quid, had no food, and wasn't sure how he was going to pay rent, he
still couldn't do it. Don't misunderstand, Regulus hated wearing the shoes,
mostly because he was expected to, but that's hardly the shoes' fault.
They're lovely shoes.

When he finds them, he considers them with a frown and wonders why he
even keeps them when he does nothing with them. The moment he was
free, he took them off and never put them on again. They made his feet ache
and his toes pinch, and he'd felt relieved to never have to wear them after
that.

Maybe Pandora should have them, if they fit her. The thought makes
Regulus smile slightly.

It's a bit of an odd relief to see how far he's come. He feels no annoyance or
despair putting the shoes on. He doesn't feel forced to wear them, and he
doesn't feel as if they make him 'woman'. Really, in the past few years, he's
come to learn that the things attached to gender are simply ridiculous.
Clothes, shoes, makeup, or the lack of—none of that makes a bloke a bloke,
or a girl a girl. His parents wouldn't agree, but he stopped believing they
were right about everything a long time ago. They were wrong about a lot
of things, including this.

Regulus imagines he would wear whatever he likes, even put on makeup if

he wished, and feel no strain as he would have when he was younger.
Freedom grants him many things; not only the choice not to, but the choice
to do so without it making him something he's not. Honestly, he only
doesn't because these shoes genuinely are painful, and makeup takes time
he's too impatient to waste when he's not even going anywhere. He really is
quite boring, isn't he?

Now, Sirius… Well, Regulus remembers putting eyeliner on Sirius just

once. Sirius had liked it. That's fucking cool how you do the wings, Reggie,
he'd said. Those were his exact words, and he'd dragged a chair over,
demanding Regulus to do it to him at least once, thoroughly convinced he'd
look amazing with it. Regulus had done it for him, despite the fact that they
were already drifting apart by then, and he'd thought about how Sirius was a
boy wearing the same exact eyeliner as him and didn't claim that it made
him a girl. It had made him so very happy, and it's one of his happier
memories now.

But that was ruined, too. Sirius had liked it so much that he refused to wash
it off. It was likely just another way for him to rebel against Walburga, and
no matter how much Regulus begged and pleaded and scolded, Sirius
outright wouldn't. Their mother, of course, had been furious. Sirius took the
punishment like a badge of honor, and Regulus felt sick with the reality of
Sirius being beaten for being a boy wearing makeup, knowing that it was all
too real for Regulus in an entirely different way that hurt him far worse than
it ever hurt Sirius, and Sirius didn't care, didn't even know, didn't do
anything other than get upset when Regulus refused to do the eyeliner for
him ever again.

Oh, you believe her, then? You just do everything Mother wants now, is that
it? Sirius had said, his tone dripping with venom, and Regulus had cried in
bed that night, because yes, yes he did. More than Sirius would ever know.

Regulus doesn't do that anymore, though, and Sirius won't ever know that
either.

Perhaps that's for the best.

When he stands in the shoes, Regulus finds that he needs to get used to the
balance and weight distribution. His body is different, and he'd expected
maybe even a pinch of discomfort if anything, but he ends up grinning at
the fact that he's a man stumbling around in court shoes.
He does get his land legs back, so to speak. He walks a careful circuit of his
room, adjusting, but once he has it, he has it. So much has changed, but his
power walk in shoes like this have not. He used to strike fear into the hearts
of people when his shoes clicked as he approached, which genuinely
amused him. Ridiculously, it was the one thing he got from his mother that
he actually enjoyed. The dread of people who could tell by the sharp click
of his heels just how much trouble they were about to be in. Oddly, he's a
bit nostalgic about it.

"Oh my god, you actually can," Remus says when he comes into the
kitchen. He looks a mixture of startled and delighted by this development.
"Reg, I hope you don't mind me saying this, but I think you might be able to
reach the top shelf in your cupboards now."

"I am ten times the man you are for this alone," Regulus declares, shooting
him a glare.

"Yes," Remus agrees placidly, then grins at him. "Have you shown James?
He would go mental."

Regulus hums and moves over to watch Remus finish up the toastie he's
making. Just one. "I have not, but that is an idea. I think it would break him
a bit."

"God love him," Remus says with a chuckle.

"We shagged, you know. I mean, we have been, but he shagged me for the
first time." Regulus swipes a crispy part of cheese off the side of the pan (he
likes the burnt pieces for some reason) and waggles his eyebrows. "He's a
vivacious lover."

Remus eyes him. "No complaints, then?"

"None at all," Regulus admits, which is a fairly new thing for him, to be
honest. "In any case, as for the shoes, I'm thinking about giving them to
Pandora. They're worth £800."

"What?!" Remus yelps, gaping down at the shoes in disbelief.

"They're not even the most expensive I've ever owned," Regulus adds,
enjoying Remus looking like he's about to go into a personal economic
crisis.

"And you're just going to give them away? Bloody hell, Reg, give them to
me," Remus blurts out.

Regulus laughs. "Oh, but you wouldn't be able to fit them. Your feet are far
too large."

"You should have seen me when I was thirteen. My feet were the first thing
that grew. I looked like a fucking clown."
"You are a clown."

"I do hate you sometimes, you know," Remus mutters, stepping back from
the pan. "Now make me a toastie."

"Remus—"

"I bet you can't do it in your very fancy, very high shoes."

"I hate that this is working," Regulus hisses in annoyance as he steps

forward to make a fucking toastie. Damn Remus Lupin.

Remus chuckles and starts putting all the dishes back that Regulus brought
down before, and Regulus scowls, but he doesn't stop him. It's as he's
making Remus his toastie that he just—gives in. He does love cooking.
Even now. Even after all that's happened. It just soothes something in him.

Regulus kicks off the shoes just as he finishes at the stove, because really,
they are absolutely horrible on the feet. It has been years, and he doesn't
appreciate the reminder. He's not about to keep torturing himself just for
Remus' entertainment.
Remus sits down with him at the table, glancing between their toasties. The
one Regulus made looks...expensive, frankly. A bit perfect and artistic.
Remus', in contrast, looks like what you'd find at home. A bit smooshed,
honestly. Remus doesn't look worried, though, when he says, "Go on,
then."

At the same time, they take a bite, and Regulus accidentally makes a noise
not unlike the noises that James wrung from him earlier, because fucking
hell, that is good. Cheese dribbles down his chin, and he stares at the toastie
with his eyebrows drawn together, chewing angrily. No. What the fuck?
Why is that better than his? What magic is this?

"Remus," Regulus says suspiciously, when he swallows, "did you put crack
in my toastie?"

"No," Remus replies, coughing violently and banging on his chest because
he just busted out laughing while trying to swallow. (Yes, Regulus timed it
perfectly, because he's evil.)

"What did you do?"

"I made it with love."

"Piss off, I'm not joking. What did you do?" Regulus insists, scowling as he
takes another bite of his toastie.
"Really, I just made it how my mum made it," Remus tells him, smiling.
"There you are, the best toastie you'll ever have, courtesy of Hope Lupin.
You're welcome."

Regulus narrows his eyes. "Tell me the secret. Now."

"Mm, I don't think I will. Yours is good, though," Remus offers, taking
another bite, his eyes bright with humor.

"Yours is better. I can't believe this," Regulus says, glaring at the toastie
before grumpily having more. Christ, it's good.

"My mum's is better," Remus corrects, his face softening. "I can't take the
credit for this one. Honestly, it's probably that it's home-cooking. A man
truly can't live on caviar alone, if you think about it. Sometimes he needs to
eat something that tastes like home."

"I can promise you, this tastes nothing like home," Regulus tells him dryly.

Remus' smile fades. "Reg, that—that wasn't home. I—yes, you grew up
there, but that's not what makes a home. That's not what a home is supposed
to be. For all my mother's faults, she never failed to give me a home. I had
that, at least, even if at times it felt hollow, or like I was a stranger in it.
Home is warm and happy and...safe."
"Oh, is that the secret ingredient, then?" Regulus mumbles.

"I always thought so," Remus says quietly.

Regulus sits the toastie down, appetite vanishing. He stares down at it, a
lump in his throat. He clears it away and manages to croak, "I know you
think it wasn't home, but sometimes it was. It used to be. Sirius made it a
home."

"Oh," Remus breathes out, like he's been punched in his chest.

"When he left, I guess I forgot what that was," Regulus murmurs, blinking
hard. He can feel the emotions rising again, and this time, they're not going
back down. His eyes are burning, and no, no, he's not doing this. He
launches out of his seat. "Excuse me for a moment."

"Regulus," Remus says gently, but Regulus is already fleeing, and he

doesn't stop to hear anything else.

He takes refuge in his room, focusing on his breathing. He won't let himself
cry, absolutely refuses to, so he paces until the urge passes. He waits until
he's calmer, or at least until he can pretend he is, but it's taking longer than
normal. To distract himself, he sits on the edge of his bed and checks his
emails, a mindless task that will help him untether from reality a bit.
Regulus freezes when he sees an email from Chef Sprout. His heart fucking
drops, and he considers not even opening it, because he already knows what
it's going to be. But he has the thought that, if he cries, at least he can blame
it on the fact that his future has been washed down the drain. Swallowing,
he clicks on it and reads.

Mr. Black,

I received a visit from your brother today, who informed me that the events
that took place the night prior were orchestrated entirely by him as a prank.
He took full responsibility for pushing the tray out of your hands and
claimed you were unaware that he was sabotaging the charity event, and he
assured me that he set his own painting on fire, not out of distress, but "for
the drama", in which case I must insist that you have no reason to be
embarrassed. You're not at fault. Under the circumstances, you are not to
blame. Your brother has been reprimanded and promises to take no further
actions outside of supporting you in your culinary education.

In this situation, I must insist that you, as my most promising student, return
to classes on Monday.

That's not a suggestion, Mr. Black. Be there.

_Chef Pomona Sprout

Regulus reads it once, twice, and then a third time. His gaze slowly drifts
down to the timestamp. Chef Sprout sent him the email almost three hours
ago.

"You fucking bastard," Regulus hisses, shoving the laptop aside as he

springs to his feet, heart racing.

That lying, prying, no good bastard. Who the fuck does he think he is?
Why would he do that? He didn't push the tray, and he didn't do all of that
for a fucking prank. And he set his own painting on fire? Why? What's he
playing at?

Helplessly, Regulus feels something soft and horrible and needy break loose
in his chest, and he bites down on his lip as hard as he can so he won't cry.
No. No. Absolutely fucking not. Sirius can't just—just do things like this.
He can't just invade Regulus' life and—and—

It is an invasion, Regulus reminds himself forcefully. Regulus didn't ask for

a damn thing from him, will never ask, and Sirius had no right to do that.
Sirius went to his bloody school. He never knows when to fucking quit.

Regulus tenses up when he realizes that Sirius… Oh, there's no chance that
Sirius is letting this go, no matter how badly Regulus wishes he would. He
won't stop. He wants his answers, and Regulus scrambles to think of what
lengths he'll go to have them, since Regulus won't give them to him.

No doubt Sirius wants to know what happened in the three years after he
left, as well as what pushed Regulus to leave. He'd never go to Walburga
and Orion to work that out. It's the only people Regulus can think of that
Sirius would think of for having answers, though. Who else would know
anything? Who would Sirius believe knows anything? The only people
Regulus was frequently around back then was…

"No. No, no, no," Regulus groans, scrambling for his coat and trainers.
"Tell me you didn't, you fucking idiot. If you have, I swear to god I'm going
to murder you."

Regulus might just murder him and be done with it. Just solve the problem
before it gets out of hand. Well, two birds with one stone, he supposes. The
upcoming visit will just be beneficial in more ways than one.

"Regulus?" Remus asks when he comes bustling frantically out of his

room.

"We need to go," Regulus says, clipped, and to his credit, Remus instantly
stands up to follow.

"Where are we going?" Remus mutters warily.

Scowling, Regulus pauses in snatching open his door to glance over his
shoulder and says, "We're going to find my brother."
Remus would like, just once, for things not to be so sodding complicated.
He thinks this is maybe karma. He asks for too much, doesn't he? Always
ravenous for more, more, more.

Really, this is what he gets for actively lying to his best friend and
boyfriend. A part of him still wonders what the hell he was expected to do
in that situation. Tell them? Just explain what happened and lose the best
parts of his life? Lose one, or the other, maybe even both? How is that fair?

Yet, he also knows that this isn't fair either. This deception is going to lead
Regulus and Sirius to fucking hate him, he's sure of it. Why didn't he just
tell them? He should have. He and James both should have told them the
moment they found out, then forced Sirius and Regulus into some family
therapy. If only they had handled it immediately, instead of trying to have
both and shakily juggle too many lies, then maybe they'd have a leg to stand
on. As it is, after what they've done, Sirius and Regulus will have every
right to never forgive them.

Despite the fear of that outcome, Remus is determined to sit Sirius down
and explain the entire mess. First, Sirius needs actual rest, and then Remus
will talk to him. There's a part of him that thinks that maybe, if they're
really lucky, Sirius and Regulus might even be secretly grateful to have the
excuse to reconnect, once they're past their betrayal and anger (if they ever
get there). It's obvious they still love each other so painfully much that it's
ripping them both up inside.

Unfortunately, Remus has to make sure that Regulus doesn't ruin that plan
before it can even happen. For one, Sirius needs to sleep. (Frankly, Remus
is quite sure that Regulus needs it just as much.) Two, one day to recover
after what happened last night is necessary for them both. And three,
Remus is dead terrified to lose either of them so soon after Sirius went
missing and Regulus had something of a mental breakdown that led him to
emptying literally every cabinet in his flat.

Alright, so maybe it's a bit selfishly motivated. Remus has never claimed to
be a good person. A lot of his choices lately have been selfishly motivated,
but not only just. He really does just want Sirius and Regulus to be happy
and safe.

The problem, of course, comes from the fact that Regulus is not someone to
be fucked with. When he decides something, he is not easily swayed, and
Remus doesn't think he's ever seen Regulus more serious about anything the
way he is about finding his brother. It's very...Sirius of him, actually.

"Right, so when will you tell me where we're going?" Remus mumbles
from the back of the cab, darting his gaze out the window, only mildly
relieved that he doesn't recognize any of the surroundings. Admittedly, he
has been nursing a secret, ridiculous fear that Regulus would somehow
just...sense Sirius in some strange sibling connection sort of way (that's not
a real thing, it can't be, but Regulus had seemed so certain he would find
Sirius, and Remus doesn't have siblings, so what the fuck does he know?),
but that's fortunately not the case.

"We're going to visit some old acquaintances of mine," Regulus states,

frowning. He has not stopped scowling since he came out of his room.

Remus glances at him cautiously. "Old? How old?"

"I haven't seen them since I left home."

"Oh. Friends of yours?"

"Not really. Sort of. I got on with them more than anyone else, but it was
mostly just rubbish. Have you ever heard the quote: When I became a man,
I put away childish things."

"Vaguely, maybe, and I'm quite sure that's not the entire quote anyway."

"Well, in my case, I mean it literally. No, literally, when I became a man, I

left the childish things behind. We were friends in the sense that they never
knew me, really, but knew me in a way that was more real than anyone
else."

"Oh."

Regulus glances over at him, then snorts. "Don't fret, Lupin, you're the only
best friend I've ever had. You're my first, and you'll be my last."

Well, isn't that like a direct punch to the chest? God, Remus feels like an
awful friend. He wonders if these acquaintances ever shagged Regulus'
brother and kept it from him?
Probably not.

"Shut up," Remus says weakly, averting his eyes. "Just, why are we going
to see them? What does it have to do with your brother? Were they his
friends, too?"

"Hm? Oh, no, he practically despised them," Regulus tells him casually.
"That's probably because I was shagging one, and the other was supporting
our secret, illicit affair."

Remus' eyes bulge. "You were shagging one and only consider them
acquaintances?"

"Yes?"

"Christ, Reg. Also, you had to have been fourteen, fifteen? What were you
doing shagging so young?"

"Well, now you sound like Sirius," Regulus mutters, rolling his eyes. "It
was mostly just child stuff when we were that young. Snogging. A bit of
touching, mostly over the clothes. No, the shagging came later, after Sirius
was gone. I was seventeen."

"So, ah, your brother was…?" Remus tries to find the words to explain what
he wants to ask, but he can't. He feels dirty talking about Sirius while
pretending he doesn't know him.

Regulus heaves a sigh. "Protective? Yes. Immensely. It was dead annoying,

actually. He was brilliant about most things involving bodily functions that
most boys wouldn't be. He made me a small pillow once, you know. Not
much longer than my forearm and about as thick as my thigh, but he did it
so he could toss it in the dryer and heat it up for me that way I could curl
around it when I got cramps. He would brag about his own conquests at
school, even asked me for advice for his best friend, who fancied a girl that
wanted nothing to do with him. Never did find out how that went for the
bloke…"

"Um," Remus says, then coughs. Oh, bloody hell. What is he even supposed
to do with that? Regulus gave Sirius advice on girls for James. Look how
that turned out...

"But," Regulus continues, "it was different with me. For me, I mean. Sirius
was sex positive, sure, and he always swore he would be cool about it, but
not so much in practice. He even gave me condoms the first time he found
out that I'd snogged someone. He drew fucking diagrams. It was awful.
Then, you know, he caught a bloke with his hand up my shirt and hit the
fucking roof. He never cared that I wasn't a prude, never shamed me for it,
but he was always protective."

"Drove you mad, I'll bet," Remus murmurs.

"Most of the time, yes, but sometimes it was funny," Regulus admits with a
wry smile. "I could tell he didn't really mean to, and I knew a lot of it had to
do with who I was carrying on with. He didn't think I was with the right
sort; he wasn't exactly wrong, but he wasn't entirely right either."

Remus chews on his lip. "Do you think he'd approve of James?"

"I don't much care if he would, or wouldn't, honestly," Regulus says,

scowling again. "But...if he knew him, I think so."

He does know him—really well, in fact—which might be the exact reason

that he won't, Remus thinks, helplessly distressed. Oh, this is going to be a
disaster. It was always going to be, really, which is what he and James were
hoping to avoid. In doing so, they've probably made things worse.

Tomorrow is the end of this bliss, isn't it? For all of them. As selfish as it is,
he dreads what tomorrow will bring. He doesn't want to lose this. Any of it.

The cab pulls over, and Regulus climbs out with a deep breath, his face set
into a blank mask he wears when he's especially peeved off about
something. Remus' stomach ties itself into knots as he follows Regulus into
an office building, but he comforts himself with the fact that Sirius is at
home, in bed. He promised he would rest. Remus believes him.

And then, of course, Regulus walks right up to the front desk and briskly
says, "Earlier, did you have a visit from Sirius Black, by chance?"
Remus feels his heart drop. What? No, that's—Remus specifically left
Sirius home to sleep. Why would he…?

But the woman's face tells it all, as does her response, which is a stuttered,
"Um, I—I can't disclose that information to—"

"No need," Regulus interrupts coldly. Remus has never seen him like this.
He can at times be cold and harsh, yes, but he's never acted as if he's better
than anyone, not like this. He's suddenly like a stranger. "You've already
made it painfully obvious. I need to speak to Evan Rosier. Inform him that
Reggie Black is here to see him."

With that, Regulus turns and walks away without looking back or waiting,
heading right for a lift. Remus darts an apologetic look to the woman, who's
shakily fumbling for the phone, then hastily follows Regulus. He calmly
holds the lift doors for Remus to slip through, then steps back.

"What was that?" Remus hisses, appalled.

"That was efficiency, which is rarely kind," Regulus murmurs, heaving a

sigh. "It's...the world I grew up in, I suppose. My mother always used to say
that you don't ask what people can do for you; you tell them what they will
do. Because I'm a Black, they always listen. Horrid, isn't it?"

"So, what, you're just going to go wherever you like without anyone doing
anything about it?"
"Yes."

Remus shakes his head in disbelief, briefly wondering if Sirius did the same
thing. He can't picture it. Why was Sirius here, the git? He should be
resting! Christ, all of this is so, so bloody complicated. "Who's Evan
Rosier? Is he the one you...?"

"No. Evan and I were never involved. We just got on, really. If I'm lucky, I
won't have to see Barty."

"Do you think he'll be awful about…?"

Regulus shrugs. "No way of knowing. I don't care either way what they feel
about it. I suspect Barty will at least bemoan the loss of my tits. He always
liked them more than I did." There's a long pause, then Regulus sighs.
"Remus, stop trying to imagine what I looked like with tits."

"Sorry," Remus mumbles reflexively, grimacing, and Regulus shoots him an

amused look. Remus clears his throat. "Right, anyway, how do you know
where we're going, and should I be expecting a fight of some sort?"

"I know because Evan has had his office picked out since we were children,
and no, you won't have to fight anyone. You may have to help me to bury
dead bodies. Three, maximum. Does that put you off?"
"No, of course I'll help."

"Always a pleasure, Remus," Regulus says, lips twitching.

Remus frowns. "You said three? Who's the third?"

"My brother," Regulus tells him casually, sweeping out of the lift the
moment the doors open.

"Fucking hell," Remus mutters as he follows Regulus out, swallowing

thickly. This is not the ideal way to spend his day. Oh, Sirius, what have you
gotten me into? he thinks miserably.

Regulus stops in front of a closed door with the plaque reading E. Rosier on
it, then says, "Ah, just as I thought," and lets himself inside without so
much as a knock.

Remus follows him inside, immediately examining the two blokes already
in the office. One man is behind the desk with sandy blond hair and quite
possibly the most perfect cheekbones Remus has ever seen in his life, and
he jolts forward in his chair the moment Regulus steps in the room. The
other man has darker features, darker hair and darker eyes, and he nearly
falls out of his chair the second he actually drinks the full sight of Regulus
in.
Already, Remus can tell that Regulus is different. He's standing taller, not as
relaxed, and his expression gives absolutely nothing away, making him look
bored. There's an air of superiority surrounding him, like he could make
demands here and now and everyone else would trip over themselves to fill
them, or the repercussions of not doing so would be...not good. Remus
knows he has to be uncomfortable, especially considering that he's
essentially outing himself without warning to people he can't say for sure
will respond well, yet you'd think this was just another day to him.

The man behind the desk blurts out, "Oh, I thought Pamela was having me
on again. Reggie?"

"Evan," Regulus replies flatly, then glances over at the other man, whose
mouth is still hanging open. "Barty."

Turns out, Regulus is not lucky.

"This is a right fucking shock, you are," Barty chokes out, eyes bulging as
he looks right at Regulus' chest. He looks about two seconds from asking
where his tits have gone.

"My brother was here," Regulus states, moving forward to brace his hands
on the top of the chair directly next to Barty, fully not fucking around. "Tell
me what you told him."
"I—" Evan blinks rapidly, then slumps back in his chair, touching his
fingers to his lips.

Regulus leans forward on his elbows, casually linking his fingers together,
but his voice is an ice cold order when he sharply says, "Speak, Evan. Use
your words."

"What the fuck is happening right now?" Barty bellows.

"Reggie," Evan breathes out, mystified, and then he abruptly starts

laughing. He completely loses it, laughing so hard that he folds forward
slightly and presses his hand to his stomach. He laughs until he's nearly
gagging, utterly breathless.

Barty makes an odd noise, yelping, "What's funny, Evan? What about any
of this is funny?!"

"Oh my god," Evan wheezes. "Oh my god." That seems to set him off all
over again, and he's back to laughing.

Regulus has never looked more unimpressed in his life. Remus shifts
uncomfortably, darting his gaze between Evan and Barty, waiting for the
shock to turn into something that makes sense. The laughter doesn't, and
Barty hasn't moved on from the shock stage just yet.
"Evan!" Regulus snaps.

Almost instantly, Evan holds up a hand and attempts to sober up, but
random chuckles spill out of him, even as he manages to say, "Oh, we'd
thought you died. Ha! Oh my god."

"You fucking idiots," Regulus says with a sigh, and Evan whimpers like
he's in pain, shot off laughing again.

"Well, what the hell were we supposed to think, Reggie?! You just
disappeared, and we couldn't find traces of you no matter how hard we
looked!" Barty announces.

Regulus arches an eyebrow at him. "Did you look?"

"Obviously," Barty hisses.

"Did you mourn me, Barty?" Regulus asks, amused, which is awful. Isn't
that awful? Why does he find that funny?

Evan apparently also finds it funny, because he crows with a new round of
laughter and chokes out, "He did! He got ragingly drunk and shagged his
way through half of London and practically wrote a eulogy for your tits!"
"Oh, piss off!" Barty bursts out, throwing his hands up, nearly falling out of
the chair as he jabs a finger at Evan. "You're the one who cried."

"I did not," Evan protests instantly, drawing up short as his laughter cuts
off, cheeks turning red.

"How sweet," Regulus says tonelessly, once again looking bored. "You
didn't find anything because you were looking in the wrong places, for the
wrong person. Regina never existed, not really, and did die in a way, I
suppose."

Barty squints at Regulus. "Well, that's dramatic. Are you taking the piss?"

"Oh yes, Barty, I transitioned into a man purely to take the piss," Regulus
says, and silence falls instantly.

Remus darts his gaze between Barty and Evan again, wary. The last time
Remus got into a fight was four years ago, and he nearly put the bloke in a
hospital. Didn't even mean to. He just gets...angry sometimes, doesn't
realize his own strength, and then—well, he tries to avoid fights. Not
because he loses them, but because he wins them a little too well.

But, for Regulus, he will absolutely fight two complete strangers. No

questions asked. Sirius had said once that not all friends are like this, that
it's something special the way he and Regulus have each other's backs, and
he thinks he understands that a bit better now. For the first time, he's not
scared that he could hurt people. For his best friend, he would. He's grateful
that he can, actually, if it keeps Regulus safe.

Regulus doesn't look worried, though. He's not even tense. At most, he's a
touch impatient, like it annoys him that they're wasting time with the new
information instead of immediately giving him the information he wants.

"Like, on purpose?" Barty ventures, finally.

"No, Barty, purely to take the piss. Didn't you just hear me say so?" Regulus
replies, sarcasm laced in his tone like poison.

Evan leans forward, frowning. "No, I know about this, yeah? Someone in
finances did this, but in reverse, I think. Dad wanted to fire them for it, but I
said it doesn't matter much if it doesn't affect the job, right? Besides, there's
all these laws about that stuff now, you know."

"You mean Greg?" Barty asks.

"Gina, now," Evan corrects with a lazy shrug.

Barty's eyes go cloudy, then he nods. "Yeah, I know who you're talking
about. Showed up one day after a vacation with a nice pair of tits. Did us all
a favor with that one, honestly."
"Yes, Barty, thank you for that wonderful insight and resounding
endorsement in trans activism," Regulus says flatly, reaching up to rub his
temples, and Remus can't help but snort. Regulus cranes his head back to
glance at Remus, and his face softens just a bit before he looks away again.

"So I take it you had your name changed, and that's why we couldn't find
anything on you?" Evan asks curiously.

"I'd say so."

"Well, what's your name now?"

"Regulus," Regulus informs them simply.

Evan smirks. "Fucking pretentious name, isn't it? Only common names for
common people, and god forbid you be considered anything such as that."

"You wouldn't know, would you, Evan?" Regulus shoots back, and Evan
grins at him.

"I've just had a thought," Barty announces.

Regulus raises his eyebrows. "Don't hurt yourself."

"This makes me gay, doesn't it? Am I gay now? I didn't know I was gay,"
Barty says, dropping his head over on the back of the chair, squeezing his
eyes shut. "Oh god, Reggie, my dad's going to be furious." A beat passes,
then his eyes snap open, lighting up. "Oh, my dad's going to be furious!"

"Have your gay crisis if you will. Go forth and explore the world of cocks. I
don't actually care." Regulus swivels back towards Evan, narrowing his
eyes. "You're going to tell me what my brother wanted and what you told
him. Now."

"Some things don't change, do they? Look at you, Reggie, bloke or not, still
as terrifying as ever." Evan looks so pleased by this fact. "You're an awful,
despicable person, do you know that? You just disappeared for eight
years."

"Yes?" Regulus says, not apologetic in the least.

Evan's face twitches, and he no longer looks pleased. He looks, shockingly

enough, rather hurt. "We really did mourn you, you know. We thought you
fucking offed yourself. We—" He swallows and shakes his head. "I know
you never really considered us friends, but you were our friend. That was
fucked up, Reggie. Really fucked up."

"You're not a complete idiot, Evan, as much as you like to pretend. I'm sure
you can work out why I left and never looked back," Regulus murmurs.
"I suppose I do," Evan allows grudgingly. "If I was running off to escape
my raging bitch of a mother and do something she might actually kill me
for, I'd probably cut all ties to those who were connected to her in any
capacity, too."

Barty grunts. "Fucking awful witch of a woman, Reggie, even to this day.
Can't blame you for going, even if you did go off to transform into a man.
Oi, do you have a cock now?"

"How is my dear mother?" Regulus asks dryly, ignoring Barty entirely, who
looks put out by this.

"Barty had it right. Fucking awful witch of a woman. I have a meeting with
her tomorrow about some accounts," Evan says, grimacing. "I'm dreading
it, if I'm honest. I hate that we still do business with her. The day she dies,
I'm going to throw a party the likes of which the world has never seen."

"You should come," Barty adds.

"I'll be too busy throwing a party of my own." Regulus presses his lips into
a thin line, and Remus feels a chill go down his spine knowing that these
people still interact with Regulus and Sirius' abusive mother. She shouldn't
exist outside of a fucking prison cell. "Is my father dead yet?"
Barty clicks his tongue. "Not yet, but it's close. But then, it's been close for
nearly a decade. At this point, I'm convinced he'll still be dying after we're
all dead."

"Honestly, none of my family would do me the favor of dying," Regulus

mutters. "They live to spite me."

"They do, it seems. Particularly your brother," Evan says, pushing up from
his chair to walk around his desk right across from Regulus and drag a
crystal glass with a stopper and amber liquid in it, jerking his chin at Barty.
"Get us glasses."

"If I must," Barty complains, going off to do just that. For the first time,
someone outside of Regulus actually looks at Remus, Barty eyeing him
with a frown. "Him, too? Actually, who are you? Reggie, who's this?"

"My best friend, Remus. Leave him be, or I'll make you wish you had,"
Regulus declares simply, sounding absolutely sure about this, and Barty
doesn't seem to doubt him. Regulus heaves a sigh a beat later. "Get him a
glass, Barty. You can give him a fucking drink. Christ."

"Do you want us to leave him be, or not?" Barty grumbles, but he scoops up
a fourth glass and shuffles over to Evan.

"Sirius is alive and well," Evan muses as he pours one drink after the other.
"How'd you know he would stop by?"
"Because he's stupid," Regulus says, glancing back at Remus with his
eyebrows raised.

Remus moves forward to come stand beside him, happy to keep silent and
watchful. It's interesting to see Regulus interact with people—friends?—
from his past. Remus can tell that he's not open with them the way he is
with Remus, and even Pandora to a degree, but he's also quite sure that
there's a small bit of him that's...fond of them, in a way.

"Has he seen you? That's the only reason I could think that he would come
to start with," Evan says.

Regulus narrows his eyes. "He didn't mention it?"

"No." Barty leans up against the desk beside Evan, scoffing under his
breath. "He didn't tell us anything, the prick. We told him you were dead,
and he didn't even correct us! That would have been nice to know. You
know, that you're not."

"He even seemed to freak out a bit when we did tell him, actually, but why
would he if he's seen you?" Evan asks, sliding Barty a glass, who grabs it
without even looking.

"Maybe he wished it was true," Regulus suggests, taking the glass Evan
offers him.
Evan clicks his tongue. "No, he seemed rather upset about it. He brought his
best mate along, too. What was his name, Barty? The bloke with the
glasses."

Remus feels his heart skip a beat. Shit, shit, shit. Sirius and James were
here? What the hell is happening today? Fuck, do they know James' name?
His full name? James is common enough, isn't it? Maybe Regulus won't
think anything of it.

"Jim, or something, I think," Barty says carelessly, and Remus has to press
his lips together so he won't exhale in relief.

"Right. I told Sirius you were dead and it was his fault, and his mate, Jim,
dragged him right out," Evan announces casually, holding out a glass to
Remus without even looking at him. Remus is almost too horrified to take
it. He told Sirius it was his fault? No fucking wonder Sirius was upset.
Remus has to internally count backwards from ten before he can take the
glass without punching Evan in the face.

"What else did you tell Sirius?" Regulus asks, his face going blank, eyes
guarded.

"Oh, not...much," Barty says cautiously, sharing a quick look with Evan.
"Just ah, just that you left a bit after your mother made you get engaged to
Mulciber."
"That's all?" Regulus says. Evan and Barty share another look, then
dutifully nod. Regulus takes a sip of his drink. "Hm."

Silence stretches, and Remus is treated to the sight of two fully grown men
squirming slightly under Regulus' stare. No one says anything, the four of
them all drinking the two swallows that Evan poured each of them. Regulus
just continues to drag his gaze between Barty and Evan, watching them
without a word. Remus is startled by how intimidating it is, never having
seen it before. Regulus can stubbornly wait someone out, but he's never
turned a gaze like this on Remus. A gaze like a scalpel, cutting you open to
see what spills out. From the outside, it's actually as equally cool as it is
awful.

"You know, I just remembered that I spouted off quite a bit about loving
your tits," Barty blurts out, like the words are being plucked from his lips
with force.

Poor James, Remus thinks with a wince.

"Oh?" Regulus asks lightly, flicking his gaze to Evan, who cracks in
approximately eight seconds.

"I might have said you were a bit, um, unstable there towards the end,"
Evan admits, cringing slightly. "And perhaps we insinuated that your
mother got...worse after he left."
"Is that right?" Regulus murmurs, pushing away from the chair to sit his
empty glass on the desk with a dull thunk.

"In our defense, Reggie, we thought you were dead," Barty says with a
huff.

Regulus hums. "Yes, but I'm not. Clearly. Is that all?"

"Yes," Evan says.

"You said you were seeing my mother tomorrow?" Regulus asks, and they
both nod. Regulus nods back, then steps forward and reaches out with both
hands to promptly and with no warning grab Evan and Barty, quite literally,
by the balls. Remus' eyes fly wide when he sees Regulus' hands fist and
twist a bit, making both Evan and Barty make pained noises and go straight
to their toes, gripping the desk and holding as still as possible to avoid
further agony.

"Fuck, Reggie, that's my cock you're about to rip off!" Barty yelps,
sounding strained.

"Yes, I know. Cocks and bollocks—very sensitive, fragile things, aren't

they?" Regulus says calmly, and Remus winces when he sees Regulus
tighten his grip. Evan and Barty both make rather pathetic noises in unison.
"I just wanted to remind you both of that. How sensitive they are. Because,
to be clear, if a word of any of this gets back to my mother, I will remove
your cocks and bollocks slowly, so that you'll feel every sensitive moment
of it. And I'll feed yours, Evan, to Barty, and yours, Barty, to Evan. Do you
understand?"

"Right, got it," Evan grits out, eyes squeezed shut.

Barty whimpers. "Yes, understood. Fucking hell."

"My mother will not know of my visit, or Sirius'," Regulus states firmly.
Evan and Barty both bobble their heads in ready agreement. Regulus jerks
his hands up in unison, making Barty and Evan rise up with pained groans.
"You will tell her nothing. Not how Sirius is doing. Not my name.
Nothing."

"Alright, alright, fuck," Barty spits out.

"And," Regulus adds, "you're going to do me a favor, Evan, for telling

Sirius what you did, or I'm going to twist your cock off right now."

Evan bangs his hand down on his desk. "Yes, yes, alright. You've made your
fucking point, Reggie."

"Lovely," Regulus says blandly and lets go, stepping back like nothing is
amiss while Evan and Barty deflate.
Remus stares at Regulus, not knowing whether to be appalled or just start
laughing in pure amazement. Who the fuck is he? Yet, somehow, Remus
isn't even surprised.

"Christ," Evan breathes out, delicately cupping the front of his trousers with
a frown.

"Guess that answers my question about whether you have a cock or not.
You'd never do that if you knew what it felt like," Barty snaps, rubbing
himself with a wince. He pauses, then raises his eyebrows. "Well, maybe I
am a bit gay. That was hot, and your mouth hasn't changed a bit. You
know…"

"No," Regulus says flatly, then dismisses him to focus on Evan, ignoring it
when Barty pouts. "Find him."

"Bit illegal, that," Evan mutters.

"Has that ever stopped you before?"

"Fair point."

Find who? Remus thinks, internally panicking as Evan limps over to his
desk and starts typing on his computer, because he thinks he already knows.
Fucking shit. He can't actually find Sirius, can he? How would he even…?
"Reggie," Barty says, flopping his head over with a slow smile, eyes
sparkling.

Regulus sighs. "Barty, no. I'm not interested. Go explore your gay
tendencies elsewhere."

"Have a boyfriend?" Barty asks curiously.

"Yes," Regulus says, his tone softening the way it only does when he's
thinking about James, an unconscious thing.

Evan doesn't look away from his computer as he says, "Bad luck, Barty."

"Isn't it?" Barty muses, clicking his tongue. "Reggie's found someone. I
thought I was your first and last, you know. Do you love him, then?"

"You weren't my last," is all Regulus says.

"Oh, really? Go on, then. Was anyone better than me?"

"This one is. He actually gets me off."

"Ah, Reggie, how I've missed you," Evan says, dissolving into laughter as
Barty flushes. "Right, well, this was ridiculously easy to do. Tsk tsk,
Sirius." He shakes his head as he turns away from his computer to grab a
pen and slip of paper, scrawling something on it. "You think he'd know
better."

"Sirius never knows better," Regulus mutters as he reaches out to take the
paper that Evan folds up and offers to him.

"You won't disappear again, will you?" Barty asks as Regulus slips the
paper in his pocket and steps back.

Regulus just turns and grabs Remus' arm, gently pulling him towards the
door. "You know my name. Look for me properly this time, or don't. Find
me if you want, but don't make me have to find you. It won't be a friendly
visit."

"See you, Reggie," Evan calls cheerfully, laughing again.

"You make for a fit bloke, you know, but I do miss your tits dreadfully!"
Barty adds on, just before the door closes.

The lift ride down is silent. Remus stares at Regulus, who refuses to look
back. In fact, neither of them say anything until they're outside. Regulus
orders a ride on his cell, glancing at the paper twice. Remus tries to peer at
it to see the address, but Regulus closes it before he gets the chance.

"Well," Remus says when Regulus finally looks at him.

"Welcome to my world," Regulus says flatly.

Remus purses his lips. "Not anymore."

Regulus' face softens a bit, lips curling up, and Remus suddenly has his best
friend back. "No, not anymore."

"Do you miss it?"

"Not one bit."

"Do you miss them?"

"Oh, don't be jealous. They could never have what we have."

"Reg, I mean it," Remus says softly.

"I...did, a bit, especially in the beginning," Regulus admits quietly. "But,
really, I never had a true friend before you. Evan and Barty, they're the
closest I came, but we were all too young to really know how to manage it.
They abandoned me, too, towards the end. I get the feeling you never
would."

Remus shakes his head. "No. Never."

"Thought so. You did just watch me threaten to castrate two men with
complete sincerity without stopping me, and you're still here, so…" Regulus
shrugs.

"Would you actually do it?"

"If they put us in danger? Without hesitation."

"Us," Remus murmurs. "You and Sirius, you mean."

Regulus scowls the moment he realizes his slip, and apparently in no mood
to acknowledge it, he simply looks away. Remus feels warmth bloom in his
chest, at least until Regulus nods at a car and says, "That's me."
"Just you?" Remus asks nervously. He has no way of knowing for sure that
Evan did, in fact, find Sirius. Ice clamps down on his spine at the thought,
but surely Evan couldn't do that?

"Just me. You should get home. Thanks for coming with me," Regulus
murmurs, as sincere as ever gets.

"At least I don't have to help you bury any dead bodies today," Remus says
with a sheepish smile.

Regulus pauses and looks at him. His lips twitch. "Keep your cell close,
Remus. The day's still young."

"Reg, where are you going?" Remus whispers.

"To see my brother," Regulus says simply, then inclines his head and starts
for the car.

Remus shudders a harsh breath and calls out, "Regulus!" When he looks
back, Remus swallows. "You know, it's—it's alright if you want to let the
hate go and just love your brother again."

"I don't," is Regulus' firm response.

"But if you did," Remus says softly, "that'd be alright."

Regulus just turns and walks away, shoving himself into the car and
slamming the door shut without looking back. Remus watches Regulus go
and shrinks back, squeezing his eyes shut, feeling like a fucking coward.
Oh, this is bad.

This is really fucking bad.

James answers the phone with a distracted, "Hello? Is everything alright?

How's Regulus?"

"Where's Sirius?" Remus asks, clipped.

"Er." James pauses, then coughs. "He's sleeping. Why?"

"Where are you?"

"Visiting my mum and dad. Sirius is really dead to the world, honestly.
Don't suspect he'll wake up until tonight."

Remus grinds his teeth. "Had a bit of a busy day, did you?"
"Um," James says slowly, an awful liar, "it was...eventful."

"Yes, I heard," Remus snaps. "Sirius was supposed to be resting, James. He

wasn't supposed to go recklessly digging about in Regulus' past. Explain to
me why either of you thought it was a brilliant idea to go to Barty and
Evan?"

"I didn't," James protests instantly. A pause. "Wait, how do you know about
that?"

"Because I just met them, James. Because, without much warning, Regulus
decided for some reason I still don't know that he was going to find his
brother today and possibly kill him, and I'm not entirely convinced it isn't
about to happen, because I'm quite sure that Evan just found out where
Sirius is through not entirely legal means!"

"What? No, that's not—is that even possible? The only thing I can think that
someone would be able to find is where he works, Remus. He sells things at
the shop right next to the studio, so maybe Evan found that?"

"Well, I don't fucking know, but Regulus just took off claiming that he's
going to see his brother," Remus hisses.

James sucks in a sharp breath. "Fuck. Shit, oh, that's not good. That's—
that's really quite bad." He groans. "This is because Sirius went to the
school and took the blame for what happened at the gallery. He told Chef
Sprout that he sabotaged Regulus' night so Regulus could go back to
classes."

"While that's nice, immediately going to Evan and Barty afterwards ruins it
a bit," Remus says wearily.

"He loves him, Remus," James whispers. "Sirius really loves him. Too
stubborn to admit it, but he does."

Remus heaves a sigh. "Regulus is the same. I don't know if Regulus has his
address, or he's going to the studio, but—"

"Even if he did have an address, the door is locked and Sirius is sleeping
deeply. I think he'll have to wait."

"We can't keep making them wait, James."

"I'm coming back," James declares firmly. "I'm coming home right now,
and you need to get there. We agreed to do this so it wouldn't hurt them, but
this is hurting them. We can't wait until tomorrow. Even if Sirius is asleep
and Regulus is at the studio, or waiting by the door, we can't wait
anymore."
"No, I agree," Remus says seriously. "I'll likely get there before you, but I'll
wait. We'll go in together?"

James exhales shakily and rasps, "Yeah. Might be best."

"Message me when you're close."

"I will. See you soon, Remus."

"See you, James."

Chapter End Notes

The friendship between Remus and Regulus is absolutely

EVERYTHING to me. I adore them. Also, Evan and Barty and
Regulus RADIATE slytherin energy in this chapter. Also², poor Remus
nearly having at least five different heart attacks in this chapter alone.
Remus James: spending the last twenty four hours perpetually
freaking the fuck out 😭😭😭

And then there's Sirius and Regulus, who are like: I hate my brother, I
despise him, I want him dead and gone and far away from me

Also Sirius and Regulus: I will literally commit crimes to find my

brother, and also, if you so much as BREATHE in his direction with
bad intentions, I will make sure you never breathe again

Anyway, we're back to regular schedule after this one, so I will see all
of you on Wednesday!

Let me know what you thought of this one <3

 Chapter 16
Chapter Notes

It's Wednesday!!!! Oh god, oh god, okay, so. I'm calm. I'm chill. It's
just that this is legitimately one of the most emotional chapters I've
ever written in my LIFE.

So, warnings: references to child abuse (Walburga's A+ parenting

again), a lot of tension, discussions ABOUT the mistreatment of Sirius
and Regulus in many different forms, including from each other,
arguments, and an unexpected surprise.

It's a wild one, everyone. Enjoy <3

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Regulus sinks down on the edge of the bed and stretches his legs out in
front of him, crossing them at the ankles, and he loosely braces his hands on
the edge of the bed as his head slowly swivels around, silently observing.

The walls have framed artwork, and the closet is a fucking mess, clothes
overrunning it and spilling out on the floor in front of it. There are at least
three half-empty water bottles and two cups of the last dredges of now-cold
tea sitting on the nightstand, along with a pack of color pencils and a
coloring book only half-finished (Regulus checked). The vanity is cluttered,
rings and bracelets and eyeliner pens scattered all over it, and the chair in
front of it has a fraying cushion. There are different photos taped to the side
swing-out mirror that Regulus can't bring himself to actually look at, seeing
as they're full of people that he doesn't know and won't be him.

The window is shut, but the curtain is tucked up like it's opened often, and
there are ash smudges on the sill that suggest someone has smoked there.
Regulus stares at them for a long time, then drags his gaze to the only other
occupant in the room, the person in bed.

Regulus has always thought Sirius looked stupid when he was sleeping. He
doesn't sleep with his mouth closed, and his hair is a wreck around his head,
and he drools. Maybe it's just a sibling urge, but Regulus has always had the
impulse to stick random objects in Sirius' slack mouth, or draw a cock on
Sirius' forehead. They never did things like that to each other when they
were younger, though, because Walburga would have punished both of
them for the lack of decorum. So, instead, Regulus used to tell Sirius that he
was swallowing spiders in his sleep, but Sirius—ever infuriating—always
used to grin and claim he was grateful for the protein.

Sirius had the urge to be a shit when Regulus was awake. He used to say
that Regulus looked like an innocent angel when he was asleep, could never
bring himself to bother him, but then Regulus would wake up and remind
Sirius that he was the farthest thing from an angel anyone could get. It used
to make Regulus laugh when he said that, but then it became an insult,
losing the underlying fondness, and Regulus stopped finding it funny at all.

A lot of things stopped being funny after a while.

Sighing quietly, Regulus traces his gaze over Sirius' stupid, sleeping face.
Then, shaking his head, Regulus reaches out and harshly flicks the end of
Sirius' nose. Sirius smacks his lips, grumbling, his face twitching, but then
he settles again.
Rolling his eyes, Regulus pinches Sirius' nose closed and waits, because
despite sleeping with his mouth open, Sirius breathes through his nose. He's
so fucking strange. Always has been.

Sirius' face scrunches, his mouth working, literally going without oxygen
even though his mouth is already open. Like an idiot, it takes him a bit to
work out how to fucking breathe when one avenue is closed off to him, but
it does eventually kick in instinctively. It rouses him, though, making him
suck in a sharp breath as he garbles out a noise of confusion, eyes peeling
open, cloudy and unsettled.

Regulus lets his nose go, and Sirius blinks at him, eyebrows furrowed.
Clumsily, he swipes at the drool on his face, then squints at Regulus, then
blinks harder and shakes his head almost violently. He abruptly sits up,
alert.

"Reggie?" Sirius croaks, still sounding half-asleep.

"Lovely. You're awake," Regulus says flatly.

"Did you just try to smother me in my sleep?" Sirius sputters, looking at

him with disbelief.

Regulus stares at him like he's stupid. "No. Trust me, if that's what I
intended to do, I wouldn't have failed. Although, if I'm honest, the thought
did cross my mind."
Sirius blinks again, then sits up straighter, seeming to fully grasp that
Regulus is in his room, perched on the edge of his bed. His eyes widen.
"How did you—wait, who let you in?"

"No one," Regulus admits casually, turning his head to lazily look around
the room again. "Is someone supposed to be here? No one was when I came
in."

"I have a flatmate. Wait—"

"You have a flatmate? Sirius, you're a grown man with the funds to live
alone. Why on earth would you have a flatmate?"

"He's my best mate, and I—actually, that's not any of your business or even
the point! If he's not here, then how did you get in? He always locks the
door when he leaves," Sirius snaps, scowling at him, visibly suspicious.

Regulus hums. "The door was locked."

"You broke into my flat?!"

"Obviously. I didn't come in through the window, did I? I used the door like
a civilized person."
"You picked the lock!"

"I did. Rather useful skill, that. Fortunately for me, my brother taught me
how when I was only seven."

"I only taught you that so you could break into the cupboard Mother locked
me in to sneak me food so I wouldn't fucking starve," Sirius grits out,
nostrils flaring. "I taught myself first so I could do the same for you."

"I'm touched," Regulus says blandly.

Sirius glares at him. He looks ridiculous, hair tangled around his face,
creases on his cheeks from sleeping so hard. Looks a bit like an infuriated,
ruffled bird, actually. "What the fuck are you doing letting yourself in my
flat, Reggie? You can't just break into—how did you even know where I—"

"No, actually, what the fuck were you doing when you went to Chef Sprout
and told her that what happened last night was a prank you orchestrated?"
Regulus cuts in coldly, and Sirius' mouth snaps shut. "That wasn't a prank.
You didn't push that tray out of my hands. So, why did you—"

"Can't you just say thank you and be done with it?" Sirius snarls, harshly
yanking the duvet back so he can swing himself around and launch out of
bed.
Regulus scoffs. "Why would I thank you? I didn't ask you to do that. I
think, actually, that I asked you to stay away from me and out of my life,
and you went to my fucking school instead."

"Yes, and if I hadn't, you wouldn't be allowed back in classes, so thank me

anytime now," Sirius mutters as he snatches up his brush and begins
roughly dragging it through his hair.

"I didn't need your help, Sirius," Regulus spits.

Sirius whips around to glare at him, yanking on the brush in visible

agitation. "As if I would help you, you fucking prick. I wish it had been a
prank, really. It's exactly what I would have done, given the chance."

"Oh, I don't doubt it. You're just as immature as you have always been,"
Regulus says sharply. "You went to Evan and Barty, Sirius, really?"

"Yes, and what of it?" Sirius slams his brush down and starts gathering his
hair into a loose knot, shorter strands spilling out to frame his face. He
pauses briefly, frowning as he stares at Regulus. "Wait, how'd you know
that?"

"Because I know your particular brand of stupidity," Regulus informs him,

clipped. "Why can't you leave well enough alone? What the fuck were you
thinking?"
"Oh, save it. How else was I supposed to figure out what the hell happened
to you?" Sirius snaps.

"I told you! I left. I transitioned. You're not entitled to anything else; you
weren't even entitled to that!" Regulus snarls, jolting up to his feet as his
emotions spike, his blood pumping as his fuse grows shorter and shorter. He
hasn't gotten like this with anyone, not in years, not even Sirius towards the
end. But Sirius is so fucking infuriating, and he brings it out in Regulus like
no other.

"I'm your brother," Sirius hisses, eyes blazing, hands balled into fists, just as
worked up as Regulus. "That does make me a little bit entitled, I'd think. If
anyone should know—"

Regulus just explodes. "You're the one who left!"

Silence falls between them with heavy, deafening finality like a guillotine.
Neither of them move. They both have their lips pressed into thin lines,
eyes locked, bodies tense. Regulus wants to hit him. Regulus wants Sirius
to hit back.

"You're the one who left," Regulus repeats quietly, his voice devoid of
emotion. "You weren't there. So, brother or not, you're entitled to nothing."
Sirius takes a deep breath, holds it, then huffs it out as if he's irritated.
"Reggie—Regulus, I'll go mad not knowing. It might actually make me
fucking insane."

"Am I meant to care about your mental state?" Regulus asks and completely
ignores the tiny thrill, the tiny rush of warmth, he feels hearing his brother
say his name for the first time.

"They said Mother was going to marry you off to Mulciber," Sirius
announces, narrowing his eyes. "Mulciber? As far as I recall, Mulciber
wasn't even someone she was considering."

"Yes, well, things can change in three years."

"Mulciber was scum. I doubt that changed."

Regulus has to work to keep his expression blank. "No, it didn't. He also
just so happened to be the son of someone she wanted to close a deal with."

"Mother wanted to close a lot of deals with a lot of different people who
had sons, and I know for sure that never changed, so why Mulciber?" Sirius
insists.

"Ask her," Regulus snaps.

Sirius barks a harsh laugh. "Yeah, no, I won't be doing that, actually. I'm
asking you."

"You really want to know?" Regulus asks, arching an eyebrow at Sirius,

who is no longer laughing. "Mother chose Mulciber because he was scum,
Sirius. That's why."

"That's—" Sirius' face scrunches. "That doesn't make sense. None at all.
She'd never…" He trails off, his face slowly clearing as he finally gets it.
"What did you do?"

"What did I have to do?" Regulus challenges. "Mother didn't need reasons
to punish me after you left; I think she felt it was the closest she'd ever get
to punishing you." Sirius flinches, his eyebrows pinching together, and
Regulus looks away. "In any case, Mulciber was the highest bidder, so to
speak. He was the connection that would get her the highest benefits, so
why not barter with me? Her precious daughter, you always said. Not much
more than a piece of meat to trade, in the end."

"Did you...did you tell her you didn't want to?" Sirius rasps, swallowing
thickly.

Regulus stares at him. "No. She brought me into her study, introduced me to
my new fiance, and informed me that I would be married in two week's
time."
"Always did move fast, our mother," Sirius says, looking away with a
frown. "And Mulciber?"

"Owned me," Regulus declares, and Sirius' gaze snaps to his, nostrils
flaring as he clenches his jaw. "Rather, that's how he saw it. Mother told
him I was a virgin, seeing as she knew no different, and I suppose I was
lucky that he was enticed by the idea of me being his pure bride that he'd
get to deflower on our honeymoon. Mother, of course, never would have
stood for me to have sex out of wedlock, so at least I didn't actually have to
be his whore, even briefly. Within the following week after the
announcement, I was gone."

Sirius works his jaw, agitated again, and Regulus studies him with detached
interest. He's angry, but why would he be? He has no right to be. "So, that's
why you left?"

"It's one reason," Regulus admits.

"Did Mother know you were going?" Sirius whispers.

Regulus sighs and tilts his head back, staring up at the ceiling. What a
stupid question. "Honestly, Sirius, do you think she would have let me if
she did? I left a note, at least."

"What did it say? Did you tell her that you're—" Sirius cuts himself off, and
when Regulus drops his head forward to peer at him, he's looking at
Regulus with an unconscious hunger, desperate for every detail.
"Did I tell her that I was her son? No, obviously not. I didn't want there to
be any chance that she could find me; in a way, transitioning offered me
protection," Regulus murmurs. "I just wrote that I was leaving and wouldn't
be coming back, that I wanted nothing to do with her or Father or that
house, and I would sooner die than come home again."

Sirius stares at him for a long time in utter silence, then exhales all at once
and blurts out, "Did she look for you?"

"I don't know. I doubt it."

"Did she look for me after I left?"

"No," Regulus says simply.

"That doesn't surprise me," Sirius admits with a quiet snort, shaking his
head. "I'll bet she hardly noticed I was gone."

Regulus is abruptly gripped with an unexpected rush of fury so harsh that

he'd label it hatred. He's assaulted by the memories. The shattered glass; the
screeching like nails on chalkboard; a broken chair, wood splintered; the
coarse rug under his cheek; a locked door with no brother to pick it open.
Walburga noticed.

Regulus' voice is shaking with rage when he says, "Is that what you think?
You think she just carried on like you didn't leave, Sirius? You think it
escaped her notice that you were freed from the fucking table that night?"

God, he remembers it. Regulus remembers sitting on the edge of his bed,
fingers tangled in his lap, his stomach in knots. He remembers waiting all
night, and he remembers what it felt like when his door creaked open, his
mother framed there. He remembers how cold he was when she led him
downstairs and asked, her voice like ice, how Sirius managed to pull the
knife from his own hand. He remembers that he didn't answer, didn't even
have to, because she already knew. And, the worst part is, he can't fucking
forget how he kept waiting, and kept waiting, night after night and day after
day, but Sirius never came for him. He doesn't remember when he gave up,
and he thinks, with a horrible, awful dread that makes him ache, that some
part of him is still waiting.

"What?" Sirius has gone pale. "What do you mean? Reggie, what do you
mean by that?" His voice is rising in pitch, in urgency, threaded through
with distress. "Tell me what you mean. It—it could have been assumed that
I freed myself."

"Is that what you told yourself to feel better?" Regulus asks softly, and
Sirius' eyes start to shine. "I wish I could have been afforded that luxury,
but reality is much harsher. She knew it was me. She noticed your absence,
I can assure you."
Sirius' shoulders hunch in like he's taking a blunt object directly to the
chest. He chokes out, "Did she—how bad—"

"Well, she didn't stab me," Regulus says dryly, "so I suppose it could have
been worse. Don't cry. I don't care for it."

"I'm—Reggie… Regulus, I'm—"

"Don't apologize either. Your guilt is yours. Deal with it."

"I never meant for—" Sirius halts, shuddering on a shaky exhale, blinking
hard. Regulus can tell how much effort he's putting into not breaking down
into tears. "What was I supposed to do? I couldn't stay there. I—"

"No," Regulus agrees. "If you had, you'd probably be dead. You did what
was best for you. I've never denied that."

"But you hate me anyway."

"But I hate you anyway."

"Right." Sirius huffs out a hoarse, scratchy laugh and looks away. He closes
his eyes for a long moment, then nods sharply and turns around. "I need
coffee."

"What do you have?" Regulus asks, following him out. He gets a brief
glance into another room—must be the flatmate's—and wrinkles his nose at
the state of the bed inside, the mess of sheets and strewn pillows. He looks
away, uninterested, and turns his attention to the kitchen when Sirius leads
him in.

"Nothing fancy," Sirius mumbles. "How do you take yours? Do you even
take coffee? Mother never let—"

"As we've both established, Mother doesn't let either of us do things

anymore, or not do them. I take it black, purely for the irony," Regulus cuts
in.

Sirius glances at him quickly, then looks away just as quickly, starting
coffee for them both. "Like your soul?"

"Like my last name. How thick are you?" Regulus mutters with a heavy
sigh, resisting the urge to roll his eyes.

"Piss off. You're still so fucking—" Sirius huffs and drags down two mugs,
sitting them down with a heavier thud than absolutely necessary.

"Oh, do enlighten me, Sirius. Go on."

"You can make me out to be a bad person if you like, but let's not forget
how you were back then. How you still are, by the looks of things."

Regulus leans up against the counter with a large distance between them
and crosses his arms. "I never claimed to be a good person. You're the fool
that did that. Not me."

"You didn't used to be like that," Sirius says softly, staring down into the
empty mugs as the coffee maker gurgles. He swallows harshly. "You used to
be so… God, you were so sweet, Regulus. I remember the time you picked
a flower and cried when it wilted." He chuckles weakly and shakes his
head, hands clenching on the edge of the counter. "You cried a lot. About
anything, really. When you were happy, or sad, or angry. You were always
so emotional, and then… I don't know. I really don't know what happened."

"I grew up," Regulus murmurs.

"Sometimes I wish we hadn't," Sirius whispers, and neither of them say

anything else until the coffee finishes.

"Too much sugar," Regulus announces, simply to break the stifling silence
between them. Though, truly, Sirius is dumping a ridiculous amount of
sugar in his mug.
Sirius dumps more and grumbles, "I take my coffee by taste, not irony.
Christ, what is wrong with you?"

"I rather thought you had an on-going list," Regulus says dryly, arching an
eyebrow at him.

"Oh, I do. This has been added to the latest of your many offenses," Sirius
mutters.

"Is that right?" Regulus blows on his coffee, takes a sip, then hums. "Can
we be honest? I was never as bad as you made me out to be; you just
needed me to be bad so you could leave."

"What?" Sirius slowly turns his head to look at Regulus, and his gaze is
sharp, burning, absolutely furious. "Is that what you think? Is that what you
tell yourself to excuse the things you did, the things you said? You want to
be honest? I'm not as bad as you make me out to be, and I never was; you
just needed me to be so you could treat me badly."

Regulus sighs. "I—"

"No, shut up," Sirius snaps, and it's so harsh and so curt that Regulus
actually does. "I'm not going to pretend that you never did anything wrong,
simply because I left. You shut me out. You were cruel. You were fucking
awful to me sometimes like you hated me long before I was ever gone, and
I didn't even know why. You're the one who pushed me away; you're the one
who started agreeing with Mother and Father; you're the one who told me
over and over again that I deserved what I got, that it was my own fault for
simply being me—and is that why? Because I wouldn't pretend, but that's
all you did? Don't you think I would have accepted you, supported you,
helped you? But no, you were just as cruel as them, if not worse, because
them? I expected it from them. I never saw it coming from you. You
fucking hit me, Reggie. You hated me."

"I did hate you," Regulus croaks, a lump in his throat.

"Why?" Sirius breathes out, at a loss. "What did I do? I—I tried so hard,
you have no idea. I tried and tried to keep you from—" His voice cracks.
"But I couldn't. You just...slipped away."

"I slipped away?" Regulus whispers, staring at him with stinging eyes.
"How the fuck could I slip away from someone who didn't even want to
hold onto me? You were hardly there, Sirius. You never wanted to be
there."

"No, and why would I? Why did you? It was nothing but pain and fucking
misery," Sirius says, sitting his coffee down to swivel towards Regulus and
jerking his hands at his chest like he wants to reach in and yank everything
out. "I was under so much pressure all the time, and I couldn't even breathe.
I could barely move or do anything without it being wrong. I couldn't be
what I was expected to be. I was just a fuck up, you know that; you said
that. Everyone in that house hated me."

"I know what you suffered, Sirius. You think I didn't notice? I was
suffering, too."
"You didn't act like it. That's my point, Reggie! I didn't know all that you
were going through, and you wouldn't let me in, wouldn't let me help, and
you just made things worse on me. Like you wanted to. Like you got some
sick pleasure out of seeing me struggle. Why would you do that? What did
you expect me to do with that? Leaving saved my life. I couldn't keep doing
it. No one even wanted me there!"

"I did!" Regulus shouts, his voice breaking as the small thread holding it all
in snaps. He slams down his coffee, but the only thing that spills over is
him. "I wanted you there, Sirius! You want to know? I hated you because
you were a boy, and I hated you because you were gone, and I hated you
because you found new friends, and I hated you because you wanted the
world, but my whole world was you. I hated you because I didn't, because
no matter how hard I tried, I never could."

Sirius is frozen, staring at him with wide, glimmering eyes. His mouth
opens and closes, but no sounds come out. It's like someone has stolen his
voice, and as much as he might wish to say something, ultimately he
doesn't. He can't.

"You know, when I think about the hardest, most painful parts of my
childhood, I don't think about Mother. I don't think about the beatings. I
don't think about pretending I was a girl when I wasn't." Regulus swallows
thickly, lifting a trembling hand to weakly gesture at Sirius. "I think about
you."

"Reggie," Sirius chokes out, and then the tears start flowing, spilling out of
his eyes without much fanfare.
"It's not the fighting, or the distance we put between us, or even when you
were gone. None of that hurts as much as thinking about how good it used
to be, and how it never will be again," Regulus rasps. "Because somehow,
in all that pain and misery, at least I had you."

"I—" Sirius can't get further, and he's gripping the edge of the counter so
tight that his knuckles are pasty white. He's shaking and crying, and
Regulus is right behind him, out of control and exhausted.

"That's the worst part, you know," Regulus whispers, his own eyes burning.
"You left, and I waited for you to come back for me, but you never did. And
that—" He has to tuck his lips in and muffle a harsh sound in his throat, but
his eyes blur, and the tears fall. Thickly, he says, "The truth is, that's the best
thing you ever did for me. It hurt so fucking much, you leaving, but if you
didn't… If you hadn't, I would have never gotten out. I wanted us to both
suffer there together; I wanted to be enough for you to be there. But I
wasn't, and I needed you to go as badly as I wanted you to stay. You left me,
and it saved my life. I hate you for it, and I hate that I love you for it."

Sirius gasps out a wet, rattling breath and starts crying in earnest. Regulus
barely gets to see his face twist before he's suddenly a burst of motion,
shoving away from the counter. He reaches out with one hand to grasp
Regulus' shoulder and yank him into his arms.

For the first time in over eight years, Sirius embraces him, and Regulus
breaks down instantly.
He just—crumbles, like he's fragile, like he's suddenly a small child
needing to be held because he's scared. He presses his face into Sirius'
shoulder in a feeble attempt to muffle his heaving sobs, and he holds onto
Sirius like he's trying to hold him together, even though Regulus is the one
falling apart.

It's awful, really, because he hates feeling out of control, hates the emotions
he can't wrangle into submission, hates the vulnerability, and hates most of
all how desperately he doesn't want to let go. This isn't something he can
shove down, or hide away from, or outrun. He feels like he's been broken
open, like the seams of himself have started unraveling.

Regulus' first memory is of his brother hugging him. As far back as he can
recall, it's Sirius wrapping skinny arms around him and promising to
always, always keep him safe.

He tried. That's the thing. Sirius tried.

Regulus doesn't remember the last time Sirius hugged him. He thinks it was
a half-hug of some sort, Sirius playfully pulling him in and tugging on the
long locks of his hair, only for Regulus to shove him away with a sharp
insult.

That doesn't happen now. Years have passed, but the comfort of Sirius' hugs
have not changed, no matter what else has.
Regulus holds on, and even though he's hurting, even though he's scared, he
feels safe in the way only a brother can make one feel. He thought he forgot
what this felt like. The awful, wonderful truth is, he never could.

He was always waiting for it.

They give up on the coffee entirely and instead pass a bottle of whiskey
between them, which Sirius thinks is a stroke of brilliance on their parts.
They probably should have started with that, to be completely honest.

They're quiet after they move to sitting on the sofa on opposite ends, neither
of them looking at each other. Sirius already knows what Regulus looks
like, though. Red-rimmed eyes and clumpy eyelashes and splotchy cheeks.
He's always looked like a cherub after crying, angelic, and without fail, it
always made Sirius' chest clench. Still does, as it turns out.

Sirius isn't faring much better. He cried so hard that he got a bit snotty,
actually, and now his head hurts. It was the sort of crying that hurts just as
much when it flows out as it did when it was kept inside. The kind of
outpouring that's been festering for years. Less of an emotional release and
more of an emotional war that raged its way out. He was powerless to stop
it, and he's sure Regulus was in the same predicament.

The hugging was nice, though. It lasted quite a while. Sirius didn't time it or
anything, but he's certain. They'd both sort of just stepped away at the same
time, unable to meet each other's eyes. It was necessary, Sirius thinks, but
he could do without the lingering discomfort in the aftermath.

There's not enough whiskey in the bottle to get either of them pissed, but
they pass it dutifully back and forth anyway. Sirius stares at the wall
without really seeing it, thinking too hard to really have any bit of spatial
awareness.

He feels wrung out, and his mind is in an uproar. He finds himself grateful
that Regulus hasn't left. A bit ironic, that.

It's hard to face the things Regulus has told him, for all that he's grateful to
have heard it. As awful as it may be, he's so fucking relieved to have seen
Regulus break down. To have seen him cry. To have seen him emotional,
and open, and real. He thinks Regulus stopped crying when he was
fourteen, and Sirius never saw it again. Never saw that mask crack, or that
naked honesty bleed through, as if he never felt anything.

Sirius wonders with a pang in his heart how they could have grown up in
the same house, suffered through the same mistreatment, and still somehow
lived two very different lives with two very different perspectives. It's like
two ships passing in the night—the same ocean, the same dangerous waters,
and they just kept drifting further and further apart, unable to sail together
because they didn't notice each other in the dark.

So much had a hand in ruining them. Their mother, their father, that house.
The abuse and misery. How trapped they both were. Each other. They each
had a hand in ruining one another, and for better or worse, there's no
escaping that.

Sirius has no idea where to go from here, but there is one thing that's still
weighing on him.

"Why didn't you come with me?" Sirius asks quietly.

"What?" Regulus murmurs.

Sirius rolls his head to the side and studies Regulus' face. It's blank, but the
evidence of his crying is still visible. As horrible as it is, Sirius clings to
that. "Why didn't you come with me? That night, when I left, why didn't
you leave with me? You wouldn't fight. I never understood why."

"It's complicated," Regulus says.

"What isn't?" Sirius holds out the bottle and raises his eyebrows, wordlessly
prompting him to try explaining anyway.

Regulus takes the bottle, downs some without even wincing, then sighs. "I
didn't know it was an option. I didn't know that you'd let me, or want me
to."
"What?" Sirius breathes out, stricken. "Of course I—"

"Well, you didn't ask, and you didn't come back for me, so I thought it
wasn't an option. We were so bad off then, basically hated each other, and it
was also… Honestly, I didn't want you to leave at all. I know that it was
selfish, but I wanted you to stay and endure it for me."

"That's not fair."

"Yes, Sirius, I just said I know it was selfish, didn't I?" Regulus snaps,
looking away with a scowl. "I recognize now that I was just a child wanting
tangible proof that I was worth it, that I was enough, in one of the only
ways I ever had it shown to me. You spent our entire childhood taking hits
for me. What the fuck did you expect to happen?"

Sirius grimaces. "I—yes, alright, I could see how that would translate… I
just—I mean, I sort of thought that you didn't fight because I wasn't worth
it. Like I wasn't enough for you."

"I didn't know what it was to fight. I never had to when you were there. You
always fought for me."

"Did you after I left?"

"No. Not until I decided to leave myself, and even then, I did it in silence. I
never once opposed Mother. I just slipped off quietly, and there was no fight
until after I was already gone."

"What do you mean?"

Regulus holds out the bottle, lips pursed, and he doesn't speak until Sirius
takes it. "Well, for one thing, it turns out that surviving on your own with
practically no experience on how to do that properly is a bit of a fight in its
own right."

"You seem like you did alright for yourself," Sirius mumbles, refusing to
look away from the bottle. It's a compliment, he knows that, which is new
for them.

"I have now," Regulus agrees, not calling him out on it, just as happy to
ignore it. "At the start, though… Yeah, it was a fight. It was especially
difficult trying to figure it all out while transitioning. But, I mean, I did
figure it out, and I don't regret what it took to get me here."

Sirius looks over at him, swallowing. "You did it alone."

"I did," Regulus confirms.

"I should have dragged you with me that night," Sirius says, dropping his
head back against the sofa. It feels like something splinters inside him and
falls away, never to be seen again. He can't get that back.

Regulus reaches over to snag the bottle. "I watched you walk away through
the window, and I told myself that if you looked back, even once, I would
go with you. But you didn't. I should have gone anyway. Should haves are a
waste of time, Sirius. I implore you to waste your energy on something that
actually matters. You didn't take me, I didn't go, and here we are."

"Here we are," Sirius echoes and nearly starts crying all over again. He
squeezes his eyes shut until he feels the bottle nudge his hand. Taking it, he
downs the last bit and then just miserably holds it in his lap. "What was it
like?"

"Be more specific."

"Transitioning. I don't mean the details, unless you want to give them to me;
I just mean… Were you happy, Regulus?"

"Yes," Regulus says softly, and Sirius peeks over to see his lips curl up just
a bit at the corners. "I was happy, but it was more than that, too. It was like I
was finally—alive. Do you remember when Mother made us take piano
lessons?"

"Yeah."
"We got quite good, I remember, and there was that one time where we
just… I don't know. It was like we were in perfect sync playing together, do
you remember that?"

Sirius hums. "I do, yeah. It was a bit freaky, actually. We weren't even
playing off a sheet; we didn't even talk or look at each other. We just...made
music."

"Yeah," Regulus whispers. "You said afterwards that it was one of those
perfect moments where everything just felt right, like it was exactly as it
was meant to be. That's what it felt like. When I changed my name, when I
got my gender legally changed, when I cut my hair, when I got top surgery,
when I looked in the mirror and saw myself… That's what it felt like. It was
just right. Made sense in some perfect, indescribable way. And, at the same
time, it felt new and strangely terrifying. But now it feels normal. Like it
was always this way. Those moments are rarer, and I like that, too. I like
that I'm so much of myself that I sometimes forget that I didn't used to be."

"That's..." Sirius has to swallow harshly and blink rapidly, a surge of some
inexplicably tender emotion in his chest. It's an odd mixture of grief and
joy. "That's really good, Reggie."

"It wasn't easy," Regulus says, "but it was worth it."

Sirius nods carefully. "Is it bad that I call you Reggie?"

"No. There's a reason I wanted everyone to call me Reggie growing up, and
it wasn't because that's what you called me. It's not a feminine name, is it?
Regina—I hated being called that, but Reggie… Well, I always preferred
it."

"Why didn't you change your name to that, then?"

"Because you chose it," Regulus says bluntly.

"Right, and Regulus had nothing to do with me at all? It's known as the
heart the lion, for fuck's sake," Sirius points out, raising both eyebrows at
Regulus.

Regulus drops head back against the sofa and slumps down, frowning hard.
"Shut up."

"I know you did research before you chose it. Of course you would. You did
that on purpose."

"Sirius, genuinely, fuck off."

"No, it's—it's good. I like it," Sirius says, wishing they were at a place
where they could laugh about it. "Arcturus, though… What's that all
about?"
"Better than fucking Adhara," Regulus grumbles. "I can't believe Mother
gave me a name after the second brightest star in your constellation that
meant virgins. Regina Adhara Black. I mean, honestly, what the fuck was
she thinking?"

Sirius glances over at him, and Regulus glances back, and it seems to
bubble out of them both at the same time. Short bursts of quiet laughter, the
both of them helpless to it, and it's so ridiculous. It's quite possibly one of
the most ridiculous things for them to do, sit here and laugh because of their
mother. In truth, there's no real reason for it, just a different kind of
emotional release, one that doesn't hurt at all.

It's over quickly, in any case. Regulus stops laughing first, seeming to catch
himself when he realizes that he's done it, and Sirius' fades shortly after.
The mood settles, though.

"How did you get into cooking?" Sirius asks.

"Well, I had to feed myself, you see," Regulus says sarcastically, and Sirius
rolls his eyes so hard that it's a miracle they don't roll right out of his head.

"Yes, obviously, you knob. But you're quite good. And you're in culinary
classes. Clearly it's more than just a skill to survive."

"I don't know, really. I just...like it, I suppose."

"Mother wouldn't."

"Part of the reason I like it, if I'm honest."

Sirius grins. Little rebellious Reggie. Look at that, they are related after all.
"That's part of the reason I love being an artist, too."

"You're good," Regulus says quietly, a bit stiffly, but it's sincere
nonetheless. "Is that your primary career?"

"It is, yeah. I go by commissions, and I sell things in a shop."

"Do you only paint?"

"No. I work across multiple mediums. Carving, pottery, drawing, even a bit
of glass-blowing when I'm feeling particularly ambitious. I tried my luck
with knitting, though, and that's where my hands failed me."

"Do you still make jewelry?"

"Like your necklace?" Sirius asks, studying him.

"Yeah. Do you?" Regulus replies, looking helplessly curious, like he can't
stop himself from wanting to know more about Sirius. It makes Sirius' chest
feel tight.

"Not so much anymore, no," Sirius admits.

Regulus looks away, a wrinkle between his eyebrows. "Shame. You were
good at that, too."

"I still have it, you know. Your necklace." Sirius doesn't mean to say it, but
the confession sort of just falls out of him. He doesn't regret it when
Regulus' head snaps over, his eyes bright with surprise.

"You kept it?"

"I did."

"Oh." Regulus stares at him for a long beat, then clears his throat and looks
away again. "Right, and you were taking the piss about my bloody name."

"Fuck off," Sirius mutters, and Regulus' lips twitch. "It's not like I just
forgot about you, Regulus."
"Well, it has been eight years."

"I know, and believe me, it wasn't for a lack of trying. I did my best to
forget about you. Never could quite manage it. I mean, even my love for
art… I found it because of you. The first time I ever made anything for
someone was for you."

Regulus doesn't speak for a long moment, staring down at his fingers, and
then he murmurs, "The first thing I ever learned to cook that I actually had
to properly learn, that wasn't just pot noodles or toast, was Scallop Mouse."

"Well, I'm fucking glad for that. They were really, annoyingly good," Sirius
admits, chuckling. "I think I had one in my hand literally the entire event, at
least until...well, you know."

"You set the painting on fire," Regulus says abruptly, frowning at him.
"Chef Sprout said you did. Why?"

Sirius presses his lips into a thin line, turning his gaze to bottle in between
his tense hands. Regulus waits, not saying a word, and Sirius heaves a sigh.
"I didn't even really mean to paint it, if I'm honest. I sort of… Sometimes,
my muse runs away from me, and I go into this odd state where I'm
working really hard, not even aware of anything else. It's a bit like I'm
compelled to do it. Can't rest until I have. Can't stop until it's done. But,
when I finished, I didn't want to display it."
"Why?" Regulus murmurs.

"Because it represented my greatest failure, my biggest mistake, one of the

most painful things I've ever endured in my life," Sirius croaks, slowly
lifting his gaze to meet Regulus' eyes. "Not saving you."

"Ah," Regulus whispers, and it comes out a bit strangled. He breaks the
stare first, swallowing. "So, why did you?"

"Display it, you mean?"

"Yeah."

"Honestly, I didn't have time to make anything else, and I thought you'd
never see it. I—I did work really hard on it, and I hoped that maybe it
would bring me a bit of closure."

"Did it?"

"Not quite," Sirius says wryly, but then his voice softens against his will
when he continues, "but it's starting to."
Regulus is quiet for a bit, the silence stretching between them, fraught with
uncertainty and maybe—if Sirius isn't imagining it—a dash of hope. When
he does speak, all he says is, "Did setting it on fire ruin your reputation?"

"No way of knowing yet, but I doubt it. You know how people like that are.
If anything, I suspect my name will be even more known now, which wasn't
what I was going for, but I won't complain if something good comes from
it. I did manage to get people to donate more to the charity, so that's nice. It
was a bit dramatic, now that I think about it, but I was… Well, I might've
had a breakdown. A small one."

"I took every dish in my flat out and contemplated binning them all and
only living on takeaway, never cooking again."

"God, we have issues," Sirius mumbles in a rare show of being

uncharacteristically self-aware. He shakes his head. "Well, I walked around
aimlessly all night, got lost, then didn't make it in until after three this
morning. I've only had a few hours of sleep in the last...oh, two days now?"

"I don't pity you at all," Regulus informs him.

Sirius snorts. "As if you're capable of feeling pity for anyone. That requires
compassion, which you lack."

"Oh, if only," Regulus says, then rolls his eyes. "No, I meant I don't pity
you because you could have had more rest had you not gone to Chef
Sprout."
"I was delirious from exhaustion, and again, you should be thanking me for
that. She was planning on kicking you out."

"It was your fault in the first place."

"How was it my fault? I didn't plan it!"

"You were there. Had you not been, it never would have happened, meaning
it's your fault."

"Your logic is shit," Sirius declares with a huff.

Regulus fixes him with a flat look. "I also have no pity for you because you
decided to go to Evan and Barty. What stupid excuse do you have for
that?"

"Give me a moment, I'll think of one." Sirius frowns as he looks at Regulus.

"You went to see them?"

"Yes."
"I didn't—I didn't out you, Regulus. It was difficult not to correct them, but
I wasn't sure if you would have wanted me to or not. Were they…?"

"What?"

"Respectful?" Sirius tries, but then his face scrunches up when he thinks of
who he's talking about. "No, of course not. Do I need to have a go at them,
is what I mean."

For a long pause, there's just complete silence, and Sirius can't really make
out the expression on Regulus' face. He doesn't understand it, doesn't know
what it means, doesn't like that it's not simple for him to figure out.

Sometimes—rarely—in the most broken corners of Sirius' memory, he will

admit to himself, small and quiet and pained, that he raised Regulus. In a
way only older brothers can, he did. Reggie was his. Sirius was the one who
sat up with him when he couldn't sleep, and Sirius was the one he came to
when he felt sick, and Sirius was the one who taught him how tie a shoe,
and to look both ways before crossing the street, and which careful steps to
take in the hall past their mother's study so as not to alert her that they were
sneaking by. Sirius was the one who praised him when he did well in
school; Sirius was the one who lectured him when he first made a cruel
observation about someone who didn't deserve it; Sirius was the one who
hugged him when he cried, and fought so hard to make him laugh, and
loved him ceaselessly.

Regulus was never Walburga's or Orion's, not really, and maybe that's why
it hurt so much when he chose them over Sirius. Because this person, his
little Reggie, who he protected and took care of and helped shape into who
he would one day become—it was like Sirius looked at him at some point
and couldn't even recognize him. Someone he knew better than anyone else
ever would, and then Sirius didn't know him at all. It was like losing a child,
a sibling, a friend; that's a loss like no other, Sirius can safely attest to that.

The echoes of who they used to be still know each other, despite everything.
Sirius can feel it, the way something inside him will always know this
human being across from him in a deeply, fundamental way that can't be
explained. Maybe it's a familial thing. Maybe it's the way they grew up.
Maybe it's just that Sirius recognizes the pieces of himself he left behind in
Regulus whilst still carrying the pieces of Regulus with him that he could
never bear to part with.

And yet, they will never truly, wholly know each other the same way again.
Eight years have passed. They've both lived lives without each other for a
long time, experiencing things that the other wasn't there for, facing trials
and changing and becoming who they are now without each other's
influence outside of how they haunted one another like a ghost.

Sirius hasn't known Regulus in a long time, but a part of him yearns to.
Could they? Is it even possible?

"I don't need you to have a go at anyone for me, Sirius. I told you I learned
to fight," Regulus says finally.

"Oh, did you mean that literally?" Sirius asks, skeptical despite himself as
he glances over Regulus' body critically. He doesn't look as he used to
(obviously), and he's bigger as well as broader than he was, but Sirius can't
quite look at him and see past the 'little' part of 'little brother'. "Have you
ever actually gotten into any fights?"

"Three."

"Did you lose them?"

A faint smirk passes over Regulus' face. "Only the first. I had a black eye
and bruised ribs after that one, but what hurt the most was my pride,
honestly, so I started taking self-defense lessons and going to the gym. It
was good as well for helping with the effects of testosterone, and I liked the
way it changed my body. In any case, I didn't lose the next two."

"Oh, so you're a proper fighter now, are you?" Sirius muses wryly, but he
can't help but think he should have been there, should have made sure
Regulus never got hurt, should have beaten whoever dared to try.

"I can fight; I just don't like to," Regulus says. "If it's necessary, I will.
Otherwise, I usually go by other means to handle my problems. I have quite
the imagination."

Sirius snorts. "You always did, yeah. Did you have to go by other means
with Evan and Barty?"
"Not because I'm trans. I don't actually care if they're shits about it. They
weren't, really, but I wouldn't have bothered if they were." Regulus shakes
his head. "No, I just almost ripped their cocks and bollocks off for speaking
to you, and also to threaten Evan, who has a meeting with Mother
tomorrow."

"Does he?" Sirius asks stiffly.

"Mhm."

"You're not worried?"

"Not really. Evan won't say anything, especially if he knows what's good for
him. Are you worried?" Regulus murmurs.

"I'm not sixteen anymore, Reggie," Sirius says quietly, looking over to hold
his gaze. "If she ever raised a hand at us again, I would kill her."

Regulus scans his face and says, equally quiet, "Do you have love for her?"

"No, I don't. I haven't loved Mother since I was thirteen years old," Sirius
admits. "Do you?"
"I never loved her. I thought I did, but I just wanted her to love me. I've
learned those aren't the same thing," Regulus says softly and rips his gaze
away. He's silent for a long moment, then swallows thickly. "Why didn't
you ask me to go?"

"What?"

"You asked why I didn't come with you that night. I'm asking why you
didn't try to get me to go."

Sirius' heart clenches until it hurts, aching and aching. He tucks his jaw to
the side, biting down on the inside of his cheek, willing himself not to cry.
"I didn't know it was an option. How awful, yeah? Our answers are the
same, really. I didn't know that you would want to. I thought—I just thought
that I'd failed, that I'd lost you, and that I would kill myself trying to save
you. When you walked away without looking back, it felt like there was no
coming back from that, from all the ways I fucked up no matter how hard I
tried, and I was so angry and betrayed that I—I forced myself to do the
same."

"Sirius," Regulus whispers, and Sirius looks over at him, eyes stinging. "We
were only children."

"I know," Sirius chokes out.

They don't say anything else for a long time, simply looking at each other,
then eventually looking away. It's heavy and harsh between them until,
slowly, it's not. Somehow, it eases and softens, and Sirius feels like he can
breathe better than he has in eight years. Let it go, let it go, we were only
children, he thinks as something breaks loose in his chest that feels like
forgiveness for the children they used to be.

"You said you live here with your best friend?" Regulus asks, sounding
calmer than before. "The one you met at Hogwarts?"

"Yeah."

"God, I hated him."

"You did?" Sirius blinks. "Why?"

Regulus rolls his eyes. "I was jealous, Sirius. Until you met him, I was your
best friend."

"You were still—" Sirius shakes his head when Regulus shoots him a dry
look. "Yes, alright, I get it. We were children. I just want you to know that I
was never replacing you."

"Sure," Regulus says, clearly not believing him.

Sirius huffs. "I'm not joking. What about you, then? Do you live alone? You
don't have a best mate to bother you?"

"Oh, no, I do," Regulus tells him, his face softening a bit, lips twitching.
Oddly enough, Sirius sort of understands the jealousy, automatically
nursing a kernel of dislike for this bloke he's never even met. "He's awful,
and also the best person I've ever known. He likes to make me suffer."

"Strange," Sirius mutters with a scoff, no longer wanting to talk about this
at all. "Alright, what about a girlfriend?"

"Boyfriend," Regulus corrects, and then he really softens. His entire voice
changes, his demeanor, everything. Sirius has never seen his brother in love
—until now. "I'm gay."

"Ha! I have a boyfriend, too. Oh, Mother would be most displeased," Sirius
crows, delighted by this.

Regulus chuckles. "I know."

"Well, go on. Tell me about him. Is he good to you?" Sirius asks earnestly,
eager to know, so curious that he can hardly sit still. There's a protective
instinct lazily prowling back and forth in his mind, an unspoken promise to
kill this boyfriend of Regulus' if he isn't good to him.
"He is," Regulus admits, his smile growing, secretive. "I'm a barista, and he
stumbled into the shop trying to get out of a storm, took one look at me,
then never stopped coming back. Well, he did for a week, but we worked
past it. In any case, he's…he's really… He's the sun."

"No, I get that, actually. I compare my boyfriend to the moon all the time,"
Sirius says, laughing. "We really are brothers, aren't we? But anyway, I met
him in a bloody bookshop, ended up shagging him the same day, but I didn't
learn his name and he didn't learn mine. It's alright, though. He messaged
me, and we started dating, and he hasn't left since. Well, he did for a week,
but he came back. He always comes back."

For a moment, Sirius is just sitting there with a silly smile on his face,
thinking about Remus, but then his mind turns over with a tick like a clock
as Regulus' words catch up to him. It starts like the tide coming in and
rushing right back out, washing away sand to reveal something Sirius isn't
expecting to see. He doesn't even know what it is, but he knows he doesn't
want to look at it.

He has no choice.

Slowly, he turns his head to look at Regulus, watching his smile fade and
his eyebrows pinch together. With equal caution, Regulus looks at him. For
a long, weighted moment, neither of them can bring themselves to say
anything.

"You met him in a bookshop, you said?" Regulus murmurs.

"Yeah. You're a barista?"

"I am. Sirius, what's your boyfriend's name?"

"What's yours?" Sirius shoots back in a croak.

"My best friend…" Regulus stares at him, all the color draining from his
face, and he swallows harshly. "His name is Remus Lupin. Would that—is
that who you're—"

Sirius clenches the bottle in between his hands so tight that his knuckles
ache. He feels a little sick. "That's my boyfriend. Remus is my boyfriend.
But—but my best mate, his name is James Potter. Is he—do you know
him?"

"I'd hope so, seeing as I'm dating him," Regulus rasps, and something in his
eyes just—shutters. Neither of them speak, and slowly, so slowly, it all falls
apart.

Just like that.

Chapter End Notes

This one... Y'ALL. When I tell you this one had me fucking sobbing, I
am NOT joking. There is no pain, to me, like the pain between these
two brothers, in this fic and in fanon and in canon.
The lines that broke me when I wrote them:

"You know, when I think about the hardest, most painful parts of my
childhood, I don't think about Mother. I don't think about the beatings.
I don't think about pretending I was a girl when I wasn't." Regulus
swallows thickly, lifting a trembling hand to weakly gesture at Sirius.
"I think about you."

And:

"Regulus was never Walburga's or Orion's, not really, and maybe that's
why it hurt so much when he chose them over Sirius."

Anyway, I was sooooo excited to post this one, you all have no idea.
And talk about a slow trainwreck of a reveal, huh? James and Remus
are in trouuuuble...

So, thoughts? :)
 Chapter 17
Chapter Notes

Okay, so I'm... I'm really nervous to post this one, not gonna lie.
General overall warning, things get—rough, to say the least. A more in
depth warning for arguments, mind games, and um...violence. For
those of you who want to be spoiled fully, I'm going to put a more
detailed warning in the end notes of exactly what happens, so you can
go down there if you need that first, which is very fair. For those of
you who don't want the spoilers, I will say this chapter is best read
with the comfort of a pet or warm blanket close by. It's angsty, to say
the least.

Enjoy the drama?

See the end of the chapter for more notes

James isn't even halfway home when he gets a call from Remus, which he
answers with, "I'm coming, I swear I am, but traffic is so sodding awful and
—"

"James," Remus interrupts, "it's alright. I'm not there either. I also got
caught in traffic. In any case, Reg just texted and said he was at home, so
I'm guessing he was either at the studio or he never got into the flat."

"Oh," James says, startled and—admittedly—a bit relieved. He exhales

sharply. "Well, that's… I mean, what do we do, then? I still think we should
tell them, but do we do it now or go with the original plan to do it
tomorrow?"
"I think they're both in desperate need of rest, to be honest, but I don't want
to keep lying to them," Remus murmurs.

"Neither do I."

"I don't think we should tell them together. You know, divide and conquer.
It's a decent strategy."

"Are we at the point where we're relying on battle tactics?" James asks,
half-amused and half-stressed.

"Feels a bit like preparing for war," Remus mumbles, sounding just as
distressed as him.

"Well, we agreed, didn't we? It's simplest to go with explaining to the

boyfriend and hopefully, if we're very lucky, give the best friend time to
calm down," James says.

Before all of this, James would have never considered himself a coward.
He's learning that love can make anyone be anything. It's not just the love
he has for Regulus; his love for Sirius has molded him as well.

It's odd and leaves him with a deep sense of discomfort, because things
have always, always been easy with Sirius. It's all as easy as breathing with
him, and just as fundamental. There's never been a time that he couldn't tell
Sirius anything, no matter what it was. It doesn't sit right with him that he's
sure it would be easier to go to Regulus with this. He imagines that Remus
is in the same predicament.

"Honestly, that's likely the best way to handle it. Either way, it's not going
to go well for either of us. You do know that, don't you, James?"

"Yeah, Remus, I know."

Remus blows out a harsh breath through the receiver. "We've gone and
properly fucked up, haven't we? I—I think we both knew that. We've
always known it."

"Christ, why did we do that?" James groans, squeezing his eyes shut and
rubbing his hand back and forth over his hair roughly, a lump forming in his
throat. "We have to face it, you know. We can't keep avoiding it."

"Now I'm questioning myself," Remus says wearily. "Maybe it'd be worse
not to tell them together. Just another fucking betrayal on top of all the
rest."

James drags his hand down his face, upsetting his glasses, and he holds his
breath until it explodes out of him. "I don't know what to do. I still don't
know, even now. I don't know the best way, or what the right thing is. That's
why we did it the way we did it in the first place, isn't it?"
"Maybe we shouldn't have done it at all."

"We tried that, remember? We were all fucking miserable. That wasn't the
right thing either."

"Yes, well, I fear we're about to get intimately, painfully familiar with the
quote better to have loved and lost than never loved at all," Remus
whispers.

"Oh, don't say that. I don't—I can't—"

"James."

"We're human, aren't we? Our intentions were good. We just didn't want to
hurt them; we just wanted us all to be happy. That—that has to count for
something. It has to."

Remus is silent for a long beat, and then he says, "Why didn't we just tell
them, James? Maybe we should have told them."

"Maybe," is all James says, because he's starting to think that was the right
thing all along, except some part of him still can't figure out how it would
have been.
"I don't know what to do," Remus repeats, sounding just as lost as James
feels. "I don't—I mean, I know the general plan here. Tell them. We need to
tell them. But how?"

James sighs. "I reckon that's been one of our problems from the beginning.
Alright, ah… Together, or divide and conquer?"

"My head says divide and conquer, my gut says together. Intelligence
versus intuition. James, I don't fucking know."

"Flip a coin?"

"Are you fucking serious right now?"

"No, that's your job, mate."

Remus groans. "Now isn't the time for jokes. Do you honestly want to
decide our fates on a coin toss?"

"Do you have a better idea?" James asks, and there's nothing but silence.
"Thought so. Er, do you have any shrapnel?"

"Why do I have to do it?"

"Well, I don't want to do it."

"I don't want to do it."

"Neither do I!"

"Oh, honestly," the driver says from the front, making James' head snap up,
his whole body jolting as he watches the woman roll her eyes and dig in her
cup-holder to hold up a coin. She meets his gaze through the rear mirror.
"Heads is together; tails is divide and conquer."

"Um," James says.

The driver flicks the coin up where it spins, then she snatches it out of the
air and slaps it down on her leg. James stares, wide-eyed, as she looks up
with her eyebrows raised and flatly announces, "Tails. Divide and
conquer."

"Who's that, Prongs?"

"The driver, Moony. Did you catch all of that?"

"I did, yeah," Remus admits wearily. "So…"

James swallows. "Does that feel right?"

"Honestly, nothing feels right. That's the problem." Remus heaves another
sigh, then clears his throat. "Let's hope your driver is lucky. I won't be
seeing Sirius until tomorrow, so we'll at least let them rest today, and then—
then—"

"Yeah. Yeah, alright. First thing tomorrow," James agrees, tipping his head
back against the seat. That doesn't feel right either, but as Remus pointed
out, nothing really does.

"I'm knackered myself, if I'm honest. Might just go home and go for a kip,"
Remus murmurs.

"Was just thinking the same thing," James mumbles.

"Bye, James."

"Bye, Remus."
James heaves a sigh as he stares out the window for a long moment, his
stomach twisted in knots, queasy again. Outside, it's starting to leave the
afternoon behind, the sun slowly setting so the moon can eventually take its
place. The traffic is still at a crawl, and James wishes it would hurry up.
He's so emotionally drained at this point that all he wants to do is just drag
himself into bed and fucking sleep.

There's a dull clink of the coin hitting the cup holder again, and James drags
his gaze from the window to look at the driver. There's disdain in her eyes
that he doesn't really understand, if he's honest. Maybe it's earned. She
heard his half of the conversation with Remus, it seems, so she's just
learned that he's a coward and a liar. Brilliant.

"In my defense," James mutters, "it was an accident."

"Oh, I'm sure. It's always an accident when you've shagged your best mate's
boyfriend. Anyone could make that mistake," she says flatly, scoffing under
her breath.

"Er, wait. What?" James blinks rapidly, lifting his head for better leverage
to do the mental math it requires to put all the pieces together. There are too
many variables at this point, and his brain is tired, so it takes him a long
time to work out that she's under the impression that he's shagged Remus.
His mouth drops open. "What?! No, no, I never—I didn't shag my best
mate's boyfriend; I shagged my best mate's brother."

She stares at him, then slowly says, "How on earth could that ever be an
accident?"
And so, that's how James finds himself spilling the entire story to a random
woman he's never met, excluding the part where Regulus is trans because
that's not his to go spouting off about to others. In a way, it's so
unbelievably cathartic just to tell someone on the outside of it all. He
explains how it genuinely was an accident for him and Remus, but then
they'd already fallen in love, so what were they supposed to do? He admits
to feeling guilty, and wanting them all to be happy, and being so fucking
scared that he doesn't know what to do.

She listens, never interrupting, but her face definitely responds to some of
the things he explains. Raised eyebrows, a wince, a grimace, a tilted head of
acknowledgement, and the ever present expression of I'm in the presence of
an idiot. There are a few times that she looks sympathetic, or like she pities
him, so that's...encouraging? Maybe?

"And—and we just—it was like we got in so deep, you know? We didn't

know what to do. What were we supposed to do?" James winds down,
slumping back in his seat with a sigh.

"Well, to start, you weren't supposed to lie to either of them," she informs
him bluntly. "That was pretty shit, if I'm honest. Also, you should probably
examine what kind of person your best mate is—and your boyfriend, for
that matter—if they're the sort that are so selfish and cruel that they'd want
you and that Remus fellow to be heartbroken and unhappy."

James blinks at her. "What?"

"Look, you want the truth?" she asks. "If they would have made you
choose, either of you, then they're not very good people themselves. I
understand that they might need some time to adjust, but if your best mate
would want you to be unhappy, then he's not a very good best mate, is he?
Same for that other bloke, Remus. Sometimes, we can't help who we love.
A good best friend, despite everything, would want you to be happy, and a
good person wouldn't sabotage everyone's happiness just to punish someone
else."

"We—we didn't even give them the chance," James rasps, squeezing his
eyes shut.

She hums. "Not yet, but you will tomorrow. Maybe they'll surprise you. I
have siblings, you know. Brothers and sisters. If my best friend fell in love
with one of them, I… Alright, I'd be a bit unsure at first, wary as well,
because it puts me in a difficult position if it goes wrong, yeah? But if it's
love, real love like you're describing, well… I could only wish that these
people I love the most get to be happy. And who knows? My best friend
could be my sister-in-law. Isn't that lovely?"

"Lovely," James mumbles, even though he knows Sirius won't see it that
way.

"Really, you've gone and mucked up the only high ground you had," she
continues, clicking her tongue. "If you'd told them, then they wouldn't have
much right to be angry, would they? But you've gone and lied to them, so
now… Well, I don't envy you or Remus, let me just say that. Hope it works
out, though. You seem alright, just a bit dumb with a lot of heart."
James sighs and lets his head thunk against the window, not feeling better at
all. "Cheers."

They don't say anything after that, and James actually does manage to drift
off fitfully in the way only someone can in a moving vehicle, that restless
in-between state where you're not quite asleep but you're certainly not
awake either. He comes to almost as soon as the car stops just up the street
from his flat, and she wishes him luck as he drags himself out.

James wonders as he lets himself into the flat if Sirius is still asleep. He
genuinely needs the rest, so James sort of hopes that he is, but there's also a
selfish part of him that just wants to be with Sirius right now. Wants to talk
to him. Wants to hug him, and make him laugh, and just be best friends who
breathe in perfect sync. He wants it before it all falls to shit.

So, really, James feels something loosen and relax in him when he goes by
the kitchen and sees Sirius sitting at the table, calmly doing a puzzle. James
reflexively smiles, because that's one of their things. They've been doing
puzzles together since they were eleven, since they both got detention and
found an old one with missing pieces and had to entertain themselves.
They'd had so much fun doing it and worked so well together that it just
sort of became a thing.

"Hey," Sirius greets as he comes in, not even looking up as he slides end
pieces to the side. "Sit. Help me with this."

"Yeah, alright," James replies in relief, throwing himself down in the chair
across from Sirius with a gusty sigh. He dumps his cell on the table, then
instantly starts shifting end pieces to the side as well; they have a whole
system for this. If putting a puzzle together was a sport (he wonders idly if
it is), then they'd be the best at it. "Did you sleep long?"

"Not really," Sirius admits. "Where were you?"

"Gone out to see Mum and Dad."

"How are they?"

"Good," James says with a faint smile. "Dad's obsessed with this hose he's
got for his garden that never tangles. It's like his new toy; he's so proud of
it."

Sirius hums. "Sounds like Monty. And Effie?"

"She wants to go bird-watching. That's her new thing, I think. She was
complaining that some of the birds she'd like to see in person aren't even in
this country, and you know Dad—he told her that he'd migrate them over
just for her." James rolls his eyes, but his lips curl up despite everything.
When he was a kid, he loved how in love his parents were; that hasn't
changed with age. They're his favorite love story, if he's honest.

Effie had also taken him aside to ask him if he'd told Sirius and Regulus
anything yet, only appeased when he explained that he and Remus had
plans to do it as soon as tomorrow. His anxiety had shined through again,
and despite the fact that she lectured him, she also hugged him without
letting go first. He'd cried a bit. Couldn't help it.

"Well, it's just been a day for family visits, hasn't it?" Sirius muses,
releasing a dry chuckle as he snaps two pieces together.

James glances up at him with a frown. "What do you mean?"

"Oh, well, my brother stopped by today," Sirius tells him casually, and
James freezes in place.

"What?" James blurts out. "He was here? How'd he get in? I locked the door
when I—"

Sirius clicks his tongue. "The little bugger picked the lock. Didn't know he
still knew how to do that, honestly. I taught him when we were children,
you know. Our darling mother liked to lock us in small, dark closets and
make us go without meals." Despite the topic, Sirius' lips curl up fondly. "I
remember the first time Regulus tried. He couldn't do it at first, not for
hours, and he cried until I calmed him down. He kept trying, though. Stayed
right there and whispered to me through the door. Eventually, he did get it
open and managed to sneak me some food, then cried again when I made
him lock it back so Mother wouldn't know."

"Fucking hell, Padfoot, that's awful," James whispers, staring at him with
wide eyes, feeling a little sick. Sirius rarely goes into detail about the
mistreatment he and Regulus suffered in that house, but James suspects he
knows the most out of anyone else, except for—well, Regulus.

"Isn't it?" Sirius agrees, and then he shrugs. "But, in any case, he broke into
the flat. I woke up to him sitting on my bed and practically smothering me
in my sleep, the prick."

James' eyes bulge. "What?!"

"Well, maybe I'm being a bit dramatic. He was just clasping my nose shut,
really." Sirius waves his hand carelessly, then tilts his head at a puzzle
piece, considering. After a beat, he holds out his hand, and James
immediately passes over the piece he's holding, which fits into the one
Sirius has.

"What happened? Did you two—" James cuts himself off, not sure what he
wants to say. Fight? Talk?

"We fought," Sirius answers his unasked question, his tone still casual, his
hands still sliding pieces around. He hasn't looked up from the puzzle, not
once, entirely focused. "He was upset that I went to Ms. Sprout, then Evan
and Barty. We started arguing, then paused long enough to have some
coffee before we started arguing again. He takes his coffee black for the
irony, he says, did you know that?"

Yes, James thinks, shakily connecting one whole edge of the puzzle
together. All he says is, "A bit funny, that."
"Oh, yeah, Reggie is a great laugh," Sirius says with a soft snort. "He told
me he hated me again. Isn't that hilarious?"

"Sirius," James murmurs, wincing.

Shaking his head, Sirius huffs out a weak laugh. "But he also said he didn't
hate me, that he never could, even said he loved me. Next thing I know,
we're both crying and hugging."

"Really?" James breathes out, his hopes soaring in an instant. He feels his
heart clench, and he just lights up, because the thought that Sirius and
Regulus have reconciled, even a bit, makes him so fucking happy that he
doesn't know what to do with it. For the first time, he finds himself hoping
for a positive outcome in all of this.

"Mhm," Sirius confirms, reaching out to drag the edge James has to connect
to his. They work in tandem to fill in the few gaps, and just like that, the
outside of the frame of the puzzle all comes together. "Didn't know we were
capable of things like that anymore, if I'm honest—not with each other
anyway. It was good, I think, and it was also...awkward after. We gave up
on the coffee and just finished off that whiskey Frank left over a few
months ago. Sat on the sofa and shared it, really."

James feels his heart leap. No, this is good. This is really good, because that
means maybe tomorrow will go better than he and Remus ever imagined.
He doesn't doubt there will be anger, of course, but there's a chance that,
despite everything, they might all come out of it as happy as James knows
they could be. "So, you two talked?"

"A bit. Just about this and that. Of course, it ended badly," Sirius tells him.

"Oh," James mumbles, wilting. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Not good. Not good at all.
"Why?"

"Well, you know, sometimes you just learn something about people that you
don't like," Sirius says, still calm and casual, shrugging. "There's nothing
for it. Just happens. I mean, we were trying to learn each other again, I
think. I even hoped for a moment that maybe…" He chuckles, and it's
harsher this time. "Actually, I got my hopes up a bit that maybe he and I
could—could try. Maybe exchange numbers, agree to meet up once a week,
work through our shit and...be brothers."

"That's—Sirius, that can happen," James insists earnestly, his heart

thumping heavily against his squeezing ribs. "He is your brother. Are you
required to like everything about him for you both to make an attempt?"

"Suppose not, but this—I really don't like this. Turns out, he and I are the
same level of stupid," Sirius murmurs.

"You're not stupid, mate," James declares, frowning.

Sirius smiles, but it's thin. There's an edge to his voice when he replies,
"No, I am. So is Regulus. We learned that about each other today, and
would you believe it? We didn't like it."

"Stop it. Neither of you are stupid. Honestly, even if there are some things
you don't like about each other, that doesn't have to be the end. Christ, I
know there has to be things you don't like about me, but we're best friends,"
James says.

"If I'm honest, in all the years I've known you, I've never found something I
didn't like about you. I've always adored you, my best friend, the one person
I could count on, the one person I could trust." Sirius, for the very first time,
looks up from the puzzle and locks eyes with James, who feels a chill go
down his spine. Sirius' eyes are cold. So very cold. He continues on, his
voice still casual and light when he says, "Of course, that was before I
found out you were fucking my little brother."

James' breath catches in his lungs, every muscle in his body tensing, all
except for his heart, which promptly drops. For some reason, it never
crossed his mind to see this coming.

Sirius watches him, holding his gaze, pinning him in place with ice in his
eyes. There's no righteous anger on his face, or satisfaction for catching
James, or even the more dreaded and expected betrayal. There's nothing. He
looks neutral, calm, completely unbothered—all except for his eyes. James
has never seen them look like this; it's like Regulus, but somehow much,
much worse.
Casually, Sirius sits down the puzzle piece in his hand, letting it lay
discarded on the table. There's a horrible screech of his chair scraping
backwards in the thick silence, and slowly, deliberately, Sirius pushes to his
feet. James feels his stomach clench, briefly fearing that he's going to
vomit, and as badly as he wants to speak or just do something, he can't
move. He can't even breathe. His lungs are on fire.

"It's Icarus," Sirius says softly, reaching out to tap the center of the
unfinished puzzle. "I thought it was fitting. Don't you? He flew just a bit too
close to the sun, didn't he? With those waxen wings of his, I can't imagine
what he was thinking."

"Sirius," James chokes out.

"Must've gotten it into his head that all those days he spent trusting in the
warmth meant he wouldn't burn." Sirius taps the table once, twice, and then
withdraws his hand as he walks around it to stop beside James' chair, staring
down at him without giving anything away in his face. "His mistake. A
stupid one, really. It's what the sun does. It burns you up."

James stares up at him, frozen, and he tries. He tries so hard to get his
fumbling tongue to work past the rush of panic in his brain, but all that
comes out is a strangled, "I—Sirius, I—"

He doesn't get to finish—not that he could have—before Sirius balls up his

fist and strikes out, catching James right across the jaw so hard that his
glasses fly right off his face as his head snaps to the side. The pain of it is
startling, but only because it's coming from Sirius. James has been hit in the
face before, but never by him. They've wrestled roughly, maybe clipped
each other with elbows and knees, even shoved each other hard enough to
knock the other to the ground. However, they have never directly punched
each other in the face like this.

Catching himself against the edge of the table, James just manages not to
fall out of the chair from the force in which Sirius just hit him. The chair
wobbles precariously, and James barely gets to let out a low curse in
response to the shock and pain before Sirius hooks his boot around the leg
of the chair to harshly snatch it around, bracing one hand on the back of it
right above James' shoulder. He dips down so his face is across from
James', so close that James can actually make out his features, and oh—
right, well, he's certainly furious now.

"My little brother, James?" Sirius hisses, slamming his free hand down on
the table beside them. He's practically caging James in, keeping him locked
in his chair. "You shagged my little Reggie? Are you fucking insane?!"

"I—I swear I didn't know," James says, his voice strained, eyes already
stinging from the hit and the way he can feel how it's all falling to shit so
very quickly. "It was—I swear to god it was an accident, Sirius. I didn't
know it was him when I met him."

"Oh, but you worked it out, didn't you?" Sirius snarls, giving the chair a
harsh rattle. "No, actually, that would be Remus who worked it out. Remus
and that quick mind of his—of course it would be him. I remember that
morning. Must have come as a right shock, didn't it, when you two figured
it out? Believe me, Regulus and I know the fucking feeling."
"We—we never meant—" James is interrupted yet again by a hit, though
this one isn't a punch. Sirius just legitimately smacks him on the side of his
head, rough and ruthless.

"No, do keep lying, James. It's going so well for you so far," Sirius hisses,
and James' eyes well up with tears, spilling over the moment he blinks.
Sirius makes a low, disbelieving sound in the back of his throat. "Are you
crying? You fucked my little brother and kept it from me on purpose, and
you're crying?"

"Sirius—"

"No, shut up. Do you remember that very first prank we pulled together at
eleven? We flooded the bathroom. Amateur stuff, really, but we were so
young, so it was alright that we were novices. But do you remember what
you told me when we made the plan? What did you say, James?"

"Sirius," James tries again, reaching out to try touching his arm, but Sirius
shakes him off and hits him on the side of the head again, making him
wince.

"What did you say?" Sirius grits out.

James gasps out a wet breath, chest feeling like it's caving in as he rasps, "A
plan is only a good plan if you're not caught."
"A plan is only a good plan if you're not caught," Sirius repeats coldly.
"This plan? This was a very, very bad plan."

"What were we supposed to do?" James croaks helplessly, his hands

shaking in his lap where they lay limp. His face aches, and he feels smaller
than he ever has.

"You weren't supposed to fuck my little brother, James!" Sirius explodes,

slapping his palm to the table again.

"It's not—it isn't like that," James says, practically pleading at this point.
"It's not just shagging. Sirius, I love him."

"I don't give a damn if he's your one and only true love. I don't care if you'd
die without him," Sirius snarls, reaching his hand out to grasp James'
shoulder and slam him back to the chair from where he's unconsciously
leaned forward as if he could lean into his sincerity. "You're going to stay
away from him."

"I can't," James chokes out, nearly whimpering. "Don't you think I tried?
Don't you think Remus and I both tried? We tried to do the right thing,
alright? We were all so miserable, Sirius, and we can't help how we feel.
What were we—it wasn't working. We were all so unhappy. We just wanted
—"

"Then you should have spent the rest of your fucking life miserable," Sirius
declares harshly. "And you know what? You will. You're going to."
"I'm in love with him, Sirius!" James shouts, reaching out to shove at Sirius'
arm, only for Sirius to smack his hand down and roughly push him back
into the chair again. "Do you think we enjoyed doing it this way? It's been
ripping us apart, but I love Regulus, and Remus loves you. We planned to
tell both of you, I swear we did. We just didn't want to lose either of you."

"Well, you've gone and mucked that up quite nicely, haven't you?" Sirius
bites out savagely. "I'm your best friend, James. Why the fuck didn't you tell
me?!"

"Because you would have made me choose!"

"It shouldn't even be a choice! You're right, I would have made you choose,
and no part of me would have anticipated you throwing our friendship away
for him. But now? Now, I'm not giving you a choice at all. Because I'm
telling you, James, you're done with him."

"That's not fair." James can feel his eyes burning, and the lump in his throat
is strangling him. "Sirius, you can't do that to me. I'm—I'm begging you,
please don't do this to me."

Sirius' face goes out of focus as he leans back, and there's the sound of
something scraping the floor, followed by Sirius guiding James' glasses
back on his face. The world swims back in, and Sirius leans forward,
holding James' gaze. His eyes are still so, so cold when he says, firmly and
with no emotion, "I hardly need to, really. Do you think Regulus wants
anything to do with you after what you've done?"
"I—" James sucks in a sharp breath, muffling a small sound.

"You're going to stay away from him," Sirius repeats, not breaking his gaze,
capturing it and trapping it. "And, for a while, it might be best to stay away
from me, too, because looking at you makes me feel violent. Really fucking
violent, in fact. So, until I figure out how to forgive you, leave me the hell
alone. That's even if I can forgive you, which I'm not even sure that I ever
will."

James heaves out a harsh breath, a shudder rippling through his entire body.
He whispers, "I'm your best friend."

"Yeah, that's what I thought, too," Sirius agrees sharply, pulling away to
take a step back. He glares at him, then dips his head forward enough to spit
on the floor right in front of James' feet. After all the hitting and yelling,
that's what ends up making James flinch.

"Sirius," James starts, a frantic edge to his voice, but he cuts himself off
when Sirius leans over to lazily swipe James' phone right off the table.
Without warning, he holds it up, then throws it face-down on the floor with
such force that it bounces, the screen immediately shattering. James gapes
at it, then gapes at Sirius. "What the fuck did you do that for?! That was my
phone! Are you insane?"

"My last name is Black," Sirius snarls. "Of course I am."

"Why?" James blurts out incredulously. "Why would you—"

"Oh, this?" Sirius kicks out with a jerky motion, his chest heaving as he
sends the cell skittering across the floor. He grins at James with all teeth.
"That's because of Remus. You two must be so close, even closer than I
ever knew, with all that sneaking about and scheming. But I'm not letting
you warn him about this. Wouldn't want to ruin the surprise."

James springs to his feet, swallowing thickly, and Sirius stares him down.
For a long, tense moment, they just stare at each other, this alien distance
between them, a cavern that James doesn't know how to cross. Sirius looks
at him, and James knows him inside and out, knows him so thoroughly that
he can tell that Sirius won't let him cross it.

James reaches up with a shaky hand to cover his mouth, the tears running
hot down his cheeks. There's no sympathy in Sirius' eyes. They're so cold.

"I'm sorry," James confesses, wretched, feeling as if he's misaligned and

broken on the inside, malfunctioning with no one to repair him. His heart—
he can feel it in a way he never has before. Lily broke it, she did, but this is
something else. It feels like his heart is dying.

"I wish that changed anything," Sirius says softly, "but it doesn't."

James' shoulders heave on a harsh sob, and he stands there as Sirius bangs
his way from the flat, slamming the door as he goes, leaving James alone
with the unfinished puzzle.
Remus doesn't get much sleep before there's a knock at his door, making
him groggily drag himself from bed, scrubbing at one eye with his palm as
he yawns. Regulus has his arms full when the door opens, and he arches an
eyebrow at Remus.

"Oh, am I interrupting?" Regulus asks dryly.

"You are, actually, yeah," Remus mumbles, stifling the next yawn that tries
to ripple through him.

"Unfortunate," Regulus tells him carelessly, then pushes past Remus to

come inside with no shame whatsoever.

Remus can't help the way his lips tug up fondly. He follows Regulus over to
the table by the window. "What do you have?"

"Mm, something to put in the oven. I thought we could eat. It's already
prepped; it just needs to be heated and served, really," Regulus tells him,
sitting down a pan with what looks like pot-pie, then sliding something else
from underneath it with a low hum. "While we wait, we can play chess."
"Been a while since we have," Remus muses, settling down at the table as
he watches Regulus bustle over to the oven, fiddling with it. As he does,
Remus automatically starts pulling the chessboard and pieces out of the
box.

"Well, you have a habit of always being a few moves ahead, " Regulus
murmurs, shutting the oven. "It's infuriating. But not this time, I think."

"Is that right?" Remus chuckles as he sets the board up, shaking his head as
Regulus comes to sit across from him, lazily threading his hands together
on the table. "Have you gotten any rest at all?"

"Not yet."

"You need to sleep, Reg."

"Oh, I'll rest easy tonight, I'm sure," Regulus says.

"You can always stay over if you need to," Remus offers, fully aware that
Regulus will mock him for it, but doing it anyway. In three years, Regulus
has stayed over on his broken sofa many times without complaint—just as
Remus has slept over at his flat often enough—but it's always one of those
situations where neither of them ask, or offer; they simply just don't leave,
and aren't made to leave. They have a lot of unspoken understandings in
their friendship, and always being welcome in each other's space is one of
them. Still, Regulus has had a rough few days, and Remus just wants….
Well, he wants a lot of things. He wants to help. He wants to be a better
friend.

Regulus, instead of mocking him, hums and says, "I know."

"Are you going to?" Remus asks.

"No," Regulus replies. He reaches forward to move first, fully in game

mode, though Remus can tell that he has been since he walked in. His guard
has been up since the door opened, but he gets like this about chess—blank
and empty, completely unreadable. "I'm not tired just yet. You must be,
though."

Remus smiles sheepishly and takes his turn. "Is it that obvious?"

"Well, you had a long night, didn't you?" Regulus asks, briefly glancing up
at him with a sympathetic frown. "I know I'd be exhausted if my boyfriend
went missing for a bit."

"Yeah, I…" Remus trails off, glancing up quickly, but Regulus is focused
on the board, utterly calm. Did...did Remus tell him that? He tries to
remember if he did, but he genuinely doesn't know if he did or not, or
maybe James told him? Would James tell him? Why would James tell him?
"Remus, it's your move," Regulus points out, glancing at him with a frown
that indicates he's acting oddly.

"Right. Sorry." Remus swallows. Either he told Regulus (and he can't

fucking remember if he did or not), or James did, but it's obvious that
Regulus knows. Right, then. Lovely, just another fucking thing Remus has
to sort of lie about—lying by way of omission, but regardless. "I suppose I
am tired after that."

Regulus nods. "I figured you hadn't eaten either, and I'm the one who was
dragging you around all day. The least I could do was make sure you
actually had a decent meal."

"Cheers," Remus says weakly, pulling his hand back and watching Regulus
immediately take his next move, taking one of Remus' pieces in the process.
"Well, at least you didn't have to bury any dead bodies today."

"I wouldn't count it out, Lupin. The day's still not over just yet," Regulus
comments airily, waiting for Remus to take his turn, then immediately
taking another one of his pieces.

Remus' eyebrows furrow as he stares at the board. Fucking shit, he's already
only a few moves away from losing. What the fuck? He's too distracted.
"Oh, but it is getting late, Regulus. You said you're not staying over? Don't
tell me you're planning to try and see your brother again when you leave?"

"No, I'm not."

"I know it didn't work out today, but—"

Regulus frowns as he hovers his hand over the knight, then eventually
settles on his queen, sliding the piece over to take one of Remus' rooks.
"Who said it didn't work out?"

"What?" Remus blurts out, distractedly moving a pawn forward, which

immediately gets sacrificed. Fuck, he can't focus. "I—wait, did it work
out?"

"Technically, yes. Overall, no." Regulus clicks his tongue and checks the
timer on his phone. Only a few more minutes before he has to pull the pan
from the oven. "Evan got me the address to his flat."

Remus scoops up one of Regulus' bishops, clutching it tight in his hand,

heart racing. "So, you went there?"

"Mhm."

"But no one let you in, and you went home?"

"No one let me in," Regulus confirms, making Remus deflate in relief,
grateful that Regulus is focusing in the chessboard and not him, and there's
even a small pang in his heart when thinking about how close Sirius and
Regulus were to seeing their brother today, at least until Regulus casually
continues with, "I let me in, though. Fun fact, Remus, I can pick locks. Isn't
that fun? I think that's fun."

"You—" Remus cuts himself off, eyes widening, and Regulus glances up at
him with raised eyebrows. Remus tries harder than he ever has in his life to
control his face. "That's… Wow, that's—shocking, Reg. I didn't know you
could do that."

Regulus' lips curl up in one corner, briefly entertained, and then he focuses
on the chessboard again. He moves a pawn, just a filler move, and Remus
has no idea what plan he has; he only knows that Regulus isn't losing. "It's a
skill I haven't had cause to use much in the last eight years or so. My
brother taught me when I was only seven."

Of course Sirius knows how to do that, Remus thinks, mildly exasperated.

"Why would he teach you that at seven?"

"Believe it or not, it was a survival skill for us," Regulus informs him.
"Mother liked to lock us up in small, dark spaces and make us go without
meals, so we learned how to pick the locks and sneak each other food. I
used to lay out a napkin in my lap and hide practically half of my dinner in
it, then hide that and hope Mother didn't notice, then wait until really late
and take it to him. When I was the one locked up, my brother always
managed to hide more than I ever could. I never understood how he did it,
but you know, now that I'm older, I realize he would go hungry so I
wouldn't."
"Oh." Remus swallows thickly. "That's… Reg, that's fucking awful. I'm so
sorry that happened to you. Both of you."

"Mm, it's alright. We made do. Actually, we turned it into a bit of a game
over the years. Or a bonding experience. Well, my brother did," Regulus
muses, shrugging. "He did that a lot when we were growing up. Made
things better, I mean."

Remus shakes his head and moves his knight. "No, mate, it's not alright.
Neither of you deserved that."

"Well, in any case," Regulus says, "it was helpful for me to know how
today. I let myself in and went into his room. He was sleeping, so I woke
him up. He does this thing where he breathes through his nose, even if he
sleeps with his mouth open; don't you find that strange?"

"Haven't much thought about the different sleeping habits of people,"

Remus mumbles, because he hasn't. He did know that Sirius sleeps like
that, though. "Did you two…?"

The timer on Regulus' phone goes off, so he squints at the board as he

stands up. "It's my move, so don't cheat, Lupin. I'll find out if you have, and
if you do, don't even try to lie about it. I'll always find out if you're lying to
me."

"Right," Remus whispers with a wince, because it's true. Regulus will find
out that Remus has been lying to him, as soon as tomorrow. God, he feels
sick to his stomach.

Regulus bustles around Remus' compact kitchen as if it's his right, though
it's comparatively lacking to his own. He pulls the pan out of the oven to sit
it down on a flannel on the counter, then serves them both a portion on a
plate. With a great show of coordination, Regulus carries a plate in one
hand, the other balanced on his inner forearm, then uses his other hand to
bring them can drinks from Remus' fridge.

Remus takes one can to help, and Regulus sits the other on his side of the
table before placing a plate in front of Remus and taking the other to his
side as he sits down again. Calmly, he says, "Wait for it to cool before you
eat."

"Yes, Chef," Remus teases, and Regulus does not smile.

"My brother and I fought," Regulus announces as he slides his plate to the
side, jerking his chin to gesture for Remus to do the same. "It was like I said
it would be. Explosive. But, to my surprise, it was also...cathartic."

"Yeah?" Remus asks, trying not to show how outwardly nervous he is at the
moment. His brain can barely wrap around the fact that Sirius and Regulus
saw each other today.

"I got a bit carried away," Regulus mutters, wrinkling his nose as he takes
his next move. He's starting to close in on the checkmate, and Remus can't
even properly care right now.
Remus clears his throat. "By carried away, you mean…?"

"I told him I hated him," Regulus says, and Remus can barely stop himself
from wincing, "and I told him I loved him," and Remus feels his heart jump
in hope he didn't even know he could have, "and somehow, we ended up
crying and hugging."

"Regulus, that's—that's good," Remus breathes out. "That's healing, isn't it?
Isn't it good?"

Regulus smiles, and it's so very thin. "Well, you know I hate things like
that. Damaged my pride a bit, if I'm honest. But I'll admit… I don't know,
for a moment there, I thought we could have some sort of—closure, maybe.
I never fooled myself into thinking that we'd ever really try again—try to be
proper brothers, I mean—but I did hope, as foolish as it might've been, that
maybe when we went our separate ways this time, it wouldn't be like it was
last time."

"That's not foolish," Remus insists immediately, "and you can have more.
Why not? Why shouldn't you try to be proper brothers again?"

"Oh, there are at least two reasons, as it turns out," Regulus says, waving
his hand lazily. "Fortunately for me, I never got my hopes up to start with,
so it wasn't as awful as it could have been. Not from that angle, at least."
"But don't you want to try?" Remus asks earnestly, carelessly moving a
piece on the board without even looking.

"Don't you get it, Lupin? I don't try. I'm never the one who tries," Regulus
tells him quietly. "That's life. My life, really. Virginia Woolf said it best,
didn't she?" He looks down at the chessboard and sighs, then quotes: "She
took a look at life, for she had a clear sense of it there, something real,
something private, which she shared neither with her children nor with her
husband. A sort of transaction went on between them, in which she was on
one side, and life was on another, and she was always trying to get the
better of it, as it was of her; and sometimes they parleyed (when she sat
alone); there were, she remembered, great reconciliation scenes; but for the
most part, oddly enough, she must admit that she felt this thing that she
called life terrible, hostile, and quick to pounce on you if you gave it a
chance."

"Life is given to me only once, and never will be again—I don't want to sit
waiting for universal happiness. I want to live myself; otherwise it's better
not to live at all," Remus quotes back, and Regulus opens his mouth, but
Remus shakes his head sharply and continues with another quote. "Fling
yourself straight into life, without deliberation; don’t be afraid - the flood
will bear you to the bank and set you safe on your feet again."

"Why, Remus, I thought you hadn't read Crime and Punishment?" Regulus
asks dryly.

Remus' lips twitch. "And I thought you hadn't read To the Lighthouse.
Liar."
His tiny smile falls as soon as the last word falls out of his mouth, and he
feels a harsh jolt in his stomach, because if anyone is a liar here… Besides,
this is another one of those unspoken things in their friendship; they've
pretended for years that they didn't read each other's favorite book, but
they've both always known that the other did. Of course they did. Best
friends who are avid readers usually do.

There's something a favorite book can say about someone. Remus learned a
lot about Regulus just from reading Crime and Punishment, things he went
on later to have confirmed as their friendship blossomed. It's a book about a
murderer with no remorse until the threat of consequences to his own
actions start to close in on him, and through that, he learns some valuable,
much-needed lessons in life. It's an awful, dark book in a lot of ways, but
evocative in others, and there's a lot that can impact someone reading it,
especially those wrestling with guilt or questionable morals. Over the years,
Remus has learned that Regulus is both.

"The most offensive is not their lying—one can always forgive lying—lying
is a delightful thing, for it leads to truth—what is offensive is that they lie
and worship their own lying…" Regulus quotes, lifting his gaze to stare at
Remus.

"Do you agree with that?" Remus rasps.

Regulus holds his gaze and says, "I agree that lying is a delightful thing, for
it leads to the truth, but I don't agree that one can always forgive lying. Do
you?"
"To pursue truth with such astonishing lack of consideration for other
people's feelings, to rend the thin veils of civilisation so wantonly, so
brutally, was to her so horrible an outrage of human decency," Remus
whispers.

"Is that what you think?" Regulus murmurs. "You think a lie to spare
someone's feelings is human decency?"

Remus shudders out a harsh breath. "I think it can be."

"I've told a lot of lies, Remus," Regulus says softly, "and I can say for
certain that none of them were displays of human decency. Lies are simply
our self-indulgent, selfish desire to escape the tightening noose of our own
guilt."

"So, you've never told a lie without it being for selfish reasons?"

"All lies are selfish, but people are inherently, instinctively selfish beings.
We can't help it."

"Then shouldn't people be forgiven for them?" Remus asks, a lump forming
in his throat.

Regulus leans forward and moves a piece on the board, holding Remus'
gaze. "That's the thing—lies can be forgiven, just not always, and it's up to
the one lied to if it's a lie that can be forgiven." His voice softens. "Oh, and
checkmate."

Remus doesn't move for a long moment, staring helplessly at Regulus,

frozen with a climbing sense of dread. He knows, doesn't he? Does he?
Remus can't fucking tell. Regulus gives nothing away in his expression, and
Remus doesn't know if it's his own guilt that has a pounding fear of he
knows, he knows, he knows pulsing in his chest, slicing into him over and
over.

"Good game," Remus croaks, still unsure, and he slips his hands under the
table to hide the way they shake.

"Wasn't it? Looks like I was a few steps ahead this time," Regulus says, lips
curling up, and...he doesn't know? Surely he doesn't, if this is how calm he
is. Remus feels himself relax slightly as Regulus casually starts packing up
the chess pieces and nods towards Remus' plate. "Eat. It should be cool by
now. I know you have to be starving since You-Know-Who went missing.
Bit of a prick, worrying you like that."

He doesn't know, Remus inwardly confirms, dragging his plate over. He

feels bad for being relieved, but he also can't help it. He takes a bite,
swallows, then says, "It wasn't like that. He didn't really do it on purpose.
He had a...rough night, and he didn't react very well, is all."

"Suppose that makes sense," Regulus muses with a casual hum, pushing the
box aside and threading his hands together in front of him instead of
dragging his plate over. He looks at Remus placidly, watching him take
another bite, then says, still in that light tone, "My brother has always been
rather dramatic. I'm sure Sirius didn't mean to worry you."

The resounding silence settles between them heavily as Remus slowly stops
chewing. Regulus watches him, and it happens without Remus even
noticing, but his expression shifts into the same one he pinned on Evan and
Barty to ruthlessly and silently pluck their secrets from them. Remus
remembers being on the outside of it and finding it intensely intimidating,
but it's nothing compared to having it pointed at him.

Inexplicably, he can feel it. He'd likened the look to a scalpel slicing into
someone and waiting to see what will fall out, and that's exactly what it is.
Remus can feel it slicing into him, peeling the layers of himself back,
exposing what's inside so it will inevitably spill into Regulus' waiting palm.

Remus swallows his bite thickly. It briefly gets stuck, and his fork clatters
loudly against the plate as he shakily puts it down. The food, which had
tasted so very good only seconds ago, now tastes like ash on his tongue.

"Regulus," Remus whispers.

"Do you remember what you said to me when I first told you about my
brother? Fuck him, you said." Regulus arches an eyebrow. "Took that a little
too much to heart, didn't you?"

"Regulus," Remus repeats hoarsely, "I didn't know. I swear to you that I
didn't—"
"Oh, Sirius and I worked that part out ourselves. Though it may seem it,
considering how easily we've been fooled as of late, we're not actually
idiots," Regulus says, his voice falling flat. "It was actually quite simple to
figure out, and then even simpler to figure out when you and James started
knowing. It all started making sense, much to our horror. That week where
James disappeared, in which you and your boyfriend—well, you never
precisely said, actually, but Sirius tells me that you left him much the same.
It also explains how you knew I was trans. James must have let that slip, I
imagine."

Remus opens and closes his mouth, then blurts out, "He didn't mean to,
Regulus. It was an accident. I was sort of freaking out about finding out that
you and Sirius were brothers, and James just said that—that Sirius had—"

"A sister," Regulus fills in.

"We were wrong, and James never—he didn't even say it. He refused to,
and I'm the one who worked it out. He didn't—"

"Honestly, I don't care about that at all. I don't care who knows, or doesn't,
or how anyone found out. I never cared if you knew, Remus. Besides, is
James the person you want to be defending right now?"

"I never meant—listen to me, Regulus, falling in love with your brother was
an accident. We tried to do what was right, but we were all so fucking
heartbroken. You know that. You can't deny that," Remus says in a rush.
"We just thought—"
"You just thought," Regulus cuts in sharply, "that you'd go on shagging my
brother. My brother, Remus, who you knew abandoned me. You knew how I
felt about him, and you still chose to do it anyway, you complete waste of
fucking oxygen."

"No, it's not—that's not what it was. I—I just—I fell in love with him, Reg.
I love him," Remus says helplessly. "I don't know how to give him up, and I
don't want to lose you, and it's all so bloody complicated. What were James
and I supposed to do? If we'd told you, what would you have done?"

Regulus' nostrils flare, and he hisses, "I would have done what I should
have done from the very start. I would have spit in James' face before I'd
ever let him come near me again, and I would have given you a choice."

"How is that fair? That's not fair, Regulus."

"Yes, life rarely is."

"You can't just make it a choice. You're my best friend, and I'm in love with
him," Remus chokes out. "Why can't I have both? Why can't there be
more?"

"You misunderstand me," Regulus grits out, leaning forward to glare at him.
"It wouldn't have been a choice between Sirius and I; it would have been a
choice between never seeing Sirius again, or fucking death."
"Reg—"

"No, fuck off. I told you—what did I tell you? I said you had to be my best
friend, because it was either that, or I'd have to kill you. I trusted you,
Remus."

"No, you didn't!" Remus explodes, and Regulus scoffs in appalled disbelief.
"I went three fucking years not even knowing your brother's name! Maybe
if you would have told me, we wouldn't even be in this mess, Regulus!"

"Oh, you're blaming me for your decision to keep fucking my brother,

knowing how I feel about him, then conspiring with my boyfriend to keep it
hidden?" Regulus asks incredulously.

Remus clenches his jaw. "And how is it, exactly, that you feel about Sirius,
really and truly? Because you lied about that, too. You love him. You miss
him. You want him in your fucking life, but you'd rather hide away from it
out of fear—"

"Shut the fuck up, Lupin," Regulus snaps.

"We planned to tell you and Sirius," Remus announces sharply, grinding his
teeth. "In fact, we were going to tell you both tomorrow. All along, we were
always going to tell you. I suppose we just underestimated quite how much
you and Sirius care about each other—our mistake, really, but how could
we know when all either of you did was lie about it? We'd hoped that
maybe, just maybe, we could all ease into it and be happy. Because you and
Sirius deserve to be happy, and so does James, and—and I want it so badly
that I—" He cuts himself off, swallowing harshly. "But of course not. Of
course that would be too much to ask for—that you'd stop being so afraid to
open up, to let anyone in, to—"

"And why do you think that is?" Regulus interrupts coldly, gaze as sharp as
a knife. "Because every time, every single time, I let myself believe that
there's someone I can trust, someone who won't hurt me, or leave me, or
ruin my fucking life—I'm proven wrong again, and again, and again. I have
to say, out of everyone, I really didn't see it coming from you."

"That's—that wasn't what I was doing," Remus tells him urgently, all but
pleading now. "I never wanted to hurt you, or betray your trust. You're
acting as if I deliberately chose to."

"You did," Regulus snarls. "Did you or did you not come to the conclusion
with James to keep this from me?"

"Not forever! We were—fuck, Regulus, we were scared!" Remus bursts

out. "Don't you get it? We were afraid to lose you, or Sirius. Both of us; we
were so fucking scared."

Regulus curls his lip into a sneer. "You're saying that's my fault?"
"No." Remus groans and hunches down, bracing both hands along his
hairline, squeezing his eyes shut. "No, alright? I'm not. I'm not. I just—god,
fucking shit, I don't know. I don't know what we were meant to do."

"Well, for one, you weren't supposed to fuck my brother," Regulus spits.
"For another, you weren't supposed to lie and decieve me along with my
boyfriend ."

"Goddammit, Regulus, we just—" Remus slams his hand down to the table
so hard that the dishes rattle, and Regulus flinches back. Remus goes still,
freezing in place, his breath trapped in his lungs. It's an infinitesimal
movement, and Regulus' face clears and goes cold seconds after, but Remus
saw it. His heart sinks, and he finds himself trying to fold down and make
himself smaller, tucking his hands into his lap. Softly, he says, "I would
never hurt you, Regulus. Never."

"The worst kind of dishonesty in the world is when the liar doesn't even
know they're lying," Regulus murmurs, equally quiet and subdued. "The
thing is, Remus, you already did."

"I meant I wouldn't—I would never hit you," Remus clarifies, because he
desperately needs Regulus to know that.

"I would have preferred it if you had," Regulus tells him, lifting his gaze.
He doesn't look as angry now, just… He's sad. He looks so sad, and that's so
much worse. "Friendships, even the best of them, are frail things. One drifts
apart."
Remus feels a peculiar cracking sensation in the general area of his chest,
and it rattles through him like someone just shot the beast of his anger right
between the eyes, the quote from To the Lighthouse the bullet to put it down
for good. This time, it's him who flinches, and he thinks he understands,
because he would much rather Regulus just hit him. This is much more
painful than any hit ever could be.

"Don't—" Remus almost can't speak past the lump in his throat, and he
blinks violently against his stinging eyes as he shakes his head. "Don't say
that."

"Do you know what the worst part is, Remus?" Regulus asks him, his voice
low and soft, almost melodic. "You were my exception and I believe I was
yours. For the things that scared us the most—my fear of abandonment and
your fear of having nowhere to belong—we were always each other's
exception, weren't we? I never once expected to lose you, and you always
had a place with me."

"Regulus," Remus says, and his voice cracks.

"I wish I didn't have to regret you," Regulus whispers, looking away as his
jaw works, blinking harshly. The light of the moon catches the shine of his
eyes, and Remus sees one tear fall from each eye, only to be promptly
dashed away.

Remus breathes out a harsh, wet breath. He shakes his head and chokes out,
"I'm sorry. Regulus, I'm sorry."
"I know." Regulus takes in a breath, slowly breathes out, then turns his head
to meet Remus' eyes. His face is blank again, and he doesn't look like he
cried at all. "I just don't care. I told you that the person lied to decides if the
liar can be forgiven, and Remus—you can't. I don't forgive you for this."

"Please," Remus rasps, "you're my best friend."

"Only so I wouldn't have to kill you. I should have saved us both the
trouble. That's alright, though, I try not to make the same mistakes twice."
Regulus looks him up and down, gaze sharp and hard, and then he leans
back in his seat and pulls something out of his pocket. Calmly, he sits a
small bottle on the table and turns it so Remus can see the label on the front,
which reads: Penicillin V Potassium Tablets.

Remus feels his blood turn to ice as Regulus calmly taps one finger to the
top of the bottle. Slowly, Remus drags his gaze away to look at the plate in
front of him, which he's had two bites of already. When he darts his gaze
up, wide-eyed, Regulus just raises his eyebrows and cocks his head.

"Did you—did you just poison me?" Remus whispers, his mind already
starting to race, frantically clocking his own symptoms. Is his throat
swelling? Is that why he's been struggling to talk? Is his chest tight because
he's about to have to have a severe allergic reaction, or because he's losing
his best friend? Both? Oh, fucking hell, what the fuck?

"I hope the food didn't taste too odd," Regulus drawls, deftly scooping the
bottle up as he pushes to his feet. He doesn't look away from Remus once.
"I've never used that as a spice before, so don't judge me too harshly."
"You—Regulus, this is going to fucking kill me!" Remus blurts out
frantically, hastily jumping to his feet so quickly that his chair falls over.

Regulus hums and picks up the box of chess from the table, turning to say,
"Yes, Remus, that's entirely the point. Anaphylaxis should be setting in any
moment. I'd love to stay and watch your throat close up entirely, but I hear
it gets a bit messy. See you in the next life." He turns and heads right for the
door as Remus dives for his cell with shaking hands, breathing hard.
Regulus does turn back, drawing his gaze, and all he says is a very sharp,
"Oh, and stay the fuck away from my brother in that one, too."

The door slams shut, and Remus stares after him in a mixture of disbelief
and unhindered panic. His best friend—fucking Regulus Black—is literally
murdering him. Like, actively.

"Oh my god," Remus wheezes, fully freaking the fuck out, stumbling over
to the wall to sink down and put his head between his knees as he calls
emergency services and cries.

Admittedly, Remus goes into a bit of a spiral, entirely convinced that he's,
like, genuinely dying. He's a mess about this, honestly, for a number of
reasons. He's too young to die, he thinks, and he also—despite everything—
doesn't want to be killed by his best friend. Will Regulus go to prison? It's
such an odd thing to be concerned about in the midst of dying, but it is
nonetheless something his mind latches onto.
Remus is still freaking out by the time the ambulance arrives, and he
stumbles through a half-lie about accidentally taking something with
penicillin in it, which he's deathly fucking allergic to, and Regulus knew
that, so Remus shouldn't at all be covering for him. Except that's exactly
what Remus does, because apparently loyal to the end is a trait of his.
There's some irony in that, isn't there?

Of course, when he's in the hospital and getting calmly told by a doctor that
there's no penicillin in his system, that all of symptoms were those of, in her
professional opinion, a panic attack, that's when Remus realizes that
Regulus never poisoned him at all, and somehow, a Crime and Punishment
quote ends up coming to mind: If he has a conscience he will suffer for his
mistake. That will be punishment as well as the prison.

And, following that: Man has it all in his hands, and it all slips through his
fingers from sheer cowardice.

Remus' hands are empty, empty, empty.

He's never felt so alone.

Chapter End Notes

For those of you who are here for the spoilers: Sirius and James get
into a huge argument, in which Sirius hits James in the face and few
times upside the head, and also pushes him roughly a few times while
he's sitting in a chair, and James is mostly just crying the entire time.
In turn, Remus and Regulus also get into an argument; there's no
hitting, but Regulus does bring out a bottle of Penicillin and inform
Remus that he has poisoned him by feeding him—rest assured, he has
NOT attempted to kill Remus in all actuality. He just, um, makes him
THINK he has, which leads Remus into a panic attack, and Regulus
just...abandons him there. To be clear, I don't condone any of these
actions, and they WILL be addressed and resolved.

To everyone who has just finished the chapter... *ducks and hides*

Listen. LISTEN, I know, okay? Trust me, I know how awful it is. It
was awful writing it. I'm not sure if helps to remember that this is
LITERALLY the day following the art/catering event where Regulus
and Sirius met, and also the same day they both went to Evan and
Barty, AND still the same day where they met again and had that big,
emotional moment. So, suffice to say, emotions are high at the
moment, and Sirius and Regulus are at their most reckless and not their
most stable. I would like to say that they're not going to do anything
else they shouldn't, but that would be a lie. I would also like to
reassure everyone who thinks this is all drama for drama's sake and
won't have any effects on the characters that this is NOT the case.

Some people aren't going to like Regulus and Sirius right now, or in
the future, and that's fair. Some people are going to find it mostly
justified/understandable, and that's fair also. The same goes for Remus
and James. Everyone is entitled to their opinions and feelings. I just
want to reassure everyone that these things aren't going to slip past and
be excused for any of them. It's GOING to be handled and fleshed out,
giving all these characters room to glow and flourish.

But yeah, feel free to yell at me in the comments. I'm gonna go hide
and reply to all your comments on the last chapter 😂😭 also... I just.
I'm sorry, but I have to make the joke. Everyone was pointing out that
Regulus was gonna poison someone and...well...

Regulus: *asks everyone he feeds if they're allergic to anything*

Everyone: aw, he's so considerate!

Also Regulus: *files this information away for later*

Okay, bye. See you Sunday 😭
 Chapter 18
Chapter Notes

In light of the recent chapter, I'm relieved to say that there are no
warnings for this chapter. It's shockingly lighthearted, compared to that
of the previous chapters. So, enjoy :)
See the end of the chapter for more notes

"I really thought you were done for," Aiko says as she follows him out of
the classroom. "Whatever did you do to get back in Chef Sprout's good
graces? She was furious about you ruining the event, you know."

Regulus grimaces. "I didn't—"

An arm comes down around his shoulders, and Regulus clenches his jaw as
his very, very annoying brother's very, very grating voice casually speaks up
with, "That would be my doing, actually. Why appease furious women
when you have an older brother to do it for you, isn't that right, Regulus?"

"Oh," Aiko says, blinking slowly.

"Aiko," Regulus grits out, eyes falling shut, "meet my brother, my soon-to-
be dead brother, Sirius."

"Didn't know you had a brother. Well, I don't actually know much about
you, but anyway, the resemblance is uncanny," Aiko says warmly. When
Regulus opens his eyes, she's smiling at him in visible amusement.

"You'd think, but some people really do miss it," Sirius tells her, clicking his
tongue as he gestures between him and Regulus. "Anyway, I hope it's not
too much of a bother for me to steal my brother away from you. It was
lovely to meet you, Aiko, but we must be going."

"Oh, sure, that's alright," Aiko agrees simply. "I'll see you next class,
Regulus. Glad you're still here."

"Thank you," Regulus says quietly, and as soon as she's gone, he snatches
out from under Sirius' arm to whip around and glare at him. "What the fuck
are you doing here?"

"Now, is that any way to talk to your elders?" Sirius asks with a mock-
frown, placing his hands on his hips like a disapproving grandmother.

"What do you want?" Regulus snaps.

"Testy," Sirius mutters, then rolls his eyes. "It's been a few days. You
haven't cooled down yet?"

Regulus arches an eyebrow at him. "Have you?"

"Oh, I'm the picture of calm," Sirius says blithely, flapping a hand. "Quick
question, have you seen James at all?"

"No," Regulus bites out.

Sirius smiles. "See? Calm."

"Have you seen Remus?" Regulus asks, eyes narrowing.

"No," Sirius admits, his smile falling.

Regulus flashes him a sharp, fake smile. "Lovely. Thanks for the update. If
there's nothing else, I'll be going now."

He turns and immediately weaves around Sirius to head towards the

entrance of the building. For a second, he thinks that Sirius genuinely just
did come here to make sure his best friend (James, that fucker) hasn't snuck
off to see his little brother. Not that Regulus would tell him if James had,
and if James did, Regulus would—well, he's not entirely sure, but he's
aware that it would not be very pretty.

In any case, it's apparently not the only reason Sirius came, because a few
minutes later, he comes jogging up behind Regulus to catch up with him.
When Regulus cuts him a sharp look, Sirius purses his lips like he used to
when Walburga would make him say something he didn't want to.
"Where are you going?" Sirius asks, finally.

"Out," Regulus replies flatly.

Sirius huffs. "Out where? Do you have to work today?"

"I quit."

"You—what? Wait, really?"

"Obviously. I worked with Remus. Oh, and James came in every day. I
would literally starve and be homeless before I ever went back there,"
Regulus informs him sourly.

Sirius stuffs his hands in his pockets, chewing on his bottom lip, then blurts
out, "So you don't have an income now?"

"At the moment, no."

"But how are you going to…?"

"I'll figure it out. I always do."

"Come work with me."

Regulus comes to a screeching halt and turns his head slowly to stare at
Sirius, who blinks at him, looking just as startled by what he just said as
Regulus was to hear it. "Come work with you? Doing what? Washing paint
from the brushes? Again, I'd literally rather die."

"No," Sirius grumbles with a huff. "I just meant… Not—not with me,
exactly. I, ah, sell some things through the shop next door to the studio.
They need someone to lead the till, because Mrs. Delby sent the last one out
by way of newspaper."

"Newspaper?"

"By smacking him with a newspaper all the way out the door. He was
stealing from the till, so I can't blame her. It's the same hours you had, I
think—if they were the same as Remus'—and Mrs. Delby loves me; she'd
hire you for sure."

"I don't need your help, Sirius," Regulus says flatly.

Sirius grimaces. "No, but you need to eat and live and such, and I know you
won't just take my money."

"Again, I'd literally—"

"—rather die, yes, you've said. Just… It's a job, Reggie, and it'd be helping
Mrs. Delby more than you, really."

"I have savings, you know. It's not like I'm in danger of wasting away just
yet," Regulus mutters as he turns and starts walking again, giving a muted
sigh when Sirius springs forward to fall into step beside him. He doesn't
mention that his savings are for buying a place to open a restaurant one day,
meaning he will actually waste away before he ever touches it.

"No reason not to get ahead of the curve, though. Don't be lazy, Regulus.
Just—do me the favor, then? Mrs. Delby needs the help, genuinely," Sirius
says. "She'll hire you and have you working as soon as tomorrow, in fact."

Regulus heaves a sigh as he steps outside. "You're not very subtle, Sirius,
never have been. Why would I want to work next door to you anyway?"

"What if I promise not to bother you?"

"I wouldn't believe you because you're lying."

"Alright, I'm lying, but—"

"Why do you want me to come work next to you, actually? That's the better
question."

Sirius snaps his mouth shut, then purses his lips again, then mumbles, "I—
don't. It's just convenience, honestly. I mean, it's the only open job I know
of, is all."

"Really?" Regulus rolls his eyes and walks faster, but Sirius matches his
pace with ease. "Well, I think I'll exhaust every other option in the world
before I get around to that. It'll be my last resort, and even then, I might just
succumb to death."

"You're the most spiteful person I've ever known."

"Yes, thank you."

"Oh, Christ, just—" Sirius huffs and reaches out to snag his arm, tugging
him to a halt. "Will you just stop? Take the fucking job, Reggie. Is it really
so bad that you'll be—"

"What?" Regulus asks, eyes narrowing into slits.

"Close?" Sirius murmurs, lips tipping down.

Regulus stares at him for a beat, then says, "Yes, actually, that's awful. If I
can at all avoid it, I—"

"Look, it's not a handout; you'll be working to earn your own money. Your
precious pride won't be under attack. I even promise—no, I'm not joking, I
promise I won't bother you...that often," Sirius tells him, speaking rapidly,
rushing. "I just—"

"What?" Regulus demands.

Sirius is making that same face. That 'I do not like what I'm being forced to
say' face, which either means it's uncomfortable to him because it's true, or
because it's such an awful thing to say that it's uncomfortable on principle.
"You're my brother, Reggie. It's been eight years, but I still—I mean, I still
want to know that you're alright."

So, not an awful thing to say, just uncomfortably true.

Regulus has no idea what to do with that.

"You didn't really seem interested in knowing if I was alright when you
left," Regulus points out, and he doesn't even say it to be cruel; he says it
because it's true.

"Regulus, I thought you were alright," Sirius says with a frown, his
eyebrows drawing together. "That's the thing. I didn't know that you
weren't."

Regulus blinks, startled by this. He actually takes a step back and looks at
Sirius, really looks at him, and he gives himself one fucking second to see it
how Sirius saw it. Of course he would see it as he did, because Regulus
never let him see anything else. So caught up in how angry he was, and how
much he thought he hated Sirius, how much he wanted to, and he never let
Sirius know he wasn't alright. Not once. Sirius asked. Sirius was the only
person who did.

"I'll think about it," Regulus murmurs. "The job, I mean. I'll look around,
but if I decide to try next door to your studio, I'll get the job on my own
without you talking to Mrs. Delby."

"Yeah, alright," Sirius agrees, his lips twitching, clearly very pleased by this
—and amused, likely, by Regulus' stubborn nature. "Do you want to give
me your number so I can send you the address to my—"

"You're pushing it," Regulus cuts in, whirling back around to stride off
while Sirius snorts behind him.
"So, really, where are you going?" Sirius asks insistently as he catches up
with Regulus again. "You must have free time, not working and all. Going
home? Actually, where do you live?"

"I'm not telling you that."

"What, why? You know where I live!"

"I do, yes, and I won't ever do anything with that information. You, in
contrast, would absolutely do things if you knew where I lived. For my
sanctity of peace at home, I'll keep you as far away as possible."

"Bit dramatic, that. I wouldn't—"

Regulus arches an eyebrow at him. "No?"

"At most, I would break in and scare the piss out of you a few times when
you came in, is all, and being randomly startled is good for the heart
anyway," Sirius mutters defensively.

"I simply do not agree," Regulus informs him. "Now go away."

"You know I'll just follow you, right? Like, I'll genuinely just follow you
home to find out where you are."

"Why the fuck—"

Sirius cuts him off with an amused, "Well, I have to know you're alright,
don't I? What if you fall and break your neck getting out of bed? Who
would discover you before you rotted, if not me? Remus and James are out
now, obviously, so—"

"I have other friends besides Remus," Regulus snaps.

"Oh, is that so? Don't tell me you mean Evan and Barty. What sort of
friends just believe their friend is dead without seeing the body? If it was
James, I'd literally never stop looking for him, and if I did find a body, I
would simply go mad and murder whoever was at fault, then end up
imprisoned until I either died or found reason to break out." Sirius pauses,
then grimaces. "Well, that was...before."

Regulus rolls his eyes. "And now?"

"Oh, now? Now I'm showing commendable restraint in not being at fault for
his dead body," Sirius grumbles, scowling.
"So you've—seen him?" Regulus asks, lips pressing into a thin line. He
glances over at Sirius, who swallows.

"Actually, no," Sirius says. "He's been out of the flat since… Anyway, my
guess is, he's staying with Effie and Monty. If not them, maybe Lily. She
has a spare room."

Regulus stops. Just comes to a complete stop. It's so sudden that Sirius
actually gets a few steps ahead and has to swing back around. Whatever he
sees on Regulus' face makes his eyebrows fly up. Regulus runs his tongue
under his top lip, over his teeth, and silently wills the tension to seep out of
his frame, but it doesn't. Not one bit.

"Oh, I bet she bloody does," Regulus grinds out.

Sirius' eyebrows come down, but one of them sweeps right back up,
judgmental. "Are you—jealous, Reggie?"

"No," Regulus says violently, absolutely seething.

"Right." Sirius narrows his eyes slowly. "Right, because if you were, that
would indicate feelings. For my best friend. Feelings for my best friend that
you're not allowed to have."
"Oh, in that case, I have them. All of them and more. Actually, I'm going to
ask him right now to run away with me and go elope and never return.
What are the chances he agrees?" Regulus mutters flatly, moving again as
he brushes past Sirius with a scowl, scoffing.

Is James staying with Lily, though? Well, he's a free man, isn't he? Maybe
the close quarters can rekindle their flame, and they're older; marriage is
less frightening to most in their twenties than at nineteen. Who knows?
Maybe they'll go on and fall in love again. Who's Regulus to stand in James'
way?

Only, technically, they haven't seen each other to break up or anything, so if

that's the case, then Regulus can likely get off on a crime of passion when
he absolutely fucking murders him.

"I'd hunt you both down like a fucking dog and kill you both, so don't even
try it," Sirius says. "But that's right, you met Lily, didn't you? She said she
liked you."

"Oh, I bet she bloody did," Regulus snaps.

"She's really lovely, you can't deny that. She's who James should have
ended up with, if you ask me."

"I didn't."
"I'm just saying—"

"Well, don't."

"Maybe they'll get close again," Sirius muses. "Maybe—"

Regulus whirls around on him and hisses, "Shut up."

"Aha!" Sirius bursts out, pointing at him. "You do still have feelings for
James! Yeah, no, that has to stop. Like, now."

"It's been three days, Sirius; I'm not made of fucking stone, no matter what
you might think," Regulus snarls. "As if you're just over Remus now. Are
you? Go on, then."

Sirius opens his mouth, then closes it. He swallows harshly and clears his
throat. "Yes, alright, I...see what you mean. But this is fine. No, this is good,
actually. We always do our best bonding in pain, don't we?"

"We're not bonding."

"Oh, we're definitely bonding."

Two hours later, they're in Regulus' flat, and they're bonding. Look, it's not
Regulus' fault. Pandora rang him up to cancel on getting drinks because
there was an accident in the lab that she had to go handle, which he can't
blame her for, and they agreed to meet up later. In the aftermath, Regulus
just decided to go home (he has nowhere else to go, no one else to see,
nothing else to do), and Sirius just followed him. Regulus did try locking
him out, but Sirius broke inside in under two minutes, so there goes all of
Regulus' future peace.

At the moment, though, he doesn't actually mind. They're both well on their
way to getting pissed, and Sirius wasn't exactly wrong. They do actually do
their best bonding in pain.

"He spilled coffee on my favorite shirt. My favorite fucking shirt, that git,"
Regulus says miserably. "I should have killed him then. Should have known
he would be nothing but trouble. Instead, I wasted three years on him."

"Three years? Try knowing someone over a fucking decade. Twelve years,
Reggie!" Sirius declares.

"At least you got twelve years," Regulus counters. "I only got three years,
and isn't that worse? I should have known it would end badly. I should have
been waiting for it."

"I did my waiting! Twelve years of it! In denial!" Sirius bellows, raising his
glass and spilling a bit over on his wrist. He just licks it off and sniffles. "I
never thought he would do this to me. I never thought he could. My best
mate—how could he? Put his dirty hands all over my little brother, that
prat."

"He was so good at it, too," Regulus groans, tipping his head forward to
repeatedly knock the rim of his glass against his forehead. It's empty. He
should refill it.

Sirius makes a low sound of displeasure. "Oh, don't say that. I don't want to
hear it. I've heard enough."

"Have you? Surely James didn't tell you much once he found out I was your
brother," Regulus mumbles, swaying forward to fumble for the bottle and
top them both up.

"Well, before he found out, he wasn't exactly afraid to share details, was he?
Like, I know you sucked his cock at work. Why do I have to know that?
Why, why, why?" Sirius says, despaired. He shakes his head and sighs. "But
yes, after he found out, he suddenly felt it very important to let me know
that he only felt pure, respectful things for his boyfriend."

"Well, he didn't do pure, respectful things, let me just say that," Regulus
tells him, and Sirius groans like he's in pain.

"I fucking knew he was lying."

"He was. He lied straight to your face. He had me up against the wall once,
you know. It was lovely."

"Please stop," Sirius rasps, staring down into his glass like he's about to
burst into tears (again).

Regulus thumps the bottle back down, takes a swallow from his glass,
hisses through the burn and hiccups out, "It was the same with Remus. Him
changing, I mean. He used to tell me things sometimes about his boyfriend,
then he suddenly stopped. Why do I have to know that you like to bite, and
your hair pulled? How is that fair? But, you know, he didn't even try to lie
and say he had respectful, pure thoughts. I would've gotten suspicious. I'm
so much smarter than you, Sirius."

"No, you're not. Just admit it, we're both so stupid. They played us for fools,
Regulus, and we didn't even notice," Sirius says, then chokes out, "And I
did like it when he pulled my hair," before he promptly starts crying
(again).

"James liked it when I pulled his hair," Regulus says sadly. For some
reason, this makes Sirius cry harder. "God, we are idiots. But—but they had
the advantage! They had each other. They were literally working together!
Who does that?"

"Right! It took them ages to work it out, and it only took us, what, an
hour?" Sirius pauses in crying to drink some more, then fumbles to pat his
face dry daintily with his sleeve.
"They're the idiots," Regulus declares sharply, then almost instantly deflates
and downs another swallow of his drink.

"No, Reggie, that's still us," Sirius says.

"I hate them. I hate them, I hate them, I hate them," Regulus chants, and he
doesn't stop chanting it for a while.

Sirius eventually cuts him off with, "Do you know where my cell is? I want
to put on Olivia Rodrigo," then finds his phone and weeps through the
entirety of traitor, and Regulus holds his own until happier comes on, then
ends up crying too, and they both croon and sob their way through favorite
crime.

"Skip it," Regulus hisses when the first notes of jealousy, jealousy comes
on, and he nearly shoves Sirius over scrambling for his cell. "Turn it off.
Fucking turn it off."

"Alright, alright, just—oh, this one," Sirius says, still blubbering a bit, but
he manages to put on Don't Speak by No Doubt, and Regulus gapes at him
in horror. Sirius squints at him blearily, then mumbles along, "You and me,
we used to be together. Every day together, always. I really feel that I'm
losin' my best friend. I can't believe this could be the end. It looks as though
you're lettin' go. And if it's real, well, I don't want to know."

"I hate this. I hate you. I hate them," Regulus declares viciously, then downs
the rest of his drink, then raises his voice to sing along, too. "Don't speak, I
know just what you're sayin'. So please stop explainin'. Don't tell me 'cause
it hurts. Don't speak, I know what you're thinkin'. I don't need your reasons.
Don't tell me, 'cause it hurts."

"You sound so American," Sirius points out with a wobbly smile, then lets
out a wet chuckle.

"They're an American band," Regulus says with a huff, and Sirius fucking
loses it, cackling like a madman. "Oh, piss off. At least I can do an
American accent. You know what you sound like when you try? Like
you've got jam stuck to the roof of your mouth."

"I do not!"

"Do too."

"If you think I'm bad, you should hear James when he—" Sirius cuts
himself off, face falling. "Oh, bloody hell."

Regulus heaves a sigh. "I won't. I won't be hearing James ever again. Fuck
you. I hate that he's your best friend."

"How do you think I feel about Remus?" Sirius mumbles, frowning. "He's
my Moony. How could you have him first?"
"Well, now I don't have him at all. You still have James. Of course you
fucking do. You always get to have everything."

"Does it look like I have James at the moment?"

"No, but you will."

Sirius grimaces and looks away. "Not so sure if that's true, actually. I—may
have...ruined that. Probably."

"Sirius," Regulus says slowly, "what did you do?"

"Um. Well…" Sirius bites down on his bottom lip, then downs his glass and
lets his head slump back on the edge of Regulus' sofa. They're sitting on the
floor in front of it, a bottle that's nearly empty between them—it was almost
full—and the distant sound of No Doubt playing in the background. Sirius
swallows thickly. "I hit him."

"You what?!" Regulus bursts out, surging forward to stare at him with wide
eyes. "You—"

"Hit him," Sirius repeats, sighing. "Punched him in the face once, then kept
smacking him on the side of the head while I was yelling at him like Mother
used to do to us. He was fucking crying, Reggie."

Regulus reaches over and shoves him hard, glaring at him with his jaw
clenched. "What the fuck, Sirius? Why would you do that? Never do that
again."

"I just—I was so angry, and I—" Sirius huffs, then straightens up and clicks
his tongue. "Who are you to tell me—"

"He's my boyfriend," Regulus snaps, reaching out to dig his fingers into
Sirius' arm, pinching the skin and twisting until he yelps. "Don't fucking do
it again."

"Ouch! Alright, fuck, let me go," Sirius grits out, rubbing his arm as soon as
Regulus does. "Wasn't planning on doing it again anyway. I feel bad about it
now."

"You never had to try hard to be like Mother. It always came so naturally to
you," Regulus says sharply. "I don't care what James has done. He doesn't
deserve that."

Sirius cuts him a glare. "If either of us are naturally like Mother, it's you, so
don't even start. And—yes, okay? I know. You don't think I know how
fucked up it was? I've never hit him before. Not like that. We've never
fought, you know, that's just not us. Felt like…" Sirius swallows and looks
down at his lap, subdued. "Felt a bit like dying, I imagine."
"I know you told him to stay away from me," Regulus murmurs, and Sirius'
head snaps up.

"How do you know that?"

"Because I told Remus the same thing."

"Did you?" Sirius squints at him for a long moment, then his eyes widen.
"Wait, what did you do?"

"Haven't the faintest what you mean."

"To Remus. You did something. What did you—"

"Well, I didn't hit him," Regulus grumbles, but Sirius still looks anxious,
which is...fair. He has every reason to be. "I just stopped by his flat, then we
played chess, talked about books, and then I fed him and left."

"Why don't I believe that?" Sirius asks. "There's more to it than that,
Regulus. What did you do?"
Regulus hesitates for a long moment, then drops his gaze down to his
fingers tangled in his lap. He swallows. "Alright, so we might have...argued
a bit. We've argued before, believe it or not. Then I…" He clears his throat,
his face scrunching as he winces slightly. "I may have convinced him that I
poisoned him by mixing penicillin into his food—he's allergic, you see—so
I was making him think I was killing him, then I sort of just...left him
there." He pauses, then rushes to clarify, "I wasn't killing him, though, to be
clear. I didn't actually poison him. He's not dead. I just made him think so,
that's all."

"Reggie," Sirius breathes out, astonished, "what the fuck? That's really—
that's the most fucked up thing I've ever heard of. Are you insane?"

"Of course I am. I'm a Black," Regulus mutters, shooting him a look. "You
should know all about that."

"Oh my god, that's awful," Sirius says, wide-eyed. "He must have been so
panicked. You probably scared the piss out of him! You—I should fucking
beat you for that!"

"Why should you—"

"I'm his boyfriend, in case you've forgotten. That's not okay, Reggie. That's
really fucking bad. You can't—you can't do things like that, especially not
to him. Never."
"Yes, well, I won't," Regulus says quietly, scowling down at his hands.
Pouting, mostly. "When I burn bridges, I make sure the damage is enough
that nothing can ever be built again. Remus wouldn't come near me so that I
could do it again. Not that I would. I do feel… Alright, so I might have
taken it too far."

Sirius stares at him incredulously. "You think?"

"Well, he—did what he did, so." Regulus bites his inner cheek, his chest
tight, and he shakes his head. "That's that, I suppose. We're good at this,
aren't we? Ruining things."

"Never known anyone better," Sirius says solemnly, reaching for the bottle
with a heavy sigh.

"Do you think…?" Regulus trails off, and he can't finish. He's scared to go
down that path of thinking. That small nagging is the back of mind that
maybe—

"Best not to think about it at all. It is what it is." Sirius holds out the bottle
to him, no longer caring about the glasses. At this point, Regulus doesn't
either. "Come on, we're still bonding and drowning our sorrows."

"And the more I drink the more I feel it. That's why I drink too. I try to find
sympathy and feeling in drink.... I drink so that I may suffer twice as much,"
Regulus quotes with a sigh.
"What's that from?"

"Crime and Punishment. Remus would have known."

"James wouldn't," Sirius counters, sounding like he's fucking grieving, and
Regulus wishes he didn't understand the feeling just as intimately. He
downs a deep swallow from the bottle to feel it twice as much.

Regulus holds out the bottle, then scoots over and dumps his head over on
Sirius' shoulder as soon as he takes it. He's drunk and clingy, just wants to
be comforted, and Sirius—well, it's been a long time, but Sirius was always
so good at it. Regulus still remembers the source of comfort Sirius used to
be, and like this, he finds himself desperate for it. He squeezes his eyes
shut. "I hate them the same way I hate you."

"You mean you love them?" Sirius asks softly.

"Yeah," Regulus whispers.

"Me too, Reggie," Sirius tells him. He leans his head over on Regulus',
resting it there. "Me too."
Sirius lasts another two days before he decides he's going to bother Regulus
again. These two days are spent venting it out in the studio (angrily
slapping clay around, focusing on pottery because it's very hands-on and
cathartic), avoiding the email from Minvera he still hasn't opened yet (too
afraid to), dodging any and all requests or offers to spend time together
from friends (no one knows what's going on; they're just worried because he
briefly went missing), and sitting around his flat while pretending he's not
waiting for James to come back (except he is, and James hasn't yet).

Anyway, Regulus is a much preferred problem to occupy himself with

rather than...literally everything else, which is possibly one of the most
ironic things that's ever happened to Sirius. One of the main things he's
spent avoiding for the last eight years, and suddenly it's the only way he's
coping right now. He can honestly say he didn't see this coming.

In a way, he doesn't actually mind. Getting extremely pissed with Regulus

had genuinely been a bit of a bonding experience for them; they'd never
gotten to do that before. Sirius wasn't at all expecting Regulus to get sweet
once he was well and truly drunk, but he did, and it was like getting a
glimpse of the adorable, innocent child he used to be long ago. At some
point, he'd mumbled that he liked Sirius' hair, then proceeded to pass out on
his shoulder and almost instantly start drooling on him. Suddenly, to Sirius,
it was like Regulus was five again.

Of course, a hungover Regulus is like a demon from Hell, and he'd taken
his wrath out on Sirius three times over the following morning before
kicking him out and declaring that he would actually, sincerely murder
Sirius if he came within five feet of him ever again. Sirius took this to mean
he needed some space, which is fair, because honestly? So does Sirius.
Bonding with Regulus is emotionally taxing, as it turns out. It makes Sirius'
feelings and thoughts all jumbled up and conflicted, because he sometimes
can't figure out if he wants to be around Regulus all the time, or never see
him again.

Things are complicated between them. Considering their history, Sirius sort
of expects that. But, well, Sirius is also a very persistent bastard, so when
he comes to the conclusion that he will simply avoid his problems and
distract himself by bothering his brother, he does just that.

Or, he starts to, in any case.

Literally the moment Sirius opens the door to leave his flat, he finds Lily
standing on the other side, her hand poised to knock but never actually
getting the chance. She blinks, and he blinks back, and then she eyes him
critically.

"Sirius," Lily starts.

"Sorry, I must be going," Sirius cuts in quickly, prepared to brush past her
and make a fucking break for it. He doesn't want to do this. He so
desperately does not want to do this.

Lily doesn't really give him the choice, reaching out to block him with a
startlingly strong stiff-arm against the chest, which she uses the momentum
of to push him back into the flat. Her eyes are narrowed. "Oh, I won't keep
you. How have you been, Sirius? Haven't heard much from you."
"Oh, you know, just busy," Sirius mutters, huffing and marching over to
plop down on the sofa. He knows there's no escaping her when she's like
this.

"I'm sure," Lily says flatly, joining him on the sofa. She surveys him for a
long moment. "Where's James?"

"Dunno," Sirius mumbles, averting his eyes.

"You don't know." Lily keeps looking at him until he looks at her, and then
her lips press into a thin line. "Sirius, what's going on? You and James
never come into the group chat anymore, and Peter rang me because he was
worried that he'd done something wrong since you and James were
practically ignoring him. Cas needs you for a photoshoot, but she
apparently can't get a straight answer out of you either. Frank asked James
to come over and play poker, and James told him no, except James never
says no to playing poker with Frank. And now, you don't know where your
own best friend is?"

"Look, Lils, I adore you—truly, I do—and I say this with as much love as I
can, but kindly fuck off," Sirius tells her, and she raises both eyebrows at
him. "No offense, but I don't want to talk about it, and it's not actually your
business."

"You and James are my friends. I'd think that your happiness and his is a
little bit of my business," Lily snaps, then takes a deep breath and lets it out
slowly. She folds her hands in her lap and shakes her head. "No, sorry,
you're right. If you don't want to talk about it, then I won't push you. I just
want you to know that we're all worried. Whatever it is, whatever has
happened, we're your friends, too. Don't forget that, yeah?"

"I haven't. It's just...complicated right now, is all," Sirius admits, heaving a
sigh.

"If there's any way I could help…" Lily bites her lip, looking as if she
would really like to know everything, only just refraining from demanding
he tell her. She's trying, at least. "But alright. I'm here if you want to talk,
Black, you know that, right?"

"Have you spoken to James?"

"I tried to, but he won't answer my calls or texts, and I don't know where he
is, so I can't get to him and drag the whole story out of him."

Sirius grunts. "Bully for you, I guess."

"Don't be a prick, Sirius," Lily says sharply, and he frowns at her until her
face softens. "Everyone's especially worried about you since you went
missing, you know. None of us have seen you since. Is it—does it have
something to do with that? Was it—I mean, were you hurt? Are you in
trouble? Are you alright? Whatever it is, Sirius, if you need help—if you
need absolutely anything; money, or—or—"
"Lily," Sirius says gently, reaching out to lay his hand on her knee,
squeezing it. She does everything so fiercely, even worrying about those she
loves. He doesn't doubt that he could ask her for anything, could ask her for
the fucking Queen, and Lily would do everything in her power to get him
what he needs. It's a common theme in their friend group, honestly; it's one
of the things he loves most about all of them. "I'm alright, I promise. Or,
mostly. It's just been a really bad week. What happened that night… Well, I
saw my brother for the first time in eight years, and everything sort of—fell
apart after that."

"You—" Lily blinks at him, then her face scrunches up a bit. She looks
visibly confused. "Wait, what? Your brother? Sirius, you don't have a
brother."

"Yes, I do," Sirius says lightly. "What are you on about? You know Reggie.
I've talked about him to you before."

"Your sister," Lily corrects.

"I don't have a sister." Sirius raises his eyebrows at her, looking at her as if
she's mental. "Are you alright, Lily?"

"Yes, I'm alright," Lily says, frowning. "Are you? Because you have a
sister. I distinctly remember you having a sister. I know this, because we
bonded over having awful sisters."
"No, I have an awful brother. I've always had an awful brother. Have you
hit your head recently or—"

"I haven't hit my head! You always had a sister!"

"Mm, no I haven't. My brother—I've literally had a brother my entire life.

How are you going to tell me I didn't? I grew up with the prick; I'd think I
know," Sirius insists, and Lily is not letting this go, so he huffs. "Lily,
honestly, how could you not know this? Are you calling me a liar? You've
even met him!"

Lily squints at him. "What? I've never met your sister—"

"Brother."

"You don't have—"

"I do," Sirius cuts in, clicking his tongue, "and you have met him. You did
around two weeks ago now, I think. You met my brother, Regulus Arcturus
Black. He has my eyes, remember?"

"I—Regulus? James' Regulus? Wait, Regulus is your brother? Regulus is

Reggie?" Lily's eyes bulge, her mouth falling open in shock. "Oh my god.
Oh shit."
Sirius scowls. "Not James', actually. But yes, Regulus is Reggie. My
brother. I told you I've always had a brother. How could you miss that, Lily?
Is this one of those Mandela Effects?"

"I—I really thought—" Lily, despite everything, has a cloud of doubt

forming in her eyes as she frowns. Slowly, she shakes her head and adjusts
to this new information, then her eyes grow wide all over again. "Oh,
fucking hell. James is dating your brother? No. Is he actually?"

"Was," Sirius clarifies, clenching his jaw. "He was dating Reggie. That's
done now."

Lily stares at him for a long moment, apparently needing more time to
process, and then she whispers, "Oh, he must have been devastated when he
found out. That's awful."

"Sorry?"

"Well, obviously he didn't know. He'd never go after your brother if he

knew it was him, especially knowing how you feel about him. He must
have cut it off right away. Is that what's wrong? It's awkward between you
now? He probably doesn't want you to see how heartbroken he is."

"Lily, he did know," Sirius corrects, and Lily rears back in genuine surprise.
"Well, he didn't at first, but then… Then, when he worked it out with
Remus, he decided to keep doing it behind my back."

"He—what? No, wait, back up. Remus? How is he involved?"

"Well, it turns out Remus is Regulus' best friend. Has been for the last three
years. Like James, he didn't realize he was shagging his best mate's brother.
Also like James, he decided to keep doing that when he did realize."

"I—alright, sure, yeah," Lily says, bobbing her head, eyes increasingly
getting wider, then she goes still and starts shaking her head. "No, okay,
you've lost me. Do you mean to tell me that they both…? So, wait, that
week when Remus just vanished and you were heartbroken—that was when
they found out, wasn't it? James was also upset."

"Bang on as always, Evans."

"Right, but then they decided to—keep doing it anyway."

"Yeah."

"Oh, James."
Sirius huffs out a harsh laugh. "Believe me, Regulus and I were fucking
stunned by it as well. Never saw it coming."

"I…" Lily bites her lip. "Well, it's just—it does make a bit of sense, doesn't
it?"

"What?"

"I won't claim to know Remus very well, but I easily saw how much he
loves you, and you should have seen James around Regulus. He's
absolutely, pathetically, no-going-back in love with him. I suppose, in a
panic, they would double-down and do whatever they had to so they
wouldn't lose either of you. Besides, I don't doubt you were all so unhappy,
and they probably just wanted to do what they could so you'd all be happy
again—James, especially. You know how he is about the people he loves
being happy. Oh, and they must have felt so guilty the whole time, not
knowing what to do, because the only thing they knew for sure would work
was what already worked before. That was so incredibly stupid of them,
and at the same time, I can see exactly why they did it."

"Oh, well I'm glad someone does. So it was love, is that it? That's the great,
big excuse for everything? I'm sorry, is that supposed to matter?" Sirius
demands.

Lily frowns at him. "Of course it matters, Sirius. Love is it, haven't you
worked that out yet? It's what life's all about. And I don't mean just
romantic love. But also love between friends, between families, between the
strangers on the street that can change a bad day into a good one with
something as simple as a smile. That's what life is about—that love.
Because, in the end, money and possessions don't really matter. You don't
find happiness and peace in that; you find it in love. What do you think they
were so desperate to hold onto?"

"You're justifying—"

"No. I'm not."

"You literally are, Lily," Sirius hisses.

"I'm not, because they were wrong. They were," Lily tells him firmly, "but I
won't pretend that people aren't capable of doing the wrong things for the
right reasons. Probably for selfish reasons, too. Probably out of fear as well.
It's not black and white; very few things are."

Sirius grinds his teeth. "Well, I don't much care about the reasons, if I'm
honest. I care about what they did."

"If we only cared about what people did, then no one would be happy,
Sirius," Lily says gently. When he looks away, she sighs and reaches out to
cover his hand on her knee with her own, lightly patting it. "I know you
think it, but James isn't above making mistakes sometimes, love. You've
always found safety in him, like he's infallible, but he's human. He's not
here just to fix things and sacrifice his own needs for everyone else's, and I
know how easy it is to forget that, because sometimes I think he'd like us to
forget that. He'd give the very heart out of his chest so that those he loves
are happy, but Sirius—why should he have to? He shouldn't have to."

"You think I'm being selfish."

"I don't. I think, for maybe the first time, James let himself be a little
selfish. I think you're angry, and hurt, and betrayed. And I know that,
despite all of that, you two still love each other in a way no one else in this
world will ever, ever feel the same way as you two have. I also think you
two will eventually be alright again, because I'm fairly sure the seam of the
universe would simply unravel if you weren't."

"I don't know," is all Sirius says, because he doesn't know anything, and
he'd much rather ignore it.

Lily squeezes his hand. "Can I ask you something?" Sirius just grunts in
acknowledgement. "What would you have done? Let's just say, with how
you feel about Remus, if roles were reversed and it was James and Remus
as brothers with a history strife with complications, and you'd accidentally
found yourself in this situation, what would you have done?"

Sirius tries to think about it for less than a second, and his internal curtain
comes down so fast that he doesn't even get to take a breath in the space of
the shift. He just shuts down. He does it so quickly that his body reacts
before his mind even takes over, making him snatch his hand from Lily's as
he jolts to his feet. Sometimes this just happens; the curtain comes down
without warning, and he finds himself tucked firmly behind it, not even
entirely sure why.
"Doesn't matter. That's not what happened. This isn't a fucking thought
experiment for people to debate about, Lily; this is my life," Sirius snaps,
glaring at her. "Now, like I said, I have to be going. I actually had plans
today."

"Sirius," Lily tries.

"Lock up when you leave," Sirius says sharply, pausing only long enough to
give her a harsh look. "Oh, and do leave. Don't be here when I get back."

With that, he's gone.

Sirius knows, distantly, that he'll feel bad about that later when the curtain
comes back up. He wishes he could say that it's not a regular occurrence,
but it's something that everyone who knows him is familiar with. He
retreats and lashes out, and he will say and do things that are rude, harsh,
even cruel; reckless with himself and everyone around him. They all know
it; they all have grown accustomed to it. The girls generally say he's just
brooding, and they rarely coddle him through it, either giving as good as
they get, or just keeping a wide berth away from him until he's over it.

Mary's been saying ever since he was fourteen that he needs to go to

therapy, quite convinced that he's some form of bipolar or something, but he
hasn't much thought about exploring any of that. The idea of sitting down in
front of a person who wants to find out what's wrong with him quite
literally makes him want to vomit. The idea of talking about his childhood
makes every cell in his body revolt. He fucking refuses.
He knows he has—issues. He's very aware. He manages it as well as he can,
and he hates it especially when he can't; it's not as if he enjoys being this
way. Those in his life are beautifully understanding and accommodating,
forgiving him over and over, one bad mood right after the next, loving him
anyway. If he could be perfect for them—even more than just living an
easier life—he would do it in a heartbeat.

"Do you think we need therapy?" Sirius asks the moment Regulus opens the
door to his flat.

Blinking, Regulus says, "This. This is what I meant about you destroying
my peace. Did you come here to ask me that?"

"I've been thinking on my way over," Sirius explains, gently slipping past
Regulus, only to come to a halt when he sees a blonde girl sitting on
Regulus' couch. "Oh. Hello."

"Hi, Sirius," she says, smiling. "Lovely to see you."

Sirius blinks. "Sorry, have we met?"

"Not really. I saw you once when you came to pick Regulus up from school,
but that was nearly a decade ago now. I'm Pandora," she tells him, eyes
dancing with amusement. "Oh, and I do think you both need therapy."
"Wait, you went to Reggie's school? Were you friends?" Sirius cranes his
head to watch Regulus slip past him and go into the kitchen, where he's
obviously cooking. "I didn't know you had friends from before."

"It's a new development, really," Regulus says dryly, "and I'm reconsidering
it at the moment."

"Don't pout, Regulus." Pandora rolls her eyes and unfurls from the sofa,
standing up to practically glide into the kitchen, heaving herself up on the
counter beside the stove to lean her head over and raise her eyebrows at
Regulus. "You don't have to like my opinion; we don't have to agree. I'm
just telling you what I think about it."

"Well, you're wrong, and get off or I'll burn you," Regulus snaps, holding
his spatula up like he's about to do just that, but Pandora doesn't even
twitch.

"Sure you will." Pandora's lips curl up. "I'm not wrong just because you
don't agree with me, and I have a feeling that you will agree with me
eventually. I'm never wrong about these things, you know. I can sense it."

"You and your senses can fuck off," Regulus grumbles.

Pandora grins and darts her hand out to steal a piece of vegetable from the
pan, popping it in her mouth and humming in approval, and Regulus sighs
heavily. Pandora wiggles her shoulders and winks at Sirius. "Don't mind
him, Sirius. He's just grumpy because I've told him I think he should and
will forgive Remus. How have you been, then?"

"Oh, I've been—fine," Sirius mutters with a grimace, and Regulus shoots
him a smirk over his shoulder. Sirius makes a face at him and moves into
the kitchen to also haul himself up on the counter beside the stove, just on
the opposite side so that Regulus is between him and Pandora. He peers
down in the pan. "What are you making?"

"Pumpkin ricotta gnocchi with pancetta and seared radicchio, and I've some
chocolate cheesecake-filled strawberries chilling in the fridge," Regulus
says.

Sirius leans back a little, staring at him, and Regulus glances at him out of
the corner of his eye before looking away, cheeks slowly turning red as he
flushes. It's the first time that Sirius feels a rush of affection for his little
brother and can actually recognize it as what it is. He doesn't really know
what to do with it, admittedly, but it is there nonetheless.

"You sound like a proper chef, Reggie. Why don't you have one of those
chef hats?" Sirius teases, and Pandora gasps.

"No," Regulus hisses at her.

"Yes!" Pandora declares, kicking her feet, utterly delighted. Oh, Sirius likes
this one, he decides. "You have to, Regulus. I think you'd look lovely.
Brilliant idea, Sirius."

Sirius grins at her and tips an imaginary hat. "Cheers."

"I hate that you two have met," Regulus mumbles, glaring down at the pan.
"This is awful."

"Bet you miss Remus now, don't you?" Pandora sing-songs.

"Do you want to eat or not?" Regulus asks sharply.

"Yes, food, please." Pandora holds her hands up in surrender, then smiles
slyly at Sirius when Regulus looks away.

Regulus huffs and narrows his eyes at Sirius. "Did you really stop by to ask
about your mental issues? I don't need therapy, obviously—"

"He does," Pandora corrects.

"—but you undoubtedly do," Regulus continues, as if she hasn't even

spoken.
Sirius purses his lips. "Well, if I do, you certainly do. We literally grew up
in the same house, Regulus. Mostly. There's no possible way you came
from that unscathed."

"He didn't," Pandora confirms.

"I'm not going to a stranger and letting them poke about in my head just to
tell me that I'm fucked up. I know that already," Regulus says flatly, rolling
his eyes.

"See, that's what I thought, too," Sirius agrees, tossing up his hands in
relief. Finally, someone who gets it.

Pandora steals another two pieces from the pan, ignoring the look Regulus
throws at her in favor of reaching around behind him to offer a piece to
Sirius, who sneakily takes it. "That's not what it is, you know, not really. I
mean, they do learn about you and what you're struggling with, but it's more
than that. Your therapist—if you've found a good one—isn't just a stranger.
They become important to you, and they're there to help you. It's no
different than if you've a physical injury; you wouldn't just keep suffering if
you could be helped. That's silly."

"You go to therapy?" Sirius asks curiously. He knows that some of his

friends do, or have (Peter, Alice, and Lily at the very least, but they don't
often talk about it).
"I do, yeah," Pandora says easily. "It's really not as bad as some people
believe it is. Therapy isn't always about the worst things that have happened
to you. Your therapist is also there for the good things, too. And, if nothing
else, they can't make you do anything you don't want to; so, for example,
even if they recommend medication to help you, but you don't want to, then
you don't have to. A good therapist will find other ways to help in whatever
way they can. It's worth it, I promise. If you're thinking about it, I say give
it a go."

Regulus leans forward to turn off the stove, sitting the pan aside as he leans
up on his tip-toes to dig around in a cabinet to pull down some sort of spice.
As he shakes it lightly over the pan, he mutters, "Not all therapists are good,
though."

"That's true," Pandora agrees, frowning. "I'm very lucky to have the
therapist that I do. Some can be truly awful. You know, I had a therapist
before this one that I went to with my Mum before she died. It was family
therapy, but when I started going on my own, she recommended me to the
therapist I have now. If you two wanted to go together, you could always go
to the one I went to with my Mum."

"Me and him? In therapy? Together, at the same time? The world would
end." Regulus doesn't even look at Sirius, but he huffs out a sardonic laugh
and shakes his head.

"Mother would be appalled," Sirius says, amused.

"God, she would," Regulus agrees, laughing a little more genuinely that
time as he holds out the spice without even looking, like an afterthought,
which Sirius grabs on autopilot and puts it back where Regulus got it from.

Sirius chews on the inside of his lip, then kicks out his foot to nudge
Regulus' hip. "We should do it."

"No, Sirius, we absolutely shouldn't."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't want to, that's why. Do you even want to?" Regulus
challenges, arching an eyebrow.

"Not really," Sirius admits, and he doesn't say that he thinks he could do it if
he didn't have to be alone, and he definitely doesn't say that he thinks it
would be good for Regulus, maybe for them both. "But we still should. It's
been eight years."

"You keep saying that like it's supposed to mean something, but it really
doesn't. Yes, it's been eight years. What of it? Time has passed; that's what
time does."

"Yeah, but things have changed. A lot of things."

"Well, change is the only constant."

"Reggie, come on, I just—"

Regulus arches an eyebrow at him. "You just what?"

Sirius struggles for a moment, frustrated and conflicted. A part of him

wants to grab Regulus by his shoulders and shake him, shouting I'm here,
I'm trying, what more do you want from me? Another part of him wants to
hop down from the counter, wash his hands of this whole mess, and walk
away without looking back. Because it's easier. It was easier, and that's why
he did it in the first place, isn't it? But is it? He doesn't know anymore,
doesn't know anything outside of this unrelenting guilt and righteous anger
and persistent ache to just…just try. It won't leave him alone, how badly he
wants them to try.

He doesn't know what he's feeling most of the time, other than a lot, and he
doesn't know how to verbalize any of it. There's something so awful about
being unsure, about not knowing what to do, or what to say, but knowing
that something needs to happen. He doesn't know what the right thing is,
but something's got to give. It has to.

Sirius just wants this one thing to stop being so fucking hard. It's been this
way for eight years, and he's gotten a glimpse into what it could be if it was
easier, so how is he supposed to just let that go? Regulus is his brother.
They're brothers.
"I just think," Sirius says carefully, "that it would be nice if we could have
at least one real conversation about—things with someone there to mediate,
maybe."

"You want someone to hold our hands through a conversation?" Regulus

asks flatly.

"Maybe, and what's wrong with that?" Sirius huffs and lazily flicks his
fingers. "Maybe it would be easier to talk if we had someone guiding us
through it. Besides, Mother would hate it, and that's reason enough for me,
really."

"Regulus," Pandora says softly, nudging him with her knee, pinning him
with a long, searching look full of significance.

"I—" Regulus frowns, then glances at Sirius, holding his gaze for a beat.
"I'll think about it."

"Yeah?"

"Just said so, didn't I?"

"Good enough," Sirius murmurs, lips curling up. He knows that's all he's
getting at the moment, but it's better than nothing. He's learning that a lot of
things are.

"Do you want some?" Regulus asks with a small sigh, nodding towards the
pan on the stove, a grudging look of faint amusement in his eyes.

Sirius grins. "Yeah, I do."

Chapter End Notes

Me, when writing the Black Brothers meeting again: oh god, i gotta
get them in therapy ASAP

Also, not Regulus being a jealous little shit STILL. And him being
like, okay so i mightve taken it a little too far with Remus. Like, baby,
you think????

Also², Sirius really said gaslight, gatekeep, dogboss. Sister? Never had
one. Lily questioning her whole life rn 😭😭😭

Pandora being a queen, as always <3

Anyway, I was relieved to be able to leave you all with a mostly

lighthearted chapter to heal the last, at least until Wednesday. Thank
you all for the lovely comments and support! They mean the world to
me. ❤ Let me know what you thought of this one!
 Chapter 19
Chapter Notes

Hi, hello everyone!!! We get to see James and Remus today <3

Warnings for this chapter: Just angst, I think. Not ALL angst, but
there's definitely a substantial amount compared to the last chapter.
Oh, and depictions of depression.

Good luck, babes <3

Mini Edit to do a tiny personal celebration for writing over 200k

words!!!! You're all troopers!!!
See the end of the chapter for more notes

James doesn't so much as twitch when the door to his (old) bedroom creaks
open. It's mostly a guestroom these days, seeing as he took nearly all his
things when he moved out. As much as he loves his parents, and his
childhood home, he also doesn't want to be here because it's his only
option.

From the doorway, Monty sighs quietly, and James doesn't acknowledge
him. He remains a lump under the blankets, staring blankly at the wall
across the room with his glasses smooshed against his face. It's his new
hobby. Not a very rewarding one, but he does it often enough all the same.
He's been doing it a lot within the last eleven days—nearly two weeks
since... Well, the wall is a better way to occupy his thoughts, needless to
say.

"Alright, budge up," Monty declares, moving over to gently shove at James'
thigh, urging him to move. Sighing, James shuffles around with low effort,
slumping against the headboard in a burrito of blankets while Monty grunts
and settles down right beside him. "Oh, I'm way too past my prime for this,
son. Appreciate your knees at your age, because when you're as old as me,
they will betray you."

James makes some vague noise, but he doesn't say anything. He just closes
his eyes when Monty's arm comes around him and draws the cocoon of
James over into his side.

"You know," Monty says softly, "I did something rather stupid at your age.
Well, I did a lot of stupid things at many points in my life—that's a part of
life, I'm sorry to say—but I mean specifically with your mother."

"Mum?" James asks, startled enough by this to actually peek around the
folds of blankets to frown at his dad.

Monty wrinkles his nose. "We were married by this point, of course, only in
our first year—and, you know, they say that first year is the hardest.
Anyway, your mum started sneaking out all hours of the night and lying
about where she was going and who she was with, so—"

"Mum?" James repeats, but in disbelief this time.

"Indeed she did," Monty tells him. "At first, I sort of just let it go, and then
it got worse because she was so very bad at hiding that she was hiding
something. I saw her get into a vehicle with a man I couldn't quite make out
in the dark, but it was a man, so I was rather convinced Effie was being
unfaithful."

James' eyes bulge, mouth dropping open, and he blurts out an incredulous,
"Mum?! No. No, she wouldn't. She'd never. What did you do?"

"Absolutely nothing," Monty announces with a small smile, and James

blinks. "For about three months, I did nothing. I watched your mother sneak
about and create lies, but the thing was, I loved her so much that I didn't…
Well, to be honest, I didn't want to face it and lose my wife."

"Oh," James whispers, stricken by such a thing. Christ, that's so

unbelievably sad, he doesn't even know what to do with it.

Monty chuckles. "Of course, that couldn't last forever. It festered within me
and caused some problems between Effie and I. It was...a very hard time for
us. Eventually, I couldn't take it anymore, so I decided I would catch her in
the act, thinking that she would stop and we could move forward from
there. Even then, even believing that she'd hurt me as badly as that, I
couldn't imagine ever letting her go."

"That's…" James swallows. He's not entirely sure what that is, honestly.
Sad? Unhealthy loyalty? Can loyalty be unhealthy? All he knows is that he
gets it. He does get it, whatever it is.

"I know," Monty agrees, lips twitching. "So, I followed her and caught her
in the act. Only, it turned out that the man she was sneaking around with
was her father, and the thing she was lying about was a car she was fixing
up with him to give as a surprise to me for our anniversary."

James stares at him. "Really, Dad? Really?"

"Yes, it seems silly now, doesn't it? Back then, however, it was something
so heavy that I could barely breathe through the weight of it at times."
Monty shakes his head. "She was upset that I'd ruined the surprise, Effie
was, then she was startled when I abruptly broke down crying. It was just—
it was such a relief, you know, but all that pain and worry and anger really
had nowhere to go, and I just sort of...cried about it. Lovely woman that she
is, your mum, she wasn't as angry as she could have been, considering I was
under the impression that she was having an affair. It was probably the
tears; she never could handle me crying. Still can't, actually."

"But you two were fine. I mean, obviously," James says, gesturing
pointedly to himself.

Monty hums. "We were, yes, but we had no idea that we would be. We had
no way of knowing that we would end up exactly where we are today.
Although we may seem meant to be, fated to be here now, that's not how
things work. It's a series of choices, and stupid mistakes, and trying again
and again. Love isn't something you stumble upon, or something that finds
you, James. Love is what you make it."

"Right, well, I've gone and made it a mess," James rasps. "I've ruined it,
Dad. And I don't think I can fix it. I was the one sneaking about and lying,
and there's nothing silly about it."
"Give it the test of time. One day, you might be sitting down with your son
and telling him about your stupid mistake because he's just made one of his
own." Monty squeezes him closer and presses a fierce kiss to James' unruly
hair, which is a true testament to a parent's love for their child, because
James hasn't washed his hair in nearly a week. "I can't tell you what will
happen. I can't promise you that you and Regulus will be able to move past
this, or that you and Sirius will ever be the same again. I wish that I could,
but I can't. What I can tell you is that you won't get anywhere by giving up.
You try again, and again, and again. I don't mean with Sirius or Regulus; I
mean with life. Because it will push you down over and over, but never,
never let it keep you from getting back up."

James deflates against his dad, not even crying because he seems to have
cried himself all out over the last two weeks. "I'm tired, Dad. I'm so tired."

"I know, James," Monty says softly. "That's alright. Rest up a bit now,
yeah? Lean on me. I've got you."

So, for a bit, James leans on his dad and stops carrying the weight of
everything. He just dumps it—and himself—over on Monty and lets
himself feel small, and weak, and simply too exhausted to be able to hold
anything. For a little while, he doesn't have to exist under all the pressure on
his chest, all the pain squeezing his heart, and he doesn't exist outside of the
circle of his fathers arms. He's not a traitorous best friend, or a lying lover;
he's just a son, leaning on his father.

Of course, as much as he might wish to, he can't exist there forever. The
moment he shifts, it all comes tumbling back down on him. He pushes
himself up anyway, mumbling about going to get a shower, and Monty
smiles at him.

When he gets out, he thinks that will be it for a few days at the very least.
Isn't a shower technically getting back up? It feels like it is. He hasn't had
one in days, hasn't had the energy, or the motivation, or even the care to do
it. Genuinely, he hasn't done much of anything. The only reason he eats is
because Effie would probably force-feed him if he refused.

As it turns out, showering is not it. His parents are undoubtedly pleased
about it, but they're not letting him get off that easily. James sort of hates
them for that.

"We love you, James," Effie informs him, "but you need to go."

James gapes at her and Monty in disbelief. "You're kicking me out? But I'm
—I'm your son!"

"Oh, don't go into a strop. We're not kicking you out, not indefinitely,"
Monty says, rolling his eyes. "We wouldn't make you sleep outside, because
surely you would, but you do need to go for a few hours at least."

Effie nods seriously. "Just a few hours, if that's all you can do. Go out, see
the sun again, socialize. You've been shut in for nearly two weeks, and it's
not good for you."
"Where am I meant to go?" James snaps.

"Anywhere. Go talk to a stranger. Go have a cup of coffee. Maybe reach out

to the other friends you have other than Sirius, because you have those as
well," Effie says.

"Or, you know, go home and see Sirius," Monty offers, raising his
eyebrows. "That's an option."

"He doesn't want to see me, Dad," James whispers, looking down at his
shoes. "And the others… They'll know something is wrong, and I just—I
can't do it right now, alright?"

Make no mistake. James has tried. As soon as he replaced his phone, he

rang Sirius multiple times four days in a row, but eventually gave up when
he got no response. He even caved and called Regulus, who not only didn't
respond, but also repeatedly and pointedly forwarded his call to his message
box—not even a specialized one, just automated, so James didn't even get
to hear his voice.

"We're not telling you how to spend your day, love," Effie murmurs. "We're
just telling you that you can't keep spending it here, moping about and
wasting away. Now, go on. I don't want you back until the sun has set, at
least."

"Funny," James grumbles, "you used to tell me I had to be home before the
sun set."
Monty laughs. "Ah, the circle of life. It's all about the irony, isn't it? Go on,
then. Enjoy your day."

"We love you," Effie adds.

James complains that they obviously do not love him if they're stranding
him out in the cold, cruel world; they don't indulge his dramatics and
practically shove him out the door. He knows they mean well, but he sort of
hates them for that, too.

So, the thing is, James genuinely doesn't know what to do with his day. He
has messages from all of his friends, and he feels bad about ignoring them,
but some part of him is terrified that they'll look at him and know. They'll
see him for what he's done, and they'll take a solid step back—or worse,
they won't. Because they should. They absolutely should. He deserves to
feel awful like this; he literally brought it on himself, after all.

The only person he could stomach seeing, he thinks, is the only other
person who is in the exact same situation as he is. Truthfully, James is
helplessly curious about how things went for Remus. He hasn't heard from
him—though, to be fair, James didn't replace his phone for three days, so if
Remus did ring him, he wouldn't have known. Neither of them have
reached out to the other in the time since.

Well, misery loves company, doesn't it?

That's how James ends up heading to the coffee shop, and he tells himself it
has nothing to do with the chance that he might get to lay eyes on Regulus,
even for a moment. It's towards the end of the shift when he gets there, so
he has all plans to just wait outside until Remus comes out, but then he
looks in and doesn't see Regulus at all. He only wants one glimpse, that's
all, but Remus is the only one behind the counter.

James swallows thickly and eases carefully into the shop, wary like he
might be tossed right back out. It's rather empty at the moment, so Remus
notices him straight away. He looks up, his lips pressing into a thin line, and
in that moment where they stare at each other across the room, James thinks
they're both working equally hard not to start crying, or yelling; a mixture
of resentment and pain that crumbles before it can really form.

They did this together. They share the blame. James doesn't have it in him
to hate Remus, even if a part of him wishes he could, because that would be
easier, wouldn't it?

"He's not here," Remus says softly when James steps up to the till. "He
quit."

James feels his heart sink, and he blinks rapidly, eventually managing a stiff
nod. "Suppose I should have expected that. That's—fine. I'm actually here
for you."

"Are you?" Remus surveys him for a long moment, then his shoulders
slump as he sighs. "Yeah, alright. I'm off in fifteen if you want to wait."
"I will, yeah."

"Do you want to order something?"

"No," James mumbles. "I really don't."

It's odd, really, that his mum had said for him to go out and see the sun. Bit
of a shit day for it, he notes as he loiters around the front of the shop,
frowning up at the sky. It's a dreary day, the way it gets when a storm is
brewing. It's grey out, and it'll be black before night ever reaches them. If
James had to guess, it looks like a chance of rain and lightning.

A little over twenty minutes later, Remus comes out of the shop and
mumbles, "Let's take the tube. Helps me not think."

"Oh, well then I'm in favor," James says, then grimaces when Remus
swings his head around slowly, jaw clenched. "No, I didn't mean that the
way it sounded. I meant—I'm in favor of not thinking these days, too. Come
on, Remus, loosen up a bit, yeah? I'm taking you to lunch. Try not to look
so sad about it."

Remus doesn't reply, and neither of them say anything else, not even on the
tube. The bustle of it—the sounds of other people chattering and moving—
actually does help drown James out of his own head, so it's helpful in a way.
It's also awful, because he feels on the outside of it all. He looks at all these
other people coming and going in their lives, wondering just how many of
them are wading through their own struggles, knocked down by life and
still needing to go to work, or get home, or visit a friend, or meet up with a
lover. He's never felt so starkly alone in the brittle edges of his own life the
way he does when he sits there and can't figure out anyone else's.

James' favorite thing about puzzles was that they could always be solved, so
long as he had all of the pieces available to put it all together. Nothing was
ever so tragic to him as the puzzle he and Sirius first ever tried to do
together, one that could never be finished. Well, nothing was ever so tragic
to him until this, until now, until he realized friendships and relationships
could go without pieces and he could be the one who lost them.

No piece was more important than the last, and every piece was as
necessary as every other that it connected with, he always thought. How
could he be so desperate to make out the picture the puzzle would create
that he willingly tossed aside pieces that would keep it from falling apart?

Remus doesn't really speak to James directly until they're sitting opposite of
each other in a booth, having already ordered drinks and food. He barely
lifts his gaze from the table as he says, "How's Sirius?"

"I don't know," James says quietly, and Remus looks up at him, a strain
around his eyes. "I haven't been staying at home. He said he wanted me to
leave him alone, so I… I'm staying with my parents for now. Haven't seen
Sirius since we...well."

"Was it as bad for you as it was me?" Remus mumbles.

James huffs a weak laugh and anxiously plucks at the napkin on the table,
tearing tiny pieces off of it. "Don't know how it was for you, but it was—
quite bad, yeah. When I got home after we agreed to wait, Sirius was
already up at the table, doing a puzzle. He asked me to come help him. It's
sort of a thing we do—puzzles, I mean."

"Really?" Remus asks softly.

"Yeah, it is. Or was. I don't know." James shakes his head and clears the
lump out of his throat. "Then, you know, we talked for a bit. He wouldn't
look at me, but I didn't think anything of it, really. He told me Regulus had
stopped by, and I got my hopes up that they—that maybe it'd all work out,
because it sounded like they wanted to work towards something. Then,
casual as anything, he made a comment about how he liked everything
about me until he learned I was—"

"Fucking his little brother?" Remus suggests.

"Yeah. I think he used those exact words, actually."

"Of course he did."

"I almost had a heart attack, I think," James admits, swallowing thickly. "I
just—I don't know why, but I didn't see it coming. It genuinely took me by
surprise. But I wasn't really surprised when he stood up and punched me in
the face."
Remus winces. "Christ."

"He kept shoving me back into my chair and hitting me on the side of my
head, too, but it was—fine. I deserved it," James says, shrugging one
shoulder.

"No, James, no it's not," Remus murmurs. "That's not fine at all."

"Yes, well..." James trails off and looks away. "He did quite a bit of yelling,
told me to stay away from Regulus, and also busted my cell. He, um, knew
I'd try to warn you, so…"

"That's why you didn't answer. I rang you from the hospital to warn you,
but you didn't pick up," Remus says.

James' eyes bulge. "Hospital? You were in the—"

"Regulus' doing, technically, but also mine, really, if you think about it,"
Remus says with a sigh. James' mouth drops open, scrambling to figure out
what Regulus did to put Remus in the fucking hospital, and Remus waves
his hand with a grimace. "I was—I mean, he didn't do anything, it turns out.
He stopped by with food and a game of chess. I—I suppose I did see it
coming. He was sort of playing mind games with me, I think. I'd freak out
thinking he knew, and then just when I calmed down thinking he didn't, he'd
say something that made me freak out again. He waited until I was mostly
convinced that he didn't before he made it clear that he did."

"Fucking hell," James whispers, wincing.

"We argued a bit. Did you and Sirius argue?"

"Sort of. I was mostly just crying, if I'm honest."

Remus' face falls. "Reg cried. Only for a moment, but he did. That was the
worst part. He was sad. I—I made him sad."

"Sirius has never gotten angry with me like that," James confesses. "I've
never seen him so… I've always calmed him, I think. Of everyone in the
world, I've always been the person he can feel safe with. So, to see him so
angry when I was always the person who made him feel better, it was…"

"I know what you mean," Remus tells him. "I've angered Regulus before,
but I've never made him sad."

James' shoulders slump. "I have."

"Yes, and I've made Sirius angry. Were we ever good for them, James? I've
given it a lot of thought, and I really don't know anymore," Remus croaks.

"I don't know either," James says. He heaves a sigh. "What happened that
ended with you in the hospital, though?"

Remus' face scrunches, and he delicately clears his throat, averting his eyes.
"Well, you know how Regulus always asks people what they're allergic to
before he, ah, feeds them?"

"Yeah, sure," James rattles off, confused, and then Remus gives him a
pained, pointed look. James gasps. "What? No. He wouldn't. He—tell me he
didn't actually—"

"I'm severely allergic to specific medicines," Remus cuts in with a frown.

"He waited until I had two bites to sit a bottle of medicine down and tell me
he'd poisoned me. And then he left me there, where I called for an
ambulance, only to be told by the doctor that I was perfectly fine. I just had
a panic attack."

James stares at him with wide eyes.

I don't think you're cruel, Regulus, James had said once. Give me a reason
to choose to be, and you'll change your mind, Regulus had replied. Right,
then. James sees what he means now.
"Oh my god," James breathes out, "that's awful."

"Felt a bit deserved, if I'm honest," Remus says.

James shakes his head sharply. "No. Bloody hell, Remus, no. That's not—
there's no situation in which anyone would deserve that. That was so wrong
that I don't even know where to start. Christ."

"I wish he would have just punched me," Remus says quietly, and James'
heart pangs. "But, you know, it's awful that Sirius hit you, James. I'm sorry."

James deflates forward with his elbows on the table, running his fingers
roughly through his hair. He lets out a hoarse laugh. "Do you want to know
what's fucked? Even now, even after all of it, I still don't know what we
were meant to do."

"Tell them, probably," Remus mutters, but he concedes with a weary nod
when James gazes at him helplessly. "No, I do get what you're saying. The
results wouldn't be much different if we had told them. Regulus informed
me that he would have made me choose, and that wouldn't have ended well,
because I think I would have come to resent him for it. I—I think I already
did resent him for it, a bit."

"Sirius said he would have made me choose, too. I told him how unfair it
was. Because I—I love Regulus. I begged him not to do it, not to make me
stay away from him, but he said… He said I should have just been
miserable," James rasps.
Remus' lips flatten into a thin line, and he shakes his head sharply. "No,
that's not right either. I—I won't claim that what we did wasn't wrong, but I
know that's not right. I love Sirius so very much, but that's not—" He
swallows. "That's not what a best friend wants for you. We never wanted
that for them."

"So they're bad friends, Remus, is that what you're saying?" James asks,
pinning him with a defeated look.

"Maybe we all are, mate." Remus sighs and sound so exhausted that it's just
fucking sad. "I don't know anything anymore. I just know that I miss them.
I really fucking miss them."

"Do you—do you think we'll get either of them back?" James whispers, a
desperate edge to his voice that he can't hide.

"I don't know." Remus swallows. "You might. I—I think I'm on my own
now. Getting back to my roots, I suppose."

James frowns. "No. No, don't do that, Remus. However any of this goes,
you've still got me, mate. I know it's not… Well, I'm not Regulus or Sirius,
but I think, after everything, we can still be friends. I mean, we probably
shouldn't make any more plans together, but…"
"Oh god," Remus says, letting out a little breathless laugh like it stuns him,
like he forgot what laughing even was. His smile is small, but it's there, and
for James—who finds it rewarding to lift up the people he cares about—it's
the best part of these horrible, shit weeks. "No, we definitely should not."

"Between you and me, though," James whispers, smiling weakly, "I think
we'd be brilliant at planning things that don't involve deceiving the Black
brothers."

Remus chuckles weakly. "I'd say so. We were no match for them, were we?
Even separately. Christ, they're brilliant. We're idiots, you know. And,
really, I can't even imagine what they could do together if they were
actually on good terms."

"Take over the world, probably," James muses.

"What a frightening thought," Remus says, and James ends up laughing as

well, just as startled by it. He'd forgotten how good it feels to simply laugh.

James' humor fades quickly, however, and the drop in mood somehow
stings more because it was alleviated even for a moment. "I—I know this
might sound mad, but if they did end up reconciling after all this, maybe
that's enough. If we had to lose them to bring them together…"

"Do you think it will?"

"I can only hope. It'd be good for them. You know it would."

Remus nods. "I know. It does sound mental that we could ever be
something they bond about. Can we pretend that was our plan all along? A
great big sacrifice to make them happier in a way they haven't been in eight
years, rather than us just being so desperate to have it all? Sounds better that
way, doesn't it?"

"It does," James agrees.

"Except—" Remus cuts himself off, looking down at the small pile of the
napkin James has torn to shreds. His face sort of just sags, eyes filling with
unmistakable sadness. "Except it was about us, too. It was specifically
about not losing them."

James sighs heavily. "Well, in the words of Sirius Black, we've gone and
mucked that up quite nicely, haven't we?"

"We did, yeah," Remus whispers. "We really did."

"So, better to have loved and lost than not loved at all?" James asks him, his
lips trembling around a tight smile.

Remus looks at him with watery eyes. "Despite everything, yeah. Because,
if I could go back to the day I met Sirius, or Regulus, I wouldn't change a
thing if it meant I never got to have either of them."

James turns his head and looks out the window where the storm is swirling
in the sky, lightning flashing in the distance, and he says, soft and
heartbroken, "Neither would I."

Remus doesn't like the new bloke that's been hired to work with him, which
is a bit awkward because he's Molly's brother, and also Remus doesn't
actually have a reason for it other than that fact that he's not Regulus.

Gideon is as tall as Remus, broad and muscular. He's a ginger like Molly,
but he has more freckles than she does, and his smiles have mischief more
than warmth. He's rather loud and takes up a lot of space, and he has a
slightly calmer and equally attractive twin that comes in literally every day.
He's also, in a strange twist of unexpected events, trying quite desperately
to get Remus to agree to shagging him.

He literally could not have chosen a worse time to try.

If anything, Remus' complete lack of interest seems to make Gideon even

more interested. He seems to find it amusing that Remus clearly takes issue
with working with him, curious about his bad moods, delighted when
Remus accidentally snaps at him because he's simply not Regulus. He's also
not Sirius, so the whole shagging bit he's banging on about isn't really going
anywhere either.
Literally his third day, Gideon had asked, "Do you have a partner, Remus?"
Of course, Remus had no response to this, because he's not exactly...sure.
It's not as if Sirius responded to his calls (Regulus hasn't either), so how is
he meant to know? Well, alright, his brain knows that, even if he and Sirius
haven't seen each other again to end the relationship, the relationship is still
quite finished. His heart, however, has not come to this realization yet.

He doubts it ever will.

In any case, Remus' lack of answer was apparently all Gideon needed to
settle into his relentless flirting. Remus mostly ignores him, and it's not as if
Gideon can't take a hint. He's not too pushy or anything, just playful and
flirty, winking and flashing smiles and making suggestive comments.

Really, Gideon doesn't stand a chance. He has two great offenses against
him already because he's simply not Regulus, or Sirius. There's honestly
nothing he could do.

"Oi, Remus, there's someone here to see you," Gideon says, sticking his
head in the back to smile at him.

"Cheers, Gid," Remus replies, because he can be polite, no matter how

much he might not like Gideon on account of who he isn't. That's not really
his fault, is it? Remus tries not to hold it against him; it's just very fucking
hard sometimes.
Gideon winks at him. "Oh, it's my pleasure. Say, what are you doing later?"

"Pretend I've come up with a lie for some plan I have later and insert it
here," Remus says, brushing past him in the doorway, and Gideon busts out
laughing.

Of all the people Remus is expecting (honestly, he's not expecting anyone at
all), Pandora is the last person he would imagine standing on the other side
of the counter. He approaches her warily, cautious until she sees him and
smiles warmly, waving him over. He frowns as he stops across from her,
wondering why she looks so—pleased to see him.

"Oh, don't look so worried, Remus. I'm not here by accident, and I'm glad to
see you," Pandora murmurs. "You're my friend as well, you know. I've not
come to be awful to you, I swear."

Remus shrugs weakly with one shoulder. "It would be understandable if you
had. Regulus told you, then?"

"Mhm," Pandora hums. "Found yourself in a bit of a pretzel, didn't you? I

like pretzels, generally, but this one…"

"Yeah. Believe me, I know," Remus admits with a sigh.

Pandora clicks her tongue. "Well, I just—I wanted you to know that I'm still
your friend, Remus."

"Is that...a good idea?" Remus asks cautiously. "I just mean, Regulus won't
like it. He could get upset with you."

"Oh, he won't like it, but life is full of a lot of things we don't like,
unfortunately." Pandora arches an eyebrow. "Regulus can't stop me from
having friends, Remus. This isn't a question of loyalty; I'm not going to
choose sides. Especially not when I care about you and we'll all be together
in the end anyway. I'm just not going to wait around for that and leave you
alone in the dark in the process."

Remus stares at her for a long beat, and it feels for a moment like his knees
might buckle. "You—you think we'll—you think Regulus and I will be
alright?"

"I know you will." Pandora taps the side of her nose and winks at him. "I
can sense it."

"Maybe that's just wishful thinking, Pandora," Remus says weakly, blinking
hard. "I don't—I'm not a very good friend, as it turns out. You should save
yourself the trouble."

Pandora snorts. "Well, I don't have any siblings, so I'm sure I'll be just fine."
He stares at her, stricken, and she just laughs at him. "Oh, calm down,
Remus. I was joking. You're no trouble; you just found yourself in a pretzel,
is all. No one handles being tangled in a pretzel well. That's what being
human is all about, really. Now, make me a cappuccino. Extra foam."

"Right," Remus mumbles, then does just that. He's made her drink enough
to know what she likes by now, so he gets through it on autopilot and brings
it back to her.

"Regulus is fine," Pandora informs him, then pauses. "Well, no, he's not
really fine. I just mean that he's, you know, alive and safe. I know you're
worried about him. I'm not going to be swapping information or playing
carrier pigeon, but I think you should know that he's—as fine as he can be,
considering the circumstances. That's all I'll tell you, and I'll tell him the
same about you when I see him again, but nothing else because that would
tangle me in a pretzel, and I would much prefer to simply eat them."

Remus can't help but smile at her. "Thank you."

"Of course. What are friends for?" Pandora reaches out to grab his hand,
squeezing it, and Remus is suddenly overcome with the urge to break down
and cry. He blinks rapidly, and her face softens as she draws away. "I know
it's hard. It won't always be. I have to go, but call me sometime, yeah?"

"Yeah, alright," Remus whispers thickly.

Gideon waits approximately two minutes before he's bustling over to ask,
"Who was that?"
"A friend," Remus says shortly.

"Looked like a pretty serious conversation."

"It was."

"You know…" Gideon trails off for a moment, then purses his lips and
squints at Remus. "Well, maybe you don't. I joke and all, but I'm not
actually joking when I say we could be friends. You seem like you could
use some."

"You want to shag me."

"Of course. I've shagged many friends."

Remus rolls his eyes. "Right, well, I—haven't. I don't really do that, and to
be completely honest with you, I'm a shit friend."

"Are you?" Gideon raises his eyebrows, flicking his gaze over Remus with
genuine curiosity. "I really don't see it."
"Well, we're not mates, are we? I fucked my last best friend's brother, you
see, so you might want to reconsider—or, if not, Fabian might start to look
really tempting," Remus says flatly.

"Why, Remus, that's scandalous, that is," Gideon tells him with a mock
gasp, pressing his hand to his chest. He grins when Remus scoffs. "Oh,
come off it. Do you know how many of my friends have shagged my
brother? Oh, and I've shagged my fair share of Fab's mates."

"That doesn't bother you?" Remus mumbles, his eyebrows furrowed. "Like,
at all?"

Gideon shrugs. "Oh, sure. In the moment, we get properly peeved about it,
but we always come out on the other side fine. We're brothers—twins,
especially—and that's… Well, that outlasts anyone we've shagged. It
usually ends up becoming funny. We all end up laughing about it at some
point."

"You mean you stay friends with the ones who—"

"Shagged my brother? Yeah, sure, most of the time. It's not like I own them.
They're free to shag whoever they like, even if it is my git of a brother;
really, they're just doing a disservice to themselves if they're going with him
instead of me."

"Right, but—" Remus halts, chewing on his lip, then he blows out a deep
breath. "Have any of them fallen in love with him?"
"Ah," Gideon says softly, lips twitching. "Well, love's a bit different, isn't it?
More complicated. No, none of my friends have ever fallen in love with
Fabian. His best mate fell in love with me, though. He didn't mean to, I
suspect, but I'm just irresistible. Not his fault."

Remus huffs a weak laugh, and Gideon grins. "How'd that go, then?
Obviously not well, since you're trying to shag me."

"Oh, I imagine it would have been fine if I had felt the same. I just...didn't. I
liked him well enough, but I wasn't in love with him, so I didn't waste his
time. Fabian was actually a bit furious with me for breaking his heart,
which wasn't really fair, but things like that rarely are. Hard to be rational
when you care about someone so much, is all. In any case, he moved on and
they're still best mates to this day."

"It's not awkward?"

"Mm, not now. It was for a bit, I won't lie, but—well, believe it or not,"
Gideon says, shrugging, "life goes on."

"Life goes on," Remus repeats.

Gideon flashes him a smile and winks. "So it does and so it does, and
there's always something else to lose ourselves to. Life goes on, and that's
all we can really count on until it stops. Might as well enjoy it before it
does."

Remus stares at him for a long time, his mind churning. He knows,
realistically, that Gideon and Fabian are poor measurements for
brotherhood in relation to Sirius and Regulus, because they're wildly
different in terms of people and the bond they share. He also knows that he
can't expect things to work out for him and James simply because Gideon
and Fabian are at ease about these things.

Sirius and Regulus aren't, and Remus doubts they ever will be. What does
that leave him with? He isn't sure, but life goes on, doesn't it? He feels
lately as if it hasn't. He's forgotten what it is to not feel hollow, what it is to
enjoy anything.

He wants to remember. He wants his best friend back working beside him
instead of Gideon. He wants his boyfriend to smile and wink at him instead
of Gideon. He wants—

But that's the thing; he wants, and he can't have, and it's no one's fault but
his own. Before I had a best mate, I didn't matter to anyone. And, even now,
it still sometimes feels like I don't belong anywhere, Remus had said, and
he's right back there again. He remembers what Sirius had told him, had
promised: You matter to me. You have me, you know—really, truly, and
indisputably. You belong with me, Moony, you always will.

How was Remus expected to take everything that Regulus and Sirius ever
gave him, then not do everything to keep it? He would have torn himself
apart to keep it. He feels like he did, and the worst part is that he didn't get
to keep it at all; worse than that, he has no one to blame but himself.

Life goes on, but Remus feels it may have stopped the moment he lost the
very people who made it feel like something to look forward to, rather than
something to dread.

Might as well enjoy it before it stops, Gideon had said.

I did. Oh, but I did, Remus thinks.

Later in the day, after Gideon has flirted and Fabian has stopped in, Remus
messages James to let him know that Pandora came by with news that
Regulus is alive and safe, if not fine overall. He wonders if he should feel
bad about it, going to James about Regulus as if that's not a part of the
reason they landed themselves into this mess to start with.

It's just that James loves Regulus so much that it was almost painful to look
at him when they ate lunch the day before. The effects of his heartbreak has
taken a toll in a way he never expected it to, not on James. He's aware that
both of them look rough, that they're both carrying this pain and loss around
like a cloud of misery that gets denser and darker by the day. Remus avoids
mirrors, but James reflects it just the same.

It would be easier, he thinks, if James was someone he could hate. If James

was the type of person you could hate, after knowing him, truly knowing
him. He's not, though. On the surface, he's jokes and restless energy and a
bit obnoxious with an undercurrent of muted arrogance that Remus doesn't
doubt was once much worse, but underneath all that is someone Remus
couldn't hate if he tried. He doesn't even bother trying. There would be no
point, really, seeing as they were in this together from the beginning.

So, yes, Remus updates James. Because James loves Regulus and will be
relieved to hear the news. It's not much, but it's all Remus can give him, so
he does.

Mum and Dad are kicking me out again. I'm going to get lunch with
Wormtail. Do you want to come? James messages back.

Remus realizes with a pang in his chest that he won't get to see Peter again.
He liked Peter. He liked all of Sirius' friends; Lily, especially. Briefly, he
thinks about how Marlene said she would kill him if he ever left Sirius
again, and the wild thought he has in response is that he sort of hopes she
keeps her promise. But, of course, he didn't leave Sirius. The only way
you'll be free of him now is if he lets you go, Marlene had told him. She was
right. God, it hurts that she was right.

Freedom is the oxygen of the soul. Being free of Sirius feels like Remus'
soul is suffocating.

That's the thing. He never wanted to be free.

Best not. It just complicates things, doesn't it? Does Peter even know what
happened? Remus sends.
James responds a few minutes later. No. He knows something is wrong, but
he won't push if I tell him I don't want to talk about it, which is exactly what
I'm going to do. I feel bad because I haven't been talking to him. He's my
best mate, too.

You don't have to explain yourself to me, James. Good luck.

Are you sure you don't want to come? Peter likes you.

He's great, but I think it's for the best that I don't. Sirius would hate it, I'm
sure, and Peter doesn't strike me as the type of bloke to go around betraying
his friends.

Nah, that's never been his style, you're right. Wasn't mine either.

I didn't mean it like that.

It's alright, Remus. Things change, I guess. Can I at least bring you
takeaway after lunch?

You don't have to, Remus texts, frowning. He's quite sure that James, in his
own way, is trying to take care of him.
I know. I want to. Send me your address, James replies, and Remus thinks
that taking care of people is how James copes when he can't take care of
himself.

Remus sighs. He sends James his address.

It's hours later before James makes it over to his flat. Remus has already
changed into something comfortable and smoked by the window for a bit,
staring off into space, trying his level best not to think about anything at
all.

He's in a bit of a trance, just drifting, when the knock at his door jolts him.
When he opens it, James comes bustling right in with a bag in hand, not
seeming put out by Remus' small, cheap flat any more than Sirius did. He
settles down right at the table across from him, pulling out containers and
nudging them in front of him, even taking a container for himself where he
obviously didn't finish his lunch with Peter.

"Thanks," Remus mumbles, picking up his plastic fork. "How did it go with
Pete?"

"Peter had a bit of a breakdown when we were all fourteen," James

announces, quite literally out of nowhere. He grimaces when Remus blinks
at him. "I'm not going to go into all the details; they're not mine to share.
But part of it was because he felt—excluded, I suppose is the right word.
Sirius and I made him feel excluded, without even meaning to, and that
wasn't just what set him off, but it was a big part of it."
Remus frowns. "Really? I mean, I've seen you and Sirius with Peter. He's
clearly important to both of you."

"He is. He always has been, but when we were younger, we weren't very
good at showing that," James says. "Sirius and I have always been… I don't
know how to explain it, really. I'm not sure if there are words for it. The
closest I can come to even trying is soulmate, really, if you believe in things
such as that. It's hard for us to see it from the inside, because it's just the
way things work for us, but being on the outside of it was difficult for Peter.
He felt left behind, and in many ways, he was. We never meant to; we never
saw it that way. We love Peter. He's our best friend. So, when things sort of
—well, it wasn't a fun time for any of us, I'll just say that, so Sirius and I
worked to make sure it never got bad like that again."

"Alright," Remus says, nodding, listening.

James swallows thickly. "Pete's just a person who needs validation and
reminders that he matters, and there's nothing wrong with that. We all do,
really, if you think about it. So, you know, Sirius and I tell him all the time
that we love him, check in with him every day, things such as that. Mine
and Sirius' friendship has always been effortless, but Peter taught us the
importance of putting in the effort. Without him, honestly, I dread to think
of what pricks we would be."

"That's really…" Remus feels himself soften. "James, that's really lovely.
That you and Sirius do those things, I mean."
"Peter deserves it." James squeezes his eyes shut. "In all this, though, we've
been neglecting him. We've been neglecting all our friends. It's—it's very
hard, is all, and I'm struggling. I'm ashamed, mostly. I don't know how to—I
don't know how I'm meant to just—just keep going as if everything isn't in
pieces. Peter doesn't deserve that. He deserves better."

Remus feels his chest clench. He tightens his grip on his fork and clears his
throat. It feels so tight, like he's being strangled. It hurts. All of this hurts so
much. "I know what you mean, but you're human, you know. Needing time
is—it's alright. And you did get lunch with him. You're trying, James."

"It doesn't feel like enough," James whispers.

"Sometimes our best isn't enough," Remus mumbles, "and we just have to
find a way to live with that."

James opens his eyes and gives a wobbly smile, trying so very hard. "Peter
says hi, by the way. I told him I invited you, but you couldn't make it, so I
was going to bring you some food."

"So, he doesn't know?"

"He knows that something has happened, but he doesn't know what. I
couldn't bring myself to tell him. It felt like I was betraying him, too. I'm so
tired of feeling like this, Remus."
"Me too," Remus admits.

"I think I'm going to go home tomorrow," James says, taking a deep breath.
"I—I don't know what will happen. I'll just throw myself at Padfoot's feet
and let him kick me until it's out of his system, maybe, and then spend the
rest of my life apologizing if I have to. I can't—I can't keep doing this."

Remus tries not to feel the bitter twist of envy in his chest, but it's there
anyway. Still, he forces out a raspy, "I—I hope it works out, James. I really
do."

"I think…" James pauses for a long moment, then looks right at him,
holding his gaze. "I think you should find a reason, any reason, to visit
Regulus again."

"He might actually kill me," Remus points out, and James bites his lip.
Reluctantly, Remus smiles. "Maybe I'll let him, if that's what it takes. I have
his pan from when he pretended to poison me, so I could always...take it
back."

James' face twitches like it doesn't remember how to grin, but it desperately
wants to. "Might as well."

"Can't hurt," Remus says, knowing damn well it's going to.
"This—to be clear, this is not a plan. We are not planning anything," James
declares quickly, eyes widening.

Remus shakes his head. "No. No, of course not."

"Like, it's not as if we're planning to get back in our best friend's good
graces, then try to convince them to let their boyfriends back in as well,"
James says.

"Right," Remus agrees.

James shifts restlessly in his chair. "We're not. I—I mean, if I were to bring
you up to Sirius, if we were alright again, then it wouldn't be because of
some sort of...pre-planned scheme."

"Not at all." Remus bobs his head, tapping his fingers to the table, heart
thumping wildly in his chest.

"I—" James abruptly scowls. "No, genuinely, I'm going to keep being your
friend because you're my friend, and not use that to my advantage in any
way, even indirectly, if you so happened to make up with Regulus."

Remus points at him and says, "Exactly."

"So, it's not a plan," James reiterates.

"No, it's not," Remus confirms.

James coughs. "Because planning anything like this to, in any way,
influence Regulus and Sirius would be wrong and bad, and we learned our
lesson from last time."

"We did."

"So, this isn't that."

"It's not anything," Remus adds, holding up a hand. "We're not doing
anything at all. We haven't done one thing."

"Because we know better now," James says firmly.

Remus purses his lips. "We do. If we did it again, or anything even remotely
similar, that would be stupid. So, we're not. This is just—I mean, we're
friends. Friends talk about friends, and we shouldn't lie to them about being
friends, if...they ever talk to us again. It's not a lie if I bring you up, as my
friend, to my best friend—if he'll actually let me come near him."
"Yes, yes, precisely," James blurts out. "I'd be doing the opposite of what I
did before—keeping things from Sirius, I mean—by telling him about you.
So, really, it's better."

"Yeah," Remus says.

"Yeah," James echoes.

They stare at each other, then almost at the same time, their faces twitch
into smiles they're trying to repress, and then they're both laughing quietly
and helplessly.

"Oh god," Remus chokes out, "what's wrong with us?"

"Why are we like this?" James wheezes, shoulders shaking.

"They make us fucking insane, do you know that?" Remus manages to get
out, laughing and laughing.

"They do. They do. They really—" and suddenly, James isn't laughing
anymore; he's crying. Almost violently. Without warning, his laughter
chokes off into heaving sobs as his shoulders wrench up, face twisting. He
hangs his head, his chest bowing in as he presses his hand flat to his chest
as if something has rammed harshly into it.
"James," Remus whispers, his own eyes burning, and he can't hold it in,
can't keep it together. He breaks, too.

James whimpers and scrubs one hand through his hair, lifting his head to
gasp out, "I hate them for this. I know it's not right to; I know I deserve to
feel this way. But I hate them for not letting us all be happy. Why would
they make us choose? I'm his best friend, and I'd give anything, anything, if
he could be happy for the rest of his life, so why won't he—why can't he
just do this one thing, this one thing, for me? If it was me… Do you
understand, Remus? I'd never do this to him. Never. Why is wanting to be
happy selfish? I love Regulus; I love him, I love him, I can't stop, and why
—"

"It's alright. James, it's alright. I know. I—I hate them for it, too; I
understand," Remus croaks. "We were selfish for selfish reasons, but never
just for that. I know how unfair it feels. It doesn't matter what Regulus does,
I would never leave him, even if it was something like this. So, I know. But
we—we were wrong, mate. We hurt them."

"I know," James whines, then cries harder.

"God, but it hurts, doesn't it?" Remus chokes out, squeezing his eyes shut as
he sways from the harsh pinch in his chest, the searing sensation of being
sliced open. He hates crying, especially in front of anyone else, but there's
nothing for it now. It just flows out, because it does hurt.
There's pain, and then there's facing that you've hurt people that you love,
that you never wanted to hurt at all. There's pain, and then there's the cold,
hard fact that you can do absolutely everything to put off the inevitable, but
if something isn't meant to last, it won't. In the end, it always falls apart,
crumbling to dust and slipping right through your fingers. You can try, try,
try with all the strength in your body to hold it, but if you're not meant to
have it, you can't keep it. There's pain, and then there's losing Sirius and
Regulus Black, and that's agony like no other.

"Oh, hell, mate," James says, strained and strangled, and it's followed by the
scrape of his chair. Before Remus can make sense of anything outside of his
tears, James is crouching down beside his chair to pull him into a tight hug.

Remus practically collapses into him, as much as he hates it, but he can't
really hold himself up right now. He's defenseless. He's weak, and
exhausted, and so fucking hurt—and he doesn't want to be alone anymore.

So, he holds on.

Chapter End Notes

Pandora, my beloved <3 SHE'S BACK AT IT AGAIN. Also, if you

can't tell, I'm feeling quite fond of Peter this chapter. And Gideon...
Buddy, you are so brave 😂

Oh!!!! Oh, and Monty!!!! I love him and Effie so much.

James and Remus doing their best bonding in pain? Very Sirius and
Regulus of them, actually. At least they have each other 😔

Anyways, they all need hugs. It's okay, though, because things are
gonna get better soon, slowly but surely. I just want to thank all of you
for all your lovely comments and feedback; it means so much to me.
You can come find me on Tumblr if you like, my username is:
regulusbrainrot. I'm also on Twitter with @zeppazariel

What were your thoughts on the chapter? :)

 Chapter 20
Chapter Notes

warnings for this chapter: some angst, really, and brief references to
child abuse
See the end of the chapter for more notes

Poppy Pomfrey is many things, Regulus has learned, but she is not the type
of woman who lets him—or anyone, if he had to guess—get away with
being a sarcastic little shit.

Well, alright, she can't exactly stop him—or Sirius, for that matter—and she
doesn't try; she just doesn't let that stop her. In fact, the more Regulus gets
to know Ms. Pomfrey, the more he thinks that there's nothing she can't do.

He's known her for approximately twenty minutes, and already, he's
terrified of her simply because he's quite sure she has the skill to crack open
his skull and shake him by his ankles so what he never wants anyone to see
will fall out. Beside him, at least, Sirius is equally in awe of her, and also
visibly questioning his decision to be here.

"So, you felt as if he was your responsibility?" she asks Sirius, replying to a
sarcastic comment of his own, gesturing towards Regulus as she does.

"He was," Sirius says instantly, almost defensively, and Regulus squints at
the side of his face until he looks over with a frown of confusion. "What?
You were."
"Responsibilities are things you have to do, even if you might wish not to
do them; things like going to the dentist, or paying your rent, or doing the
laundry. I'm a person. I'm not—and I never was—your fucking
responsibility," Regulus snaps.

"Yes, you were," Sirius insists with a huff. "I did have to take care of you.
Mother and Father certainly wouldn't, or they were just doing it wrong, so
that left me."

Ms. Pomfrey cuts in, clearing her throat so they'll both stop glaring at each
other and glare at her instead. She seems unfazed by them. "This is not an
isolated event, believe it or not. It's actually quite common in eldest siblings
coming from abusive or dysfunctional families, or both. It's rather natural,
in fact, for the eldest sibling to feel it's on them to take care of the younger
sibling, to protect them, to give them the things they lacked from their
parents. No matter your age gap, this is something any older sibling could
find themselves doing."

"See?" Sirius asks triumphantly, gesturing to her with his eyebrows raised
smugly. Regulus scoffs and rolls his eyes.

"That being said," Ms. Pomfrey continues, "this can also lead to unbalanced
dynamics and possible resentment, especially when the siblings are as close
in age as you are. In these cases, the younger sibling often struggles with
the desire to be seen as capable, while also wrestling with the feeling that
they can't be because their older sibling has, in many ways, raised them.
The older sibling often struggles to stop feeling the way they did when they
were growing up, even in a setting where that level of responsibility is no
longer required."

Sirius and Regulus very pointedly do not look at each other.

Ms. Pomfrey sighs. "There is a quote that comes to mind here about
brothers, when looking at both of you. He is my most beloved friend and my
bitterest rival, my confidant and my betrayer, my sustainer and my
dependent, and scariest of all, my equal."

Who said that, and how did they read my mind? Regulus thinks, frowning
down at his hands. They're clenched into fists in his lap, closed so tight that
his knuckles are stark white.

"A sense of responsibility lends itself to an unwilling sense of control," Ms.

Pomfrey says. "This doesn't come from a negative place, but it can
negatively impact your relationship. Sirius, I think you wouldn't say
automatically that you control Regulus in any way, would you?"

"Not bloody likely," Sirius mutters.

"Yet, instinctively, you lack awareness of the boundaries that he has to

remain in control of his own life," Ms. Pomfrey tells him, and Regulus
glances over at Sirius to see him frowning, looking genuinely upset. "I'm
not saying this to make you feel bad, Sirius. I'm making you aware of it,
because you are not. Because it is genuinely instinct for you to feel as if you
need to take care of him, and in that, it makes it seem completely rational to
do whatever you must to do that. Because taking care of him, I suspect, was
one of the only things that made life bearable for you growing up. Am I
right?"

Sirius picks at a loose string on the outer seam of his jeans on his thigh. He
shrugs, but then he mumbles, "He needed me."

"Feeling needed can feel good. It can sometimes feel as if it's the only
reason we keep going, just because someone else needs us to," Ms. Pomfrey
murmurs.

"Yeah," Sirius says thickly, blinking rapidly, and Regulus stares at him,
because he didn't—he never knew that he was that for Sirius. He didn't
know.

"It can also feel—stifling, in its own way," Ms. Pomfrey adds calmly. "In
that feeling of being needed, there is the natural association of who needed
you and why they needed you. It becomes an obligation, which can also
lead to resentment."

"I never resented him. Never," Sirius whispers. "Not for needing me."

"No? Not even, perhaps, unconsciously?" Ms. Pomfrey asks. "That would
be perfectly natural as well. It's an instinct as well to come to resent what
leads us to pain, which you would have associated with Regulus. That was
not Regulus' fault, but you may not have realized it, especially as a child."
Regulus doesn't mean to, really, but words sort of just fall out of his mouth.
"He's not like that."

"What do you mean?" Ms. Pomfrey says, looking at him.

"Sirius isn't—he never had it in him to do that. I don't know why. He should
have. I did. But he just…" Regulus swallows and shakes his head. "He
would take the blame for something that was my fault, take the punishment
for me, and then come and comfort me afterwards. It never crossed his mind
to resent me for any hit he took for me. He's—honorable. Like, you know,
the way heroes in stories are when they do things that you know you'd
never be able to do, because you're not good the way they are—to the core
of them."

"He never used it as leverage over you?"

"No."

"Yes," Sirius corrects, staring at him with his eyebrows pinched together.
"That night—the night I left. I said that every hit I ever took was a hit you
would have suffered."

"That was just the truth," Regulus murmurs.

Ms. Pomfrey hums. "Why did you say that to him, Sirius?"

"Because I—I thought—it just felt like…" Sirius struggles for a moment,
then squeezes his eyes shut. "It felt like he didn't know. Like maybe he'd
just—forgotten all that I did for him, or didn't even care. It was like I had to
tell him, because maybe if I reminded him, or could get through to him, he'd
see that it was no way to live. I didn't resent him for needing me; I resented
him for stopping."

I didn't, Regulus almost says, only to press his lips together.

"You two are similarly averse to change," Ms. Pomfrey notes, and
somehow, this draws a weak snort from both of them. She smiles slightly. "I
think, for right now, it's best if we all get to know one another better as we
are in the present before we go diving into the past."

"That's the best thing you've said so far," Regulus says, and Sirius makes a
small noise like he's trying not to laugh.

"Right now, you two are clearly making the effort to mend the relationship
you have as brothers," Ms. Pomfrey starts.

"Well, let's not get hasty," Regulus cuts in quickly, a stone dropping in his
gut. "That's not—that won't happen. We're only here because we can't talk
without wanting to kill each other. That's all. We don't have a relationship as
brothers; we're never going to."
"Are you saying that because it feels impossible, or because you don't want
to?" Ms. Pomfrey asks, holding his gaze.

Regulus opens and closes his mouth, then looks over at Sirius, who looks
away as soon as he has. He's tugging furiously on the loose thread now, his
fingers shaking. Regulus rips his gaze away and mumbles, "It is impossible.
It won't happen because it can't."

"Oh, but I think it's quite possible, and I think it's happening already," Ms.
Pomfrey tells him, no-nonsense. She isn't sympathetic to his stomach
tangling itself into knots. Can't she tell? "Brothers with no wish to mend the
relationship between them wouldn't try to learn to talk without wanting to
kill each other. They simply wouldn't talk at all."

Regulus and Sirius say nothing.

"One of my favorite things about working with families, siblings in

particular, is that the smallest of mistakes can wreck them and, interestingly,
the biggest mistakes never can when they decide not to let them," Ms.
Pomfrey announces, and Regulus feels like he can't breathe. She crosses her
legs, threads her hands together, and smiles. "Now, gentleman, let's discuss
how not to let them…"

It's excruciating, and uncomfortable, and also informative. By the time it's
over, and they're both mumbling grudging agreements to be back the
following week, Regulus has internally ripped Ms. Pomfrey to shreds no
less than three times. Sirius looks to be in the same predicament, which is a
strange comfort in all of this.

When they step outside, it's so awkward that neither of them speak or really
look each other in the eyes. Regulus has to push down the impulse to be
unnecessarily harsh about something so that Sirius will inevitably storm off.
Apparently, according to Ms. Pomfrey, this is not the correct response to
give when he simply does not want to deal with Sirius. No, instead, they're
supposed to be honest.

Well, alright.

"I don't want to deal with you right now," Regulus announces bluntly, fully
expecting a fight, but Sirius just blows out a deep breath and sags a little
bit.

"Thank god," Sirius breathes out. "I feel like I'm going to peel my fucking
skin off if I stay near you for another five minutes. No offense. Just—
maybe some space, yeah?"

"Don't talk to me for three to five business days," Regulus declares, then
turns on his heel and walks away. It's the first time that Sirius doesn't follow
him, and it's the first time that a part of Regulus doesn't secretly want him
to.

Regulus doesn't go home, though. He has actual plans with his day that he
would literally chew his own arm off before ever telling anyone. Sirius will
eventually find out about it, but there's nothing Regulus can do about that.
He'll keep it quiet for as long as humanly possible.

It's not that Regulus can't find a job anywhere else. He can. He probably
even should, even just for further experience in his field. After all, he has
experience working in a restaurant; he did that before he ever became a
barista. More experience in the food and service industry certainly wouldn't
hurt. It's just that—well, Regulus refuses to think about why he's doing this.
He tells himself it's because the job is practically a sure thing, and it has the
perfect hours for his schedule, and it's not that much of a commute from his
flat.

(One of the most insane things that has ever, ever happened to Regulus is
that he and Sirius have been living and working within an hour of each
other for years and never, not once, happened upon one another until
recently. Ironic, isn't it?)

Mrs. Delby is nice enough. She's shorter than Regulus and shuffles when
she walks, and her fingers are all slanted to the side from age and arthritis,
but she practically falls in love with him when ends up fixing her wonky,
rattling till drawer. He doesn't really mean to, exactly, but she complains
about it and how much it gets stuck and the awful screech it gives, so he
just crouches down and peers underneath to dig out the row of bent staples
someone shoved on the track. He tosses them in the bin, then gently tugs
the till open and shut, watching her face absolutely light up when it doesn't
snag or make any noise. She pats his cheek, calls him a very sweet boy, and
gives him a raise before he's even hired.

"Black, was it?" Mrs. Delby asks when they're in her office, him filling out
paperwork so he can literally start working tomorrow. Sirius, for once, was
serious; she moves fast. "Any relation to Sirius Black? You look a bit
alike."

Regulus offers her a tight smile. "He's my brother."

"Oh, well, that's lovely," Mrs. Delby says, then immediately launches into a
story about her brother (who died in a freak factory incident) that takes so
many twists and turns that they end up on the subject of her hip surgery, and
to be completely honest, Regulus has no idea how she got from there to
here.

In any case, Regulus leaves with the promise of an income, so he's actually
accomplished something with his day. He has a good bit of his day left,
honestly, but no true desire to do anything with it. Pandora is celebrating
some promotion or achievement Xenophilius has had with work. Evan and
Barty both have his number now and aren't shy to use it, constantly
pestering him to go out for drinks (or, in Barty's case, ditch the boyfriend he
still thinks Regulus has and have fun with him instead), but Regulus keeps
putting it off. Aiko, through repeatedly talking to him during and after class,
has given him her number and told him to ring her if he ever wants to get
drinks and complain how easy it is to overcook certain fish.

The thing is, even if all of these people are available, none of them are who
he wants.

Every single one of his heartstrings are tangled up with wanting something
only a few people can give him, a want so viscerally different for each of
them that he's learning, quite against his will, that it's not enough to have
one, or even none.

There's Sirius, who he wants to be around as much as he wants to stay away

from. Who he's so helplessly curious about, and infuriated by everything he
learns, and still desperate to learn more. Who he hates for what Sirius did,
and still misses him like a kid anyway. Who he doesn't want to trust, except
Sirius is the only person he's ever trusted wholeheartedly, and never trusted
anyone the same after it was ruined, but that part of him that did trust Sirius
is not dead and gone the way he thought it was and would always be.

Regulus has this brittle, bitter hiss in the very center of his chest when it
comes to Sirius. He's selfish with Sirius. He wants to hurt him, but he also
wants to keep him for himself, let no one else have him. Not any of his
friends, not James, and not Remus. He wants Sirius to be left with nothing
but Regulus, and he wants that to be enough, because for so fucking long,
Sirius was all Regulus had, and that was enough for him. And, in the same
breath, he wants Sirius to leave again, to go away, to go back to being just a
formless ghost in Regulus' mind that he could hate without having to know
that there are things Sirius doesn't deserve to be hated for.

There's James, who Regulus can't even think about without wanting to rip
his fucking hair out. Because oh, oh, how Regulus hates James. He's hated
James since he was eleven years old. Hated him for stealing his brother.
Hated him for being the person that pulled Sirius out of their fucked up
world and introduced him to a world that Regulus never got to be a part of.
Hated him for being the home that Sirius went to when Regulus no longer
was that for him, long before he ever met James to find out that it was
actually true. He knew. He fucking knew where Sirius would run to that
night, that nameless best friend Sirius was always talking about, and
Regulus hated James for it then, and hates him for it now.
Except—and here's the hardest part—Regulus loves James so much that
he's fucking cold without him. All the time. It's a persistent feeling he can't
shake, the absence of warmth, the loss of his own personal sun to hold onto.
He wakes up in the middle of the night with James' name falling from his
lips, gagging on it, curling into a shivering ball and heaving the most raw,
gut-wrenching sobs that no one and nothing has ever pushed him to before.
Because he misses him. He misses James, and it hurts constantly. It's a
never-ending ache that pulses in him with promise, that whispers
insidiously through his mind when he's most terrified of the fool he's
become, letting him know that if James was to try again, if only he'd keep
trying, Regulus would let him, and let him, and let him.

But James hasn't, and won't. And Regulus wants him to. Regulus wants
him. Wants him to show at his door with apologies and promises, just so
Regulus can slam it in his face, only for him to be back the next day, and
the next, and the day that Regulus eventually, inevitably lets him in.

And then there's Remus…

Regulus thinks it's unfair, really, that the world focuses so much on the
heartbreak that family can give you, or a lover, but not so much a friend. He
wasn't prepared for it. No one really talks about it, what it feels like to lose
a friend, a true best friend. As if it's not impactful. As if it's not something
that can hit just as hard because it's not family, or someone you're fucking.
As if it doesn't ruin you all the same.

But maybe no one's had a friend like Remus. Maybe no one's ever had that
person that their eyes automatically seek out across the room when
someone else has said something very stupid, just so their gazes will lock
and reflect the same, shared humor. Maybe no one's ever had that person
that they knew, no matter what, they could tell anything—any secret, any
nightmare, any fear—and never be judged for it. Maybe no one's ever had
that one person who didn't have to say a word to make them feel better
when things were going wrong, that didn't necessarily have the words or
need them, that was enough just by being there beside them, even in
silence.

Maybe no one's ever had—

"You said if there was anything I needed, I could come to you about it,"
Regulus says quietly.

Aberforth grunts. "I meant to do with the shop, boy. Your personal business
isn't much my business, so if it's—"

"No, sir," Regulus interrupts with an apologetic grimace, but Aberforth

doesn't seem to find it disrespectful. "No, it does have to do with the shop. I
just—I worked with Lupin before, and I was wondering if there's any way I
could do that again."

"Why?" Aberforth asks bluntly.

Regulus blinks. "Oh. Well, to be completely honest, sir, I preferred it. He's
quiet and does his job well. Doesn't bother me."
"You friends?"

"Not really."

"Uh huh." Aberforth squints at him, then scratches his beard, then heaves a
sigh and nods. "I'll talk to him, see if he's willing, and we'll go from there.
Might have to put the two of you on morning shift if you're determined to
work together. Alright with that?"

"That's...fine," Regulus mumbles, barely suppressing a wince. The morning

shift sounds like literal Hell.

"Go on, then," Aberforth says and turns away.

Regulus presses his lips together, blowing his cheeks out a little bit, then
accepts that this is all he's going to get at the moment and does, in fact, go
on. He makes it about two steps out of Aberforth's office before he runs
head-first into someone else, basically getting a face full of chest and
sweater. He sputters at the itch of wool, face scrunching into a scowl as he
steps sharply back, and Remus Lupin blinks down at him with a small
frown.

"Oh. Regulus," Remus says, visibly startled. "Sorry, didn't know you were
coming out of the office."
"Clearly," Regulus replies flatly, and Remus' lips twitch. Most people get
nervous or uncomfortable, or are just put off, because of Regulus'
vernacular and less-than-sunny disposition. Not Remus, though. He seems
to find it amusing; he's one of the few people in the world that Regulus has
ever known to be capable of keeping up with it. "Are you going in?"

"No, I'm just here specifically to almost run you over," Remus tells him with
a mild glint of humor in his eyes. When Regulus pins him with a deadpan,
unimpressed look, his lips twitch again. "Yes, I'm going in. Need to talk to
Aberforth. Actually, would you mind sticking around a bit? He'll probably
want to talk to you after."

"Why?" Regulus asks, instantly suspicious.

Remus doesn't look perturbed in the least. "I'm going to request that we be
put back on the same shift, if that's alright with you. Aberforth will probably
want to make sure you're willing."

"Did you come here just to ask him that?" Regulus muses, arching an
eyebrow, inwardly intrigued despite himself.

"Yeah. Do you mind?" Remus asks, simple and to the point.

Regulus doesn't smile. He just—doesn't. People don't make him smile either,
and yet, inexplicably, he finds his lips curling up just a bit at the corners
against his will. "Actually, I beat you to it. That's what I was asking him just
now."

"Really?" Remus blurts out, genuinely taken by surprise. Regulus just nods,
and Remus chuckles. "Seems like I read your mind."

"Oh, no, certainly not. If you had, you wouldn't want to work with me ever
again. That, I can assure you," Regulus tells him, reaching up to tap his
own temple. "It's awful up here."

"Mine's no better," Remus admits. "Maybe that's why we work so well

together to start with."

"Maybe so, Remus," Regulus murmurs. "Maybe so."

Maybe no one's ever had—

"No, I was a lonely child," Remus tells him, words slurring a bit.

"I wasn't. S'complicated," Regulus responds, tilting a little to the side as the
world tilts around him. "Had—I had a brother."

"Had? God, s'he dead?" Remus hiccups, horrified.

Regulus presses his lips together just to blow a raspberry, blowing out long
and loud until he accidentally bites down on his own tongue. He shakes his
head. "No, no, he's alive. Probably. Dunno. He's dead to me. But—but
before that, I wasn't lonely. You were, though. Oh, that's—s'kind of sad,
innit? Did you have imaginary friends?"

"Had books," Remus mumbles.

"Books. Books are good. I like books." Regulus drops his cheek into his
palm, then sighs. "I had an imaginary friend when I was a child. Named it
Snuffles."

"That's really cute, Regulus," Remus tells him, and Regulus frowns at him
for a long moment. He's never told anyone that before. Sirius knew, of
course, but he was there for it.

"Cute," Regulus scoffs, squinting at Remus, trying to peer through the fog in
his brain to assess what sort of damage control is needed here. It isn't until
Remus smiles at him, calm and unaware of the threat on his life, that
Regulus comes to the conclusion that Remus now has to be his best friend
forever, or die. Those are his only options. He knows too much.

Maybe no one's ever had—

"You know, it's unfortunate that you don't have a brother named Romulus,"
Regulus says, stumbling along the sidewalk with Remus holding onto the
back of his scarf to steer him away from wandering into the street. "That
would have been perfect symmetry."

"Well, Romulus killed Remus," Remus points out dryly, "so you'll have to
excuse me for not agreeing with you."

Regulus tsks. "Brothers are shit anyway. Wastes of time. Really overrated, if
I'm honest. Fuck Romulus; maybe you ate him in the womb and no one ever
noticed, and you're simply the superior twin in this life."

"I hate that you've just said that."

"This is what I call justice, Remus."

Remus snorts and gently tugs him out of the way of a closed-up food cart.
"Is it? Bit of a fucked up way to define justice, Regulus."

"Mm, well, it only makes sense, doesn't it? For brothers, murder is in their
nature. It's repeatedly documented throughout history. Cain killed Abel.
Romulus killed Remus. Eteocles and Polyneices both died by stabbing one
another in the heart. Fratricide is justified. It's a brother's instinct, from the
dawn of time," Regulus explains.
"I suppose I'm lucky we're not brothers, then," Remus announces, amused
by Regulus' ramblings when most wouldn't be. He once again tugs on the
back of Regulus' scarf to gently guide him to a stop, moving forward to cup
his elbow. "There's a step here. I'm not convinced you won't trip, so go
slow."

"You're not my brother," Regulus agrees, leaning on Remus as he carefully

maneuvers over the dip. He smiles at Remus, who smiles automatically
back, fond. "You're my best friend. I think best friends are just the brothers
we don't want to kill. Remus, I don't want to kill you at all. You're the best
friend I've ever had."

Remus glances over at him sharply, startled, and Regulus beams at him.
He's really quite pissed, he notes distantly, but he's not worried at all. He
knows Remus wouldn't let anything happen to him. What are best friends
for, right?

"Alright, then," Remus says softly, then continues to help Regulus safely up
the street.

Maybe no one's ever had—

"Are you sure I'm not bothering you?" Remus asks for possibly the
hundredth time this week—and it's only been two days.

"Remus," Regulus says firmly, turning to glare at him, "if you were
bothering me, I assure you, I would make you leave regardless of whether
or not you have somewhere to go while your flat is being fixed. In fact,
you're getting dangerously close to me kicking you out on your arse,
because if you interrupt me reading one more time, you will be bothering
me."

Remus purses his lips. "You know, that's fair."

"It is. Now, shut up," Regulus mutters, going back to his book.

"Hey, Regulus," Remus says quietly, only ten minutes later.

Regulus heaves a sigh and turns to look at him, eyes narrowed, lips pressed
into a thin line. "What, Remus?"

"Thanks for...giving me somewhere to go," Remus tells him, holding his

gaze for a moment before quickly looking away.

"Oh, shut up, would you?" Regulus mumbles, shaking his head as he
focuses back on his book. Briefly, out of the corner of his eye, he sees a tiny
smile flicker across Remus' face, but he pretends he didn't. He doesn't make
a big deal out of any of this, because he can't imagine ever turning Remus
away for anything.

Maybe it's because no one's ever had Remus Lupin as a best friend. Maybe
that's why no one talks about how much it fucking hurts to lose a best
friend at all.

Regulus doesn't know what to do with this sort of pain. It's nothing like the
pain James and Sirius cause; in some ways, it's worse. Because Remus,
above all else, was supposed to outlast them all. At the end of the day, when
he didn't have his brother, when the man he's in love with suddenly
disappeared, Remus was always there. If nothing else, he had Remus.

And then Regulus did quite possibly the most fucked up thing he could
have—out of anger, out of sleep deprivation, out of betrayal and pain and
the instinctive response of cruelty, the repeated need to push people away
he wants to keep the most, only to regret it when they're gone. He feels like
he's smothering every time he thinks about it. Why did he do that? How is
he supposed to come back from that? He doesn't think he can; he doesn't
think he deserves to.

As stupid as it makes him feel, Regulus wants Remus anyway. He wants

that lanky bastard to come back so they can share looks across the room
again, saying and understanding so many things without even speaking a
word. He wants Remus to come back and snark at him, to make him suffer
in the way it was acceptable, instead of this. He wants his best friend back
so they can sit in complete silence, never uttering a word, but things will
feel easier anyway, just because Remus is there.

And, like magic, when Regulus makes it to his flat, Remus is waiting there,
an empty pan in his hands, a light entering his eyes the moment they land
on him.
Sirius stops in to restock with Mrs. Delby, who takes one look at him and
announces, "Sirius, that lovely brother of yours came by today and fixed my
till!"

"Oh? Did he?" Sirius asks curiously, carefully placing various figurines out
on his usual shelf.

"Sure did. He's a lovely boy. Just what I need to run my till, and I can trust
he won't go about stealing from me, being your brother and all, surely,"
Mrs. Delby says cheerfully.

"Ah, right," Sirius murmurs, resisting the urge to demand that she stop
drawing comparisons between them, as if it's an insult. It shouldn't be. It
isn't. Regulus clearly isn't that cold, cruel person he used to be, even if he's
obviously capable of it. Besides, even back then, Sirius knew Regulus
wouldn't go stealing from unassuming old ladies with dodgy hips; that was
never his brand of bad, really. "So, he's hired, then?"

Mrs. Debly hums. "He is. He starts tomorrow. Isn't that nice? You'll be right
next door to your brother. You know, I've always thought it was important
to keep family close. If I could, I'd do the same with my brother. Did I ever
tell you how he died? A factory death. Fell in one of those machines…"

Sirius tunes her out (he's heard this story many times), indulging her
distractedly as he fills the shelf that's practically designated as his.
Thankfully, he manages to find a break in her chattering to pick up his
portion of the earnings for all the things of his that have been sold over the
last two weeks, then indulges her a bit longer before slipping over to his
studio.

He hasn't done as much as he would like, lately. It's always awful when it's
difficult to create art, but he's pushing through this time. Well, he's trying to.
He's not managing it very well, if he's honest. At this point, it's a fucking
chore.

Sirius can't finish anything, and it's worse this time than last time when
Remus left, because Remus isn't the only source now. It's a tangled mess of
Remus, Regulus, and James that's impeding him these days. He can't even
begin sorting through all of it, so his art has no direction and remains
unfinished.

So, really, the only option is to go back to his roots.

When Sirius first began getting deeply into art, he started out only drawing.
What he drew the most were animals, and that quickly turned into drawing
Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs the moment they became relevant to his life.
It used to drive some of his Professors mad when he'd turn essays and tests
in with little doodles of a rat, dog, and stag going on various adventures in
the margins. Sirius' final art project before he graduated was a surrealism
form of painting; depicting Padfoot as tea grinds in the bottom of a cup,
Prongs as an ethereal glowing stag piercing the darkness, and Wormtail
scuttling along a wall while casting the shadow of a man. He was quite
fucking proud of it, even more so when McGonagall requested that it be
displayed in the school, which he agreed to immediately, and it still is to
this day.
In other words, Sirius could draw Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs in his
sleep. He could likely do it blind and bound and gagged. He can do it
without referencing anything, which James and Peter have always found
rather impressive. All the details are the exact same every time—Padfoot
with his hulking figure and slightly crooked tail; Prongs with the same
amount of antlers and markings around his eyes as a homage to James'
glasses: Wormtail with his uneven whiskers and missing finger on his little
paw because Peter had a broken finger at the time that Sirius first ever drew
the rat.

Through art, these animals are real. They're real to Sirius, which most
people don't really understand. It's a bit odd, but art loves odd things, and so
does he.

All-in-all, it seems like the solution to the problem he's having (or the one
he can actually tolerate thinking about). That's why he turns on some music,
puts it on as high as it will go, then throws himself into drawing something
he can do without even looking, as easy as breathing.

Sirius loses himself to it, admittedly, and it's one of those rare instances
where his muse takes over entirely so that he's not even fully aware of
what's flowing out of him. It just drowns everything else out until he exists
in this void where nothing matters as much as freeing whatever is so
desperate to escape him. He's just a conduit. A puppet on strings for his
feelings to move him as they see fit.

His art is him. Part of him. It always has been. Sometimes, he never
understands himself better than when he's created something, examining on
the outside what he couldn't make sense of on the inside. There's so much
of him; there's always been so much of him that he was constantly spilling
over all the time, and still is, and maybe will forever be.

Sirius isn't snatched back into the world until his music abruptly cuts off
and there's a throat pointedly cleared behind him, which makes him yelp
and whirl around with a very startled, "Fucking shit, Professor," that almost
immediately turns into a sharp inhale when he actually comes to terms with
the fact that Minerva McGonagall is here.

She's here, alright, and she doesn't look pleased.

"Minnie!" Sirius blurts out, automatically panicking. "Don't you look

fetching today? Lovely to see you again as alw—"

"Mr. Black," Minerva cuts in sharply, and he snaps his mouth shut,
dropping his gaze. He suddenly feels like he's twelve again, cowed by her
tone and shrewd eyes. She doesn't say anything else, leaving him there to
awkwardly fidget.

Sirius eventually can't take it, so he lifts his gaze to peek at her with a
grimace as he mumbles, "You're...here. What, ah, brings you to my studio,
Professor?"

"You tell me, Mr. Black," Minerva says. "These are the lengths I apparently
have to go to if I wish to speak with you, as you're ignoring my emails."
"But you hate leaving Scotland," Sirius mutters weakly.

Minerva hums. "I do, so you can imagine my frustration with having to."

"I mean… I didn't make you," Sirius points out a bit petulantly, seconds
away from kicking the floor with the toe of his boot.

"No," Minerva agrees. "You didn't." She regards him for a long moment,
then sweeps forward to step up beside him and look at the rough sketch
behind him. He turns with her, swallowing as he glances between her and
the drawing. She reaches out and hovers her hand over it. "Prongs. Padfoot.
Wormtail. You drew them so often at Hogwarts, I recognize them even now.
The attention to detail here is immaculate, Mr. Black."

"Thank you," Sirius whispers.

"This is just a sketch?"

"Yeah. I—I really need to go in with shading and erasing before the rough
sketch is even finished. It's—I mean, I might paint it later. I don't know
yet."

"These are new," Minerva murmurs, gently hovering her hand to the right.
Her eyebrows rise. "Sirius, is that a wolf with a snake around its neck like a
scarf?"
Sirius frowns at the drawing, squinting, then he huffs. "So it is. Of course it
is. Christ."

"You sound surprised."

"My muse ran away from me."

"Ah." Minerva nods. "Fickle thing, a muse. Never let it get too far away
from you. That's driven many artists mad."

"Oh, sure, Professor," Sirius says with a grin, and he can't help but chuckle
when she cuts him a dry look. "Sorry. It's just… Well, we can take you from
the classroom, but you carry it with you wherever you go, really. Any other
lessons?"

Minerva turns to face him, crossing her arms. "Well, generally, I

recommend never destroying your own work, especially in the middle of
the art gallery your work is being displayed in."

"Heard about that, did you?" Sirius asks with a wince.

"Horace contacted me," Minerva tells him. "He's always been

rather...exaggerated with details, so I wasn't quite sure I believed him when
he said you were so distraught by a member of catering offending you by
dropping a tray and running into you that you proceeded to tear the painting
apart and toss it dramatically in the fireplace."

"Um," Sirius says, "well—"

"So," Minerva continues, "I thought it best to contact another old friend of
mine, who just so happened to be leading the catering event that night.
Pomona told me that you came to her with the truth that you had, in fact,
planned all of it as a prank on your brother, and you destroyed your own
painting for—in your words—the drama."

Sirius closes his eyes. "Bloody hell, do you know everyone?"

"And," Minvera adds, ignoring him, "this was confusing to me for a number
of reasons, starting with the fact that you do not actually have a brother—"

"I have a brother," Sirius cuts in, opening his eyes.

Minerva arches an eyebrow. "Mr. Black, I have known you since you were
eleven years old. I watched you grow up. Believe it or not, this allows me to
pick up on a few things. You came to me for help with making something
for your—"
"Brother," Sirius says firmly, an edge to his voice that makes her stop and
stare at him. He holds her gaze in a blatant challenge, not budging. "I have a
brother. I've always had a brother, Minerva."

"Your brother," Minvera repeats, and he doesn't break her gaze, staring her
down. She pauses for a long beat, then seems to realize the severity of the
moment and relents. As easy as that, she nods. "Your brother, then. My
mistake."

"Regulus," Sirius murmurs, clearing his throat. "That's his name. I know
you only ever heard me call him Reggie, so maybe that's why you're
confused."

"Mm," Minerva hums, not arguing. "Yes, well, my confusion did not stop
there. You see, I could not fathom how you'd planned a prank when you had
no prior warning of who would be in attendance, and as I understand it, you
had no contact with any of your family since you were sixteen. Of course,
that could have changed, even if I sincerely doubted it. That did leave my
confusion, however, for why you would do such a thing when you were so
honored to be displayed in my stead in the first place. I can't quite figure
that one out."

Sirius works his jaw, frustrated. He looks away, somehow managing to grit
out, "You know me, Minnie. I love to cause a scene. I've always been a
troublemaker at heart."

"Sirius," Minerva says, drawing his gaze, "you are not a child, and I am no
longer your teacher. Speak to me like an adult, and don't do me the
disservice of being dishonest."

"You—you can't—" Sirius swallows harshly, deflating as he looks at her,

pleading. "Please, you can't tell Ms. Sprout. It wasn't Reggie's fault, and she
was going to kick him out of class, but he didn't—he didn't do anything.
You don't understand, Minerva, he's a brilliant cook. He's so passionate
about it. That's his art, and I couldn't let that be taken away from him when
—when it was my fault to start with. He—"

"Stop," Minerva says, raising a hand. "Slow down and explain."

So, Sirius does. He sort of trips over the whole explanation in starts and
stops, stuttering, genuinely rattled to his core by the thought of Regulus
being punished. Old habits die hard.

In any case, Sirius practically spills his guts to her in a way he hasn't since
he was seventeen and sharing tea with her inside of her office because his
birthday had passed, and Regulus hadn't called, and Sirius' behavior was
getting worse by the day. He tells her about the painting, about how
Regulus was caught off guard, about why he destroyed it. He tells her about
the tiny breakdown he had following (even if he leaves out the bit about
Regulus being trans, which she may or may not suspect or be aware of
already), and he somehow ends up going on a rather long and arduous
tangent about what happened with James, and Remus, and how his whole
life is falling apart, and he's sorry, he's so sorry that he let her down.

"And you can't—you can't tell Ms. Sprout," Sirius says in a rush, towards
the end, "because Regulus and I are—we're trying, I think, and I can't ruin
this for him. Please don't—"

"I won't," Minerva interrupts simply, and Sirius very nearly bursts into tears
from pure relief. They've migrated to a table, sitting on stools across from
each other. Sirius slumps against the table, exhaling shakily. "I see that this
is all...much more complicated than I was originally anticipating."

"You're telling me," Sirius mumbles, laughing hoarsely.

Minerva's mouth pinches like it does when she's trying not to smile. Her
eyes soften. "You didn't let me down, Sirius. In truth, I was...concerned."

"Aw, Minnie, you do care," Sirius says, lips curling up.

"When it comes to the...drama surrounding you and your brother, Mr.

Potter, and this boy you love…" Minerva studies him for a moment, then
turns her head and looks at the sketch across the room. "I think you'll find
that any advice I could give you won't influence you more than the feelings
you already carry with you about it. I have always said that art is the
transfiguration of creation into feeling. For you, I've always felt, your art is
the transfiguration of feeling into creation into feeling. It's a viciously
beautiful process that so few in this world rarely experience. Don't waste
it."

"Can I ask you something?" Sirius whispers.

"You may." Minerva glances at him and inclines her head.

Sirius takes a deep breath, then lets it out. "Have you ever felt like giving it
up? Art, I mean."

"I have. Many times."

"But you never did."

"No, I didn't," Minerva agrees.

"Why not?" Sirius asks cautiously, tapping his fingers to the table, an
anxious gesture. Of all the things she's taught him, they've never ventured
into territory about this. It feels personal. A sort of taboo subject.
Sacrilegious.

Minerva waits a beat, then says, rather simply, "Because when you love
something, even the hardest parts are worth it."

"Oh," Sirius says softly, feeling the words like a blunt object to his chest.
She watches him, and he sits on that for a long moment before he suddenly
stands up. "I'm—forgive me, Minerva, but I have to go. There's something I
have to do."
"Yes, I imagine so," Minerva replies, mouth pinching again.

Sirius scrambles for his phone, but pauses halfway to turn around and meet
her eyes. "You can stay, if you want. In the studio, I mean. Paint or draw
something if you like. What's mine is yours. If you do, just lock up when
you leave."

"I might just do that," Minerva muses.

"Oh, and Minerva?"

"Yes, Sirius?"

"Thank you," Sirius tells her sincerely.

Minerva's pinched mouth doesn't stand a chance. She smiles at him. "You're
welcome."

Sirius flashes her a quick grin, and then he's gone.

The bike very nearly gets thrown to the side when Sirius reaches his
destination, and the only reason it doesn't is because he genuinely loves the
thing. He makes sure it won't fall, then fucking bolts, busting his way inside
breathlessly.

Almost instantly, he crashes into something and yelps, making him quickly
fix it, but by the time he has, Effie is sticking her head out of the kitchen.
As soon as she sees him, she breaks out into a smile and says, "Oh, hello,
darling."

"Hi, Effie," Sirius says sheepishly, moving further into the house (and
looking around very discreetly), but no other curious Potters come poking
out, so he ends up in the kitchen where he walks right into Effie's open
arms.

"Who are you looking for?" Effie asks (he apparently wasn't being as
discreet as he thought, or she simply just knows everything), but her tone
tells him she already knows the answer to her own question.

Sirius hasn't let go of her yet, so of course she hasn't let go of him, and he's
come to the conclusion that they're going to just stand here forever,
probably. He murmurs, "What if I just never let go?"

"Then one day, centuries from now, someone will discover our bones curled
together just like this, like those fossils of dinosaurs taking shelter together
during the meteor shower, or the parents holding their children when bombs
are dropped. And, despite the horror of facing death as a reality, those
people will look at our bones and think—and know—just how very loved
we were all the way to the end," Effie says.
"That's so morbid, Effie," Sirius whispers, and Effie chuckles fondly against
the top of his head. She's taller than him, just as James is, a fact that he's
always secretly appreciated. Her being perpetually taller than him makes
him feel small like a child in her arms, except infinitely safer than he ever
did when he actually was a child. "They'll think we're lovers, you know.
The people who discover our bones, I mean."

"Mm, I'm not so sure. They can tell age from bones. Someone will find out
that I'm much older than you, see how I'm holding you, and come to the
conclusion that I'm simply a mother cradling her child," Effie tells him
gently.

"Yeah, maybe." Sirius swallows harshly. "Funny, the things people will get
wrong about history."

Effie hums. "I'd say so, but every once in a while, they have to get
something right, too."

When Sirius was actually in university—hating literally every moment of it

—he went into a bit of a spiral. Mostly, he only did it because he didn't
want to let Effie and Monty down after all that they'd done for him; he
didn't want to squander the life they had so kindly given him; he didn't want
to fail them. It made him miserable, because it wasn't what he wanted to do,
so he slowly started falling apart at the seams, his life chipping away at him
more and more, until it finally unraveled and he broke. He went into a bit of
a fit, actually, where he ended up losing it (on Mother's Day, too, which was
embarrassing) and crying in Effie's arms as he apologized profusely for not
being enough, for being a fuckup, unable to do one thing right.
She'd told him then, gentle and sure, that he had done nothing wrong, that it
was his life to live as he wished, that she only wanted one thing from him—
and it wasn't for him to make himself miserable trying to please her and
Monty. She only wanted him to be happy. Quit university, then, she'd said to
him, just that simply. You could never disappoint us, darling.

I wish you were my mum, but you're not, he'd told her, like a secret. It sort of
just fell out while he clung to her, a truth that had been flowing in his veins
since he met her, and he'd never planned to tell her. Well, this is awkward,
she'd said, because you're my son, and he'd laughed through his tears and
hugged her, and hugged her, and hugged her for a very long time.

Sirius didn't quit university. He just changed the plan and graduated with an
associates in an entirely different field, one that had to do with art rather
than entrepreneurship and business he was originally going for, the one
Walburga had planned for him all along.

"Is James here?" Sirius whispers, pulling back to lift his head and search her
face.

"Mm, no, we've been kicking him out," Effie admits, and Sirius blinks at
her. She reaches up to push his hair back from his face, smiling. "He was
wallowing. We thought it best he didn't stay shut in the way he was. He
took all of his things when he went today, though, so I'm not sure if he's
coming back."

"Oh." Sirius wilts a little bit. "Do you—do you know where he is? Did he
say if he was going home?"
"I don't, and he didn't," Effie murmurs.

Sirius chews on the inside of his lip, his mind churning, and then he stops.
He stops and stares at her. It feels like, for a moment, everything stops.
"You met him."

Effie doesn't try to halt him when he steps back, out of her arms, but her
face tightens with strain.

"You met him," Sirius repeats, his chest tight. "You met my brother as
James' boyfriend. Did you and Monty know?"

"Fleamont didn't know until James came here after you found out," Effie
says quietly. Her eyebrows draw together. "I knew the moment I laid eyes
on Regulus."

"You knew, and you didn't—" Sirius cuts himself off, a lump forming in his
throat. He takes another step back, hating how it invites more sadness in her
eyes. In all the years he's known her, Effie has never once hurt him. Before
her, he thought that was all Mothers ever did; after her, he thought that no
true mother ever could. He was wrong both times, it turns out.

"Darling," Effie whispers, and Sirius shakes his head.

"No, what am I saying?" Sirius chokes out, releasing a harsh, bitter laugh.
"Of course you didn't tell me. James is your son. He's your son, and I'm just
—"

"Don't," Effie cuts in firmly, the most stern that she's ever gotten with him.
It's enough to actually shut him up. There's a fierce glint in her eyes that
makes him feel small. "Never insinuate that there is an imbalance in the
love I have for you and James. Never think that way again. I won't stand for
it. I have been here for you as a mother since you came to us, as Fleamont
has been a father. I know we didn't get you until later in life, but you have a
lot of life left to live, Sirius, and we will be here for every moment—if or
when you get married; if or when you have children; if or when you go into
a financial crisis, or get an award for your art, or need help buying a house,
or become a trapeze artist just to say that you could. Whatever you do,
wherever life takes you, we are here."

Sirius wishes there weren't tears forming in his eyes, but there are. "Why
didn't you tell me?"

"Because it was not my place," Effie says, taking a step forward, only to
come to an immediate halt when he flinches instinctively. She steps back
swiftly, horror and heartbreak blooming on her face, and then she has tears
in her eyes, too. He hates that he put them there. He's never flinched back
from her, even when it was more of a remembered instinct than it is now.
She swallows thickly. "I'm sorry if I've frightened you. That—that wasn't
my intention."

Sirius doesn't know how to tell her that it's not her fault. He doesn't know
how to explain that he's not scared of her, really. He doesn't know how to
put it into words that Mothers are frightening on their own, and she was the
only exception to the rule, because he never thought she could hurt him.
Only, she has now, and it scares him.

It scares him that he can still be afraid.

Effie takes a steadying breath and softly continues, "It was not my place to
tell you, Sirius. It was not my place to out your brother, no more than it was
James', but it was his place to stop lying to you. Don't think, even for a
moment, that if roles were reversed, I wouldn't have lectured you just as I
did him and still gave you a home when it all inevitably fell apart, just as I
knew it would, and warned him it would."

"You let him do it," Sirius rasps. "You knew it would hurt me, and you just
let him do it."

"Believe it or not, I don't let you or him do anything, or stop either of you,"
Effie says. "I can give advice. I can be here for the aftermath of your
choices, but they are your choices. I am a mother, not a dictator. I don't live
your lives for you; I'm here in your lives for whatever you need, for the
hard times as well as the lovely ones. Sirius, I need you to understand
something. I am a mother, yes, but I am not just a mother. I am a human
being fully capable of not knowing what to do. I can make mistakes. I can
hurt the people in this world that I never wish to feel any pain at all.
Inaction can be just as harmful as taking action, I know that, and I am sorry.
I'm sorry that I hurt you."

"The worst part is," Sirius says softly, "it would have hurt no matter what
you did. This was always going to, wasn't it?"
"Yes, darling, it was," Effie tells him regretfully.

"I—I don't—I don't blame you, really. I know it's not… I know this would
have put you in a difficult position. I know none of this is—simple for any
of us," Sirius whispers.

"It's not, no, but I—" Effie blinks and gives a trembling smile as one tear
falls. She dashes it away, still looking as lovely and comforting as she
always has. He's never seen her cry before. It makes something in him curl
up and whine, utterly devastated by the sight. "You're so very darling to me,
and I love you so much. I wish with everything in me that you weren't hurt.
If I could take your pain, I would."

"James is hurting, too," Sirius says, because he knows.

"I would take his pain as well," Effie murmurs.

Sirius blinks hard, shuddering out a harsh breath. "I hurt him, Effie. I'm still
hurting him. I hurt everyone. I'm sorry."

"Oh, darling," Effie chokes out, twitching violently like she wants to move
but forces herself not to. She sways forward, face twisting. "Can I—"
"Please," Sirius whispers, barely even raising his arms before she's rushing
forward into them. He flinches again, can't help it, but keeps pulling her
into him anyway. The moment he's clinging to her, his fear evaporates.

He holds onto her for a long time, and when he tries to pull away, she holds
onto him and whispers that she's the one who needs the embrace this time,
who isn't ready to let go just yet, so he gives her what she has always given
him, knowing deep down in his bones that he would hold her forever if
that's what she needed him to do.

He doesn't stay for much longer, though, because he just doesn't have the
energy. He leaves, and Effie doesn't try to stop him. He's so tired, so
exhausted by everything, and he just wants to go home. He wants to go
home and find James there, waiting on him like nothing has changed,
offering that safe haven he's always given Sirius. Always.

It's killing Sirius, because—

"Potter, Black, detention!" Professor McGonagall bellows, and Sirius'

mouth drops open while James groans.

"But it's the first day," Sirius blurts out incredulously.

Professor McGonagall arches an eyebrow. "Then you two should have

thought of that before you started messing with the paint. The brushes are
not wands, stop waving them about."
"How did she not see you, Peter?" James hisses, scowling.

"Because I waited until her back was turned," Peter informs them, like
they're a bit stupid. Sirius glares at him, and he just smiles mildly and
focuses back on his painting.

James sighs and looks at Sirius, a slow grin forming over his face, eyes
lighting up. "Well, at least we'll have each other."

"There is that," Sirius murmurs, chuckling despite himself, even if he dreads

the idea of detention and what his mother will do to him when she finds out
about it.

And yet, when detention comes around and he finds himself doing a puzzle
with James they can never finish, Sirius finds that he doesn't really mind at
all. It's his first detention, but it most certainly isn't his last. With James, he
learns, they're always worth it.

It's killing Sirius, because—

"Do you think I'll ever be able to do art again?" Sirius chokes out, staring
down at his wrapped hand through a blur of tears. It aches despite the
medicine he was given for it at the hospital. He thinks it's numb, actually,
and the ache just comes from the center of himself. Right in the middle of
his chest, a pit has opened up there.
James, who hasn't left his side since he showed up, smiles at him and softly
says, "Of course you will, mate."

"The doctor said there's a chance it won't heal properly, and I won't be able
to use it the same way again," Sirius whispers, pressing his head back into
the pillow with burning eyes. Why did it have to be the hand? Why didn't his
mother just stab him in the fucking chest? At least then that would explain
the pain radiating from there.

"It'll heal," James tells him firmly, holding his gaze.

Sirius makes a small sound. "But what if it doesn't?"

"If it doesn't…" James takes a deep breath and reaches out to grab Sirius'
uninjured hand, squeezing it. "Well, loads of people can do things with only
one hand. We'll figure it out. If nothing else, when you need an extra hand,
you always have mine."

"Yeah?" Sirius asks thickly.

James nods. "Yeah, Sirius. You always have me."

It's killing Sirius, because—

"What's wrong with me?" James asks softly.

Sirius adores Lily, he truly does, but at this particular moment, he could
fucking kill her. Swallowing thickly, he climbs into bed beside James and
splays out across from him, holding his gaze. "Prongs, there's nothing—
absolutely nothing at all—wrong with you."

"I asked her for years and years, and she always said no," James whispers,
looking at Sirius, visibly devastated. "Why didn't I listen? Why did I think,
just because she eventually said yes, that meant she wouldn't ever say no
again?"

"James—"

"I'm so fucking stupid. I'm—"

"You're not stupid, mate. You—"

James cuts in with a choked, "I just kept pushing, and pushing, and
pushing. I love her so much. I don't know how not to love this much, and it
costs me everything. I did this. I—Sirius, I can't—"
"Stop it," Sirius says fervently, his voice low as he reaches out and clamps
his hand around the back of James' neck, squeezing it. They're lying curled
on their sides, facing each other. Sirius rocks forward and taps their
foreheads together. "Listen to me, James Potter. This is nothing wrong with
you, or how you love. Nothing at all. Never stop loving as you do. Never, do
you understand?"

"I can't do it again," James confesses, rocking his head back and forth, one
hand reaching out to grasp the front of Sirius' shirt and hold on. He's on the
verge of breaking, and it's breaking Sirius' heart. "I can't lose someone I
love again. It hurts. God, it hurts."

"I'm sorry, mate. I'm so sorry," Sirius breathes out, a lump forming in his
throat. James officially shatters, collapsing forward with a shuddering sob,
pressing his face into Sirius' shoulder. Sirius cups the back of his head,
crying right along with him. "You don't deserve this, James. You deserve to
be happy. I'm so fucking sorry."

James can't respond. He's crying too hard.

"No matter what, I'm here. You've always got me," Sirius tells him, then
nudges him a bit. "I'll marry you, if you like. I think you'd make a decent
husband." This drags a weak, wet laugh out of James, and Sirius smiles
softly in victory. "It's alright, mate. You'll love again, and whoever is lucky
enough to be loved by you will just have to deal with the fact that we're a
package deal, yeah?"

"Yeah," James says hoarsely.

"Me and you, James. We'll always be me and you, and you can trust I'll
never hurt you, not like this," Sirius vows, ducking his head to meet his
gaze. "I mean it. If no one else is forever, I am. I know it's not the same, but
—"

"It's enough. It's more than enough," James tells him. "You're more than
enough, Sirius. Me and you, yeah?"

Sirius smiles. "Yeah."

It's killing Sirius, because James saved his life time and time again, all the
way from eleven years old when they met on a train and shared that first
grin between them. Something within them simply recognized one another,
like companion pieces that click together perfectly, never meant to be
without the other. Everything feels wrong now, and Sirius hates it.

Sirius wants his best friend back. He wants all of this to stop, and he wants
to go back to the way things were. He wants to go back in time and never
be so reckless in his anger to ever hit the one person in the world he never
once thought he could ever lay hands on, and he wants to go back to that
moment and never make the mistake of demanding James stay away from
him, because no part of him has ever wanted James to leave, not then and
not now. He wants to go home and find James there, waiting like he's just as
lost without Sirius, because they can't keep doing this, can they?

Sirius can't keep doing this. He doesn't want to keep doing this. He's so
fucking tired of doing this.
And, in that inexplicable way they've always had, it seems James has read
his mind, as connected to him as ever, because he's there when Sirius gets
home.

Chapter End Notes

sirius and regulus in therapy: we regret all choices that brought us here

Poppy Pomfrey Supremacy <3

See you on Sunday!!!!

Thoughts?
 Chapter 21
Chapter Notes

warnings for this chapter: references to child abuse. a brief description

of ill children in the hospital, as well as a sick child passing away.
some angst, but it's mostly the slow starts of healing.

Also, Happy Birthday, James. This one goes out to you <3

Enjoy!
See the end of the chapter for more notes

The first time James ever saw Sirius sad was when they were eleven, their
very first year together. He'd been a little startled by such a thing, because
Sirius was a rambunctious child who liked to laugh and cause mischief, and
he would occasionally get unexpectedly furious about certain things, or
with certain people, but never James. Sadness, though… Even James got
sad sometimes, especially in the beginning of the term, missing his parents.
But Sirius never got sad, or he hid it well.

Either way, there was one day where Sirius was very quiet and subdued. He
told everyone he wasn't feeling well and skipped half of the day and nearly
all of the meals. James, at first, was so concerned that he pleaded for Sirius
to get checked out if he was sick, but Sirius kept brushing him off.

It wasn't until much later that night, in the quiet of the dorm, that he heard
Sirius sniffling. James—who had no boundaries at the tender age of eleven
—immediately slipped from his bed, pushed open Sirius' bed hangings, and
climbed right in with whispered questions of what was wrong. It took some
gentle and not-so-gentle prodding to get it out of Sirius why he was up so
late, crying as quietly as he could.
"It's Reggie's birthday," Sirius had finally whispered, looking mildly
embarrassed and so very sad. James, who had heard quite a bit about
Reggie, Sirius' little sister, only nodded and settled in to listen. "I just hate
that I can't even talk to her. Mother and Father don't celebrate birthdays,
really."

"They don't?" James asked, eyes widening. He couldn't imagine such a

thing. His mum and dad always celebrated his birthday, always made a big
production of it, always made it one of his favorite days of the year.

Sirius shook his head, sniffling again. "Not really. They usually leave a
present or two at the end of our bed. Expensive stuff. Not toys or anything
cool. Before I came here, I would steal biscuits and sneak us out onto the
roof, and I always tried to give Reggie a present I made. But I can't do that
this year. I can't even talk to her and wish her a happy birthday."

"Why not? Don't you have a mobile?" James had murmured.

"No, not yet," Sirius said with a sigh.

James perked up. "Oh! Well, Mum and Dad got me one so I could ring them
when I missed them. Do you want to use it?"

"I don't know the number to my house."

"Oh. Well… Hm. Well, Professor McGonagall has them on file in her
classroom. I saw her look mine up when she rang my parents after I tripped
Snape in the hall."

Sirius frowned at him. "That doesn't really help me, though."

"But what if it could?" James had whispered with a grin.

And so, they snuck out of the dorms in the middle of the night to break into
Professor McGonagall's classroom and look up the number to Sirius' house.
It was, upon reflection, a plan they should have not been able to pull off, but
one they somehow managed to anyway.

But, when Sirius—excited and practically rattling with anticipation—had

called, it was his mother who answered the phone. Sirius had asked so, so
politely and so, so hopefully to speak to Reggie, even just for a moment,
and Walburga had yelled at him for calling so late. Then, begging, Sirius
had pleaded with her to at least tell Reggie that he called to wish her a
happy birthday, and Walburga—the cruelest woman in the world—had
refused. She'd hung up on him, and Sirius had curled into a ball in James'
bed and cried all night.

It was the first time James had ever seen Sirius genuinely, harrowingly sad.
Reggie's birthday. This would unfortunately become a trend over the years
that never broke.
There's something about sadness that feels heavier than any other emotion.
It's an understated phenomenon, sadness is. People say they're sad, and no
one really thinks about what that means because the word is so small for
something so big. Being sad is a state that people gloss over, like it doesn't
really matter because it's almost always guaranteed to pass, to eventually
evaporate. But that's the thing, isn't it? Sadness may go, but it always finds
its way back—for some more than others. There's not always a reason for
sadness, but when there is, it's even worse. If James were asked, he would
say sadness is the worst thing in the world, because it's the only emotion
that feels like a flame flickering out.

When you're happy, the flame is bright and glowing, warming the people
around you. When you're angry, the flame is a blaze, painful at times, but
bright and passionate all the same. No other emotion or feeling in the world
is a light snuffed out like sadness is, not fear or confusion or hope or grief
or shame or surprise. All of that is loud, so loud. Sadness is quiet. James has
never liked the quiet.

James hadn't liked seeing his best friend sad either; he'd hated it, in fact. So
much so that he'd promised himself, at only eleven years old, that he would
never make Sirius sad.

It's a promise he's broken.

When Sirius comes in, he's sad. So fucking sad. And it's James' fault, and
all he can think is I'm sorry. To that eleven year old him who only ever
wanted to make his best friend happy, he is so very sorry. Breaking that
promise is a sadness like no other.
"Hi," James whispers. He's sitting on the very edge of the sofa, hands
tangled between his knees, chest tight like his ribcage is shrinking down on
him.

"Hi," Sirius replies, equally quiet. His hair is down, a little mussed from
where he's clearly worn his helmet. He has his hands stuffed into the
pockets of his leather jacket, but James can see the impression of them;
they're balled into fists.

"I—" James stops, swallowing. He feels small and inadequate and out of
sorts. He was prepared. He thought he was prepared, but now he's at a loss
for what to say. Nothing seems right, or appropriate. "I, um, had this whole
—speech prepared, I think. Well, I don't know. It didn't really—I mean, I
didn't write it down or anything. Probably should've. It mostly just
consisted of offering to let you hit me again, if that would help, and asking
if—if I could come home now."

"Did it?" Sirius asks softly.

James looks down at his knees. "Well, that, and apologizing for lying to you
and going behind your back and keeping things from you and scheming
with your boyfriend and—"

"Yes, alright," Sirius cuts in sharply. "I don't need a fucking list of what
you've done, James. I'm perfectly aware already."

"Right. Sorry," James mumbles, grimacing.

Sirius heaves a sigh so deep that it rounds out his cheeks, and then he drags
his hands out of his pockets to scrub them over his face. When he drops
them, his shoulders slump. "Yeah, James, I know. I know you are."

Helplessly, James just looks at him, because he doesn't know what else to
do. He doesn't—he's not sure what else there is past being sorry. If he knew
what could fix it, he would do it in a heartbeat, and it terrifies him that there
might not be anything else. What if it can't be fixed?

For a long moment, Sirius just returns his look in complete silence, not
moving, and then he shakes his head and starts walking. James feels his
heart jump with a mixture of hope and fear, trying to stay still as Sirius
approaches the sofa and proceeds to throw himself down on it. He slumps
back, sprawled out, legs spread and arms crossed. Optimal position for
pouting; James knows it well. Sirius does this when he's in a strop, or when
he wants attention, or both. Honestly, he's like a bloody dog sometimes.

James cautiously peeks at Sirius over his shoulder, still unsure, and Sirius
arches an eyebrow at him before flicking his gaze to the open spot beside
him. Letting out a gusty sigh, James instantly falls back, melting against the
cushion and rolling his head to the side to stare at Sirius, who looks back,
visibly displeased. They're not touching, but it wouldn't take much to shift
over and press their arms together.

"What do you want me to do?" James asks quietly.

"You shagged my little brother, mate," Sirius mutters, wrinkling his nose.
"Not sure there is much you can do."

"Sirius," James whispers, staring at him, beseeching.

"Fortunately for you," Sirius says, "I have a crippling codependency issue,
and you're the source, and there appears to be no cure. So…" He smacks his
teeth and frowns at James, eyebrows crumbling together. "I miss my best
friend."

James makes a small, pathetic noise. "I miss my best friend, too."

"Oh, get over here already," Sirius grumbles, even as he swallows harshly
and lifts one arm slightly.

"Oh, thank god," James chokes out, instantly swinging himself around to
practically throw himself at Sirius in a very undignified manner that he's not
even embarrassed at himself for. He slams into Sirius so hard that he
grunts.

It takes approximately three seconds for James to start crying, pretty much
immediately after he snatches Sirius into a tight, awkward hug on the sofa.
For all of Sirius' posturing, he follows right behind him with the crying,
fisting the back of James' jumper and holding on tight.
"You're so fucking stupid," Sirius hisses through his tears.

"I know. I know. I'm sorry," James babbles, nodding into his shoulder,
smooshing his face into it so determinedly that his glasses slip off his face
and land somewhere behind Sirius. He doesn't really care. He doesn't need
to see anything to know he feels better than he has in over two weeks.

Sirius pinches his ear, not enough to hurt, just enough to make it clear that
he's frustrated. "How can you be so smart and still do something so stupid,
Prongs? That was the worst plan."

"There were no good plans!" James yelps, groaning, a mixture of mortified

and remorseful.

"You didn't consider the plan of not fucking my little brother?"

"Please stop mentioning it, Padfoot. I'd like to be able to look you in the eye
sometime this century."

"No, you will live with this shame," Sirius tells him, gently tapping him on
the back of his head, only to leave his hand there, ruffling his hair. "The
shame of shagging my little brother. Little Reggie. And the shame of
coming up with the worst fucking plan in history with my boyfriend to keep
doing it. You have to live with that, because I also have to."
James huffs and deflates against Sirius like all of his strings have been cut.
"Maybe it'll be funny one day."

"No," Sirius says flatly. "This will never be funny."

"Yeah, that's fair," James mumbles.

Sirius falls silent, and so does James. They just sit there and hold onto each
other, despite the awkward angle they're in from their positions on the sofa.
There's a strain in James' back, but the horrible, searing ache in his chest
has lessened considerably (not gone, not entirely gone), so he'd honestly
break his fucking back to stay right where he is.

It's a long time before they finally pull apart (Sirius passing James his
glasses) and slump back into the sofa again, this time pressed together, and
Sirius holds his gaze and says, "I'm still upset with you."

"I know," James murmurs. "I'm sorry, Sirius. I'm sorry for lying. I'm sorry
for hurting you. I'll—whatever you want me to do, I'll do it, mate. I
promise."

"I want you to never do it again," Sirius informs him, raising both eyebrows
at him.
James nods frantically. "I won't. I swear I won't lie to you about something
like that again, or purposefully deceive you in any way, or scheme with
Moony to keep secrets from you."

"And?" Sirius prompts.

"Er," James says awkwardly, inwardly scrambling to try and figure out what
else he's meant to be promising to never do.

Sirius narrows his eyes. "Shag my little brother. Never shag my little
brother again, James, that's the right answer."

"Oh," James blurts out, then freezes. He stares at Sirius with wide eyes,
mouth hanging open. Oh god. He can't promise that. He can't fucking
promise that, because he'll break it, given half the chance. He knows he
will.

"James!" Sirius hisses, eyes bulging as he shoots up straight to stare at him

incredulously. "Are you fucking—"

"Padfoot," James says weakly.

Sirius looks at him in pure disbelief. "You're—I can't fucking believe this.
What did we just go through, James? You can't shag my little brother! No.
No, absolutely not!"
"I—I mean—" James cuts himself off quickly, biting down on his bottom
lip hard to stop himself from saying please? He's quite sure that would get
him punched again.

"No," Sirius grits out, glaring at him. "It's not happening."

James looks at him for a long moment, then drops his gaze and mumbles,
"It's not like he'd even let me anyway, so you don't have anything to worry
about, really."

"That's—" Sirius pauses, lips pressing into a thin line, then pursing in
thought. He eventually huffs and settles back down with scowl. "Alright,
yes, that's true. He hates you."

"He does?" James asks, voice small. Sirius isn't punching him in the face;
Sirius is punching him in the heart. It fucking hurts. He'd rather be hit in the
face, honestly.

Sirius cuts him a sharp look. "Yes, he does, and that's enough for me.
Should keep you away from him. He's a ruthless little bugger when he
wants to be, so I hardly need you to promise anything at all."

"Do you—do you hate Remus?" James murmurs.

"Remus," Sirius says, his voice flat. When James glances at him, Sirius'
face is just completely blank. "You know, I feel something worse for him
than hatred. Apathy. I'm completely apathetic to all things Remus Lupin.
I'm always indifferent about people I don't know, and it turns out I never
knew him at all. If I saw him in the street, I wouldn't bother to even spit on
him. I'd just keep walking."

"You don't mean that," James says, strained. "You love him."

"Did I?" Sirius shrugs lazily. "Who knows, really? He was just someone I
was shagging, mostly. There will be others."

James stares at him sadly. "You know that's not true, mate. We both know
that." Sirius doesn't reply, so James just sighs and shakes his head. "Well,
for the sake of being honest, you should know he and I are friends."

"What?" Sirius bites out, nearly gnashing his teeth like a snarling dog, his
eyes flashing.

"We were friends, you know," James mutters.

Sirius' nostrils flare. "No. No, you were partners in crime, which is what we
are supposed to be, except, apparently, when it involves crimes against
me."
"Well, that's a little excessive, isn't it?" James says, and Sirius' face twitches
in a vaguely alarming way. "Or, you know, it's perfectly valid for you to feel
that way, even though that was not at all our intention."

"You can't be friends with him," Sirius declares.

James frowns. "But I am. How is it fair if I—"

"You want to talk about fair, James, really? What was fair about what you
two did?!" Sirius bellows.

"He has no one," James snaps, and Sirius rears back a little bit, eyes going
wide. "You might be perfectly willing to abandon him, but I'm not,
especially when we did the same exact fucking thing. I understand him, and
he's my friend."

Sirius stares at him for a long beat, then he sighs loudly and deflates again.
"Oh, bloody hell, you and your persistent loyalty. You know what? Fine.
Fucking—whatever. I don't care. Just keep him away from me and don't talk
to me about him. I don't want anything to do with him, James. I'm not
joking."

"You'll forgive me, but not—"

"Leave it."
"But—"

"James!"

"He loves you so much, Sirius," James insists, unable to stop himself. "He
never meant—"

"You know, I'm missing you less and less by the moment," Sirius interrupts
harshly, pinning him with a look so cutting that James slowly closes his
mouth. "If you're going to talk about Remus so fucking much, go off and be
his best friend and save me the damn headache, yeah?"

James shrinks back, eyes stinging, and he whispers, "If you want to hurt
me, I'd rather you just hit me again. I don't think I can take it if you're going
to keep saying things like that to me. I know I deserve it, but I—I'm not
made for things like that. Not from you."

"Shit," Sirius says weakly, his face falling. His eyes sink shut, and he hangs
his head forward. "Christ, mate, stop looking at me like that, yeah? I'm—
I'm sorry, alright? I just… I don't want to talk about Remus, or hear about
him. I'm asking, because I really—I can't. I just can't, so don't. Please."

"Alright," James murmurs, and he nods when Sirius looks up at him.

"Alright, I won't, then. I shouldn't have pushed. I'm sorry, Sirius."
Sirius swallows and rasps, "I'm sorry I hit you. I shouldn't have done that,
no matter how angry I was. I'll never hit you again."

"That's okay, mate," James tells him, blinking, because he was never upset
with Sirius about that at all.

"It's really not," Sirius croaks, looking down at his hands. He curls his
fingers in, then flexes them out, a look of such visceral disgust on his face
that it turns James' stomach. "I was so much like her. My mother. I was just
like her. The way you were crying, and I just kept yelling and hitting you;
that was her. It makes me sick to my fucking stomach. Something that made
me feel afraid, and weak, and hurt—and I did it to my best friend. I—I did
it just like she did."

James reaches out carefully and covers both of Sirius' hands, drawing his
eyes, which has tears swimming in them. "Don't do that, Sirius. You're not
her."

"Then explain that," Sirius whispers thickly, lips trembling.

"You never deserved what she did to you. I deserved it," James says,
frowning at him.

"No." Sirius shakes his head. "No, James. No one deserves it."
"Alright," James muses slowly, carefully, forcing himself to take a step on
the outside of it and see it without the filter of it being Sirius, his very best
friend, who he would scour this earth and overturn every pebble and every
speck of sand to find a reason to excuse anything he's done. If it was anyone
else, just two strangers, he would feel differently. Right now, Sirius needs
that honesty, not the excuses. "You're right, it was wrong, but that doesn't
make you her. That just makes you someone who did something wrong,
who knows they did wrong, and I forgive you for it. I forgive you, Sirius."

Sirius starts crying instantly and gasps out, "Thank you."

"I'm sorry I made you sad," James says softly, reaching out to pull Sirius in,
hugging him again.

"I forgive you for it," Sirius tells him, and James feels a wave of solace
crash over him so heavily that when he squeezes his eyes shut tight, tears
spill out. "I love you, you know."

James breathes, and breathes. "I love you, too."

When Remus was in the hospital as a child, he was at such high risk that he
wasn't allowed near any of the other children in the ward. There was a
steady rotation of nurses, all who were kind (even if they were all sure he
was going to die, or maybe simply because they believed that), but on
account of them all being adults who often caused him pain (as necessary as
it was), he didn't really consider them friends.

There was, however, a little girl across the hall who he would see a few
hours a day when the nurses left their doors open. He would watch her
curiously, wondering what her name was, what books she liked, what she
thought about when the pain was too much to bear with a clear mind.

One day, she caught him looking, and she waved. Remus waved back,
tentative and shy, but pleased all the same. She smiled and turned away to
draw a coloring book into her lap. A few hours later, one of the nurses
stepped into his room with a torn out page with a princess and prince on it,
colored a little badly, honestly, not keeping in the lines at all. At the bottom
of the page was the scrawled name of Mira with a backwards R, the letters
wonky and large.

"This is from the girl next door," the nurse had told him with a warm smile,
seeming amused by his blush.

He couldn't help it, though. He was warmed by the gift, pleased with the
small interaction with another child, caught up instantly in the idea that he
might have a friend. Quietly, he'd asked, "Can I get something for her?"

"Whatever you like, dear," the nurse replied.

So, Remus had to wait for his parents to come back the next day, begging
them to get something he could give to Mira. In the end, it was Hope who
gave into his pleading, briefly nipping down to the gift shop to get a small
plush frog with a polka-dot bow on the head. When you pressed the frog's
chest, it would croak. Remus was delighted, so much so that it lifted his
spirits enough to eat and actually keep down the food while his medicine
changed.

He wouldn't find out until much later that Mira saved his life. If he'd thrown
up that day, the doctor had all plans to switch to a different medication that,
as they would find out many years later, he's deathly allergic to. Had that
been the case, as sick as he was, Remus would have died. Instead, because
he kept the food down, the medicine stayed; since it agreed with him, they
kept with it, and he ended up surprising everyone by surviving, and not only
surviving, but making a full recovery.

But Remus wouldn't learn that until later. All he knew then was that he
wanted to make a friend, and he had a gift to give to her, since she'd given
him one. He held onto that frog all day through the comings and goings of
nurses; through needles and tubes and whispered conversations between the
doctor, his mum, and his dad; through the ticking seconds that bled into
minutes into hours. And, when the door opened, Remus asked the first
nurse he saw if he would take the plush frog next door to Mira and let her
know it was from him.

"Oh," the nurse had said, voice soft, "I'm sorry to say I can't do that. Mira
isn't with us anymore."

"What do you mean?" Remus whispered, confused, even as some part of

him, some terrified part of him that was ice-cold from preemptive dread,
already knew what the nurse meant. He asked anyway. He shouldn't have.
"Did she get better? Did she get to go home?"
The nurse had paused for a moment, hands stilling on the monitor by
Remus' bed, and he'd looked at Remus with so much sympathy and pity that
Remus, despite being so young, knew exactly what he was going to say.
And he was right, because it was a solemn, "I'm sorry, lad."

It wasn't a yes or a no, but Remus knew. He turned away and dropped the
frog into the bin beside his bed, and he didn't say another word for four
days. He'd heard some of the nurses later murmuring how awful it was to
lose Mira, who they had all known for months, some of them genuinely
heartbroken about it; they didn't know he could hear them, seeing as he was
pretending to sleep.

The worst part was, Remus wasn't sad for losing a friend. He was sad that
he never got to have a friend at all. He was sad that he was going to die, just
like Mira, and he wouldn't even have a friend to be sad about it when he
did. At four years old, he couldn't imagine anything more sad than that, and
it had rendered him mute for nearly five days.

Of course, when he didn't die, his problems in the friend department didn't
disappear. Remus was a sickly child, so some parents warned their children
away from him.

Other children simply didn't relate to him because he liked books and didn't
know any games to play (he'd been in the hospital with only books to keep
him occupied, and learning games wasn't allowed whilst in the midst of
dying). Most children thought he looked strange because of his scars from
surgery and perpetual IV lines, or because he was very pale, or because he
was so thin and gangly and could hardly keep on any weight. More than just
that, he had the fact that he just was strange working against him. He would
often get dizzy and have fainting spells; he couldn't eat solid foods until he
was nine; he was repeatedly taken out of school for weeks at a time when
he got sick over and over and over. He was quiet, and awkward, and
simultaneously stunted in social growth and far surpassing his peers (a
horrible mixture of not being able to socialize, yet being exposed to
dreadful experiences such as death at such a young age). So, this led to him
being lonely.

Remus was a very lonely child, and Remus grew into a very lonely adult. It
sort of became—his normal, in a way. He grew accustomed to it, even to
the point that he had no true desire to change it. Simply put, it was his
comfort zone.

Regulus changed all that, though.

In a strange twist of fate that Remus never saw coming, Regulus appeared
in his life and coaxed him out of his comfort zone so smoothly that Remus
never even realized it was happening until it was already done. Remus
doubts Regulus even meant to; surely that wasn't his intention. He just sort
of fits so well to Remus that it was impossible for Remus not to push the
boundary of his comfort zone to include him.

Because, without even knowing it, Remus had coaxed Regulus out of his
own comfort zone as well. They'd done the same thing to each other, not
even realizing it, not even trying. They just—worked. Then, one day they
looked up and saw it for exactly what it was, and instead of tucking tail and
running, they basically just eyed each other and came to the unspoken
agreement to let the other be the exception, doubling down on doing this
miserable shit they call life together.
He hasn't thought about Mira in a very long time, but when Regulus comes
to a halt a few steps away, Remus clenches his fingers around the pan in his
hands and remembers the little girl who never got her plush frog. He thinks,
and knows, with some strange serenity, that Regulus would be sad if he
died. The thought shouldn't be comforting, but it is.

"I brought back your pan," Remus murmurs, holding it out.

"Do you have a death wish, Lupin?" Regulus asks, watching him a few
steps away from his door. He doesn't move closer. His face is blank, but
Remus is used to that.

"Haven't I always?" Remus replies.

Regulus' eyes narrow just slightly, just for a moment, and then he says, "Did
I not make myself clear before?"

"When you pretended to poison me?" Remus raises both eyebrows at him.
"No, not quite. If you wanted to be clear, you should have gone through
with it."

"That can be arranged," Regulus mutters, scowling.

"Well, do it in this pan. It's symbolic," Remus says, holding it out more
insistently.

"You're fucking unstable, you know that? Absolutely mental. Loopy

Lupin," Regulus tells him, shaking his head.

Remus smiles weakly. "I'm no more fucked up than you are, and you know
it. Now come take your pan. I know it's one of your favorites, Regulus."

Regulus scoffs and sweeps forward to let himself into his flat, stepping in
and whirling around to glare at him. His lip curls, and he looks so cold, so
fucking harsh, that Remus feels his nerves spike. Regulus leans forward
and snatches the pan out of his hands, pinning him with a lingering,
scathing glance, and then he whips around and marches away.

But he leaves the door open.

Remus stands there for a moment, gaze running over the open doorway,
looking into the flat as he listens to the clatter of Regulus dropping the pan
in the sink and running the tap. Helplessly, Remus' lips curl up into a smile,
because he knows just that simply that he's forgiven. Or, no, not forgiven.
Just acceptance. Regulus will make him work for it, of course, but Remus
expected no less, really. It's better that way, he thinks.

"I did what I did specifically so you would leave me alone," Regulus
informs him the moment he steps into the kitchen and leans on the counter
behind him. "Why haven't you?"
"I've never left you alone, and I'm not about to start now," Remus replies
quietly.

"Really? What was the last two weeks, then?" Regulus challenges.

"Awful," Remus says bluntly. "For me, personally, it was fucking awful.
What about you?"

"Blissfully free of sorry excuses for best friends, since you've asked,"
Regulus retorts sharply.

"Yes, well, I've come to end your bliss. Sorry excuse for a best friend or not,
I'm meant to make you suffer," Remus murmurs.

Regulus slams the pan down and snaps the tap off, flicking his fingers
before jerking around, jaw clenched. "Oh, is that what you were doing by
fucking my brother?"

"There's making you suffer, and then there's hurting you, and I—" Remus'
throat clicks on a harsh swallow as he drops his gaze. "I never wanted to do
that. But I did, and for that, I am truly sorry." He looks back up and finds
Regulus watching him, lips pressed into a thin line. "I shouldn't have lied to
you, or conspired with your boyfriend to deceive you and your brother. I
shouldn't have blamed you for my own choices. And I shouldn't have
believed, even for a moment, that you would ever kill me, or do anything to
harm me, because you are not and have never been a sorry excuse for a best
friend. I'm sorry that I am. You deserve better than that."

"No, you shouldn't have done any of that," Regulus agrees, holding his gaze
for a moment before looking away, "but don't bring what I deserve into this.
I don't deserve much at all."

"Then I'm the perfect best friend for you," Remus whispers.

"You were always more than I deserved, Remus," Regulus says softly, gaze
fixed on the wall to the left.

Remus feels the words like a knife to the heart. They pierce him and make
his eyes immediately burn. "Reg…"

"If I cook," Regulus says shortly, "will you eat?"

"Yes," Remus answers instantly.

Regulus looks at him then. "You're an idiot. As intelligent as you are, you
do some of the most idiotic things. I nearly poisoned you, or did you
forget?"
"Nah, you didn't," Remus says easily, lips twitching. "You just conducted
psychological warfare and made me believe you were poisoning me,
tapping into my trauma surrounding the thought of dying to send me into a
panic attack."

"Well, when you put it like that, it sounds so much worse."

"Honestly, you could have just done me the favor and put me out of my
misery. Less traumatizing that way."

"I could have gone to prison. I value my freedom, you know."

"You want to know something funny?"

"Not particularly," Regulus mutters.

Remus chuckles. "When I thought I was dying, I was actually concerned

about what would happen to you. If you'd go to prison, I mean. I was
literally sure that I was being murdered by my best friend, and I still
covered for you."

"That's not funny," Regulus tells him, his face softening just a bit, just
enough to be noticeable.
"Well, it's a bit funny," Remus argues.

Regulus takes a deep breath, then slowly lets it out. "I'm asking again. If I
cook, will you eat?"

"Yeah. The answer is still the same, Regulus. I'm actually quite hungry, and
you're a brilliant cook." Remus shrugs, and Regulus looks like he wants to
roll his eyes, only refraining through sheer force of will. "If I hug you, will
you stab me?"

"Yes," Regulus says sharply, narrowing his eyes.

"Good thing I have a death wish, then," Remus announces, then steps
forward to tug Regulus into his arms before Regulus can dodge out of the
way.

Remus holds onto Regulus even though he's stiff, even though he's not
hugging back, even though hugging each other isn't really something they
do. Regulus isn't a very touchy person to start with, but he's always been
more free in his touches with Remus over anyone else—well, until James
came along, Remus suspects, but that's different. They're just not the type of
people who get close like this, with the exception of when Regulus was
upset enough to cry, or when they're pissed.

It's not as if they don't touch at all, Remus reflects. They do. More often
than they ever will with anyone else, excluding the people they're in love
with, but again, that's different. Their contact has come in the form of
bumping elbows, shoulder nudges, plucking at clothes to get the other's
attention or steer them in a certain direction, and the occasional kick
beneath a table. Now, when they're drunk, the touches come more often
because they're both looser and more relaxed, and Regulus is always sweet
when he's pissed. In that, Regulus will lay his head on Remus' arm or
shoulder, or lean into him for balance, or drop his feet off in Remus' lap.
Remus, in turn, will ruffle his hair, or hold onto his arm so neither of them
will fall—or, if they do, then they'd do it together at least—or pat his hand,
even squeeze it if Regulus offers it to him. Just small touches that say hello,
I'm here, we're still making it through this miserable life together, isn't it
nice not to be alone?

Hugging… That's not really something they do, partially because they
probably look fucking ridiculous. Remus swallows Regulus in practically
every way. Especially his height. His arms could easily wrap around
Regulus fully and still have room to tap his fingers along his own sides.
Standing next to each other, Remus could brace his arm on Regulus' head
and use it as a prop without it looking ridiculous, except for how it would
highlight the height difference. The thing is, Regulus isn't short. Remus just
makes everyone look short.

So, yes, they probably look rather stupid when hugging. The kind of stupid
that would make people squint and tilt their heads, because Remus and
Regulus make for the oddest pair of friends. They truly do. A tall, lanky
man in patchy sweaters next to an average-sized, blank-faced man in stylish
clothes; both looking so different that it'd be hard to believe that they have
anything in common at all. People wouldn't look at them and be able to tell
that they both love books, that they both partake in snarky, dry wit most of
the time, that they would sooner arch an eyebrow or roll their eyes before
they'd smile. They look like they come from entirely different worlds, and
they do; they look like polar opposites, but they're not.
Now, Sirius and James? Those two make sense. Remus has seen them, and
there's nothing confusing about them. James is taller, but the height
difference isn't so stark that it's startling. They both smile easily, laugh
quickly, and have that same lazy effortlessness to how they move through
the world, as if the world shapes itself around them, as if it's their world and
everyone else is just living in it. When they hug, it looks like two puzzle
pieces clicking into place.

Remus and Regulus are not puzzle pieces. Remus has to actually drop his
arms a bit to wrap them around Regulus' shoulders instead of his head, and
Regulus just goes face-first into Remus' sweater. If he wanted to hook his
chin on Remus' shoulder, he would have to stand on his tip-toes. If Remus
wanted to rest his cheek on Regulus' head, he would have to bend his knees
to reach. It's honestly fucking ridiculous.

And yet, Remus does it anyway, because sometimes you do ridiculous

things for your best friend, and for yourself. This is one of those times, and
for his troubles, Regulus eventually relaxes enough to heave a sigh like this
is a big inconvenience and loosely hooks his arms around Remus' back.

Despite the act, Regulus' voice is quiet and soft when he whispers, "I'm
sorry, Remus."

"For…?" Remus trails off, not entirely certain. There are a lot of things to
be sorry about between all of them at this point.

"What I did. Pretending to poison you." Regulus takes in a deep breath and
tightens his arms around Remus, fully just squeezing him. "I was—well,
there's no excuse for that. It was wrong and...excessive. I took it too far. I
knew exactly how to hurt you the worst, and I used that."

Remus can tell that Regulus isn't joking, that they're not dancing around the
topic with wry, dark humor now. The shift in tone makes him a little
uncomfortable, honestly, because he'd genuinely rather just joke about it
and move on, but he's also aware that it was wrong—and excessive.

Even still, he can't help but weakly joke, "Well, you've always been rather
dramatic, so I wasn't too terribly surprised."

"Remus," Regulus croaks, sounding close to tears, "I'm not teasing. I—I
mean it. I'm not a good person, but I think I've become better since knowing
you. I should have never—"

"Alright, alright, stop," Remus mumbles. "It's fine."

"It's really not," Regulus says softly. "That was so fucked up."

"Yeah. Yeah, it was," Remus agrees, because it was. He gives Regulus a

little squeeze. "You know it was wrong. You won't do anything like that
again. I—Reg, I forgive you."

Regulus makes a quiet, muffled noise and chokes out, "No one's ever done
that before."
"What?"

"Forgive me."

"Oh, bloody hell," Remus breathes out, stricken. "Well, I do, yeah? I forgive
you. I always will."

"I'm sorry," Regulus says again.

"I know. I forgive you," Remus repeats, and then they stand there in silence,
hugging each other like they're not the two most awkward, touch-averse
bastards they know. But, well, sometimes you do what you have to for your
best friend.

Eventually, the mood settles and calms.

"This is torture," Regulus grumbles.

"I know," Remus says, amused.

Regulus elbows him in his side. "Why are you so fucking tall? Like,
actually, what's wrong with you?"

"Genetics."

"Oh, sure, blame it on genetics. That's my favorite excuse for all the things
wrong with me."

"Well, in your case, that's entirely fair," Remus points out.

"At least you're warm," Regulus murmurs, tipping his head forward to drop
it against Remus' chest. Remus can't resist patting him on his head, only to
immediately stop when Regulus lets out a hiss like a snake warning
someone before an incoming strike. "Did you just pat me?"

"What? No," Remus says quickly, then does it again.

"I will actually stab you if you do that again," Regulus declares firmly, fully
not fucking around, and Remus drops his hand more seriously that time
because he believes him.

Remus sighs. "That sort of defeats the whole purpose of us reinstating our
friendship with a wholesome embrace, Reg."
"Oh, is that what this is?"

"Obviously."

"Well, it's fucking stupid," Regulus informs him, sounding a bit petulant.
Nonetheless, he doesn't pull away. "Let me rephrase my earlier statement.
You're lucky you're warm."

"Been cold?" Remus asks.

Regulus pauses for a long moment, then mumbles, "Yeah. Turns out your
internal temperature can drop when you've been betrayed by your best
friend and boyfriend at the same time. Not the most fun discovery, let me
tell you."

"I'm sorry, Regulus," Remus says softly, tightening his hold again without
deciding to. The guilt makes him want to squeeze. He suddenly understands
exactly why Regulus squeezed him earlier.

"You can't do it again, or I'll plan your murder so I can get away with it
properly. I don't forgive you for it, not really. I just—I'm accustomed to
making you suffer, that's all."

"Alright."
"I'm not joking, Remus," Regulus tells him.

Remus nods. "I know you're not. I'm not going to lie, or keep secrets, or
plot with your boyfriend again. I promise. And I only promise because I'm
sure I won't break it."

"You're missing a crucial part in your promises."

"Am I? What's that?"

"The part where you promise never to shag my brother again," Regulus
says, and Remus tenses. There's a pointed beat of silence where Regulus is
waiting, and then the silence stretches on and on until Regulus slowly lifts
his head and tips it back to stare at him. "This is when you promise,
Remus."

"Is it?" Remus mumbles, his voice weak.

"Yes, it is," Regulus confirms icily, eyes narrowing. Another long silence.
When it becomes painfully obvious that Remus isn't going to be promising
this, Regulus' eyes widen. "No. No, absolutely not! You can't fuck my
brother, Remus!"
"Believe me, I'm well aware that I won't be shagging Sirius again," Remus
says, and he can't take the sour note out of his voice if he tried. "He
wouldn't be willing to at all."

Regulus pauses, considering, and then he scoffs and nods sharply. "Well,
that's true. What do I need your promise for with that? Sirius is done with
you."

"He is?" Remus whispers. It's like Regulus just stabbed him in the heart
after all. Remus would have preferred the knife.

"Yeah," Regulus confirms simply.

Remus swallows. "And you, Regulus? You said once that you'd never be
done with James."

"That was before I knew who he was," Regulus declares, eyes flashing with
that frigid fury of his. "It turns out, I knew him all along; I just needed to
figure that out. I was done with him before we ever began."

"Reg," Remus murmurs, "that's not fair. You know James—"

"Yes, I do. I've known him since I was eleven. I've hated him just as long,"
Regulus cuts in ruthlessly. "That hasn't changed. In fact, it's gotten worse."
"We're friends, you know. James and I," Remus admits.

Regulus jolts against him, then pulls back sharply, taking a step away. "No,
you're not."

"We are."

"Then stop."

"I won't," Remus says simply. "We became friends, and he's the only one
who gets what this feels like for me. Even before all the, ah, plotting, we
were friendly. You know that. Ignoring the scheming and such, or even
including it, if you like, he's been a good friend to me. He's still a good
friend to me."

"He can't have you," Regulus snaps. "He's always fucking stealing people
from me. Sirius, and now you. Why are you even here if you—"

"He's not stealing—"

"Yes, he is. That's what he does. He's—"

Remus huffs and loudly interrupts with, "He's in love with you, Reg. If he's
interested in stealing anyone, it's not me. It's you."

"Well, that will never happen," Regulus hisses. "He'll just have to do
without. You want to be his friend, Remus? Fine. Be his friend. Let's see
how long it takes before he steals you, too."

"Christ, Regulus, he's not going to steal me. I'm not a bloody object, you
know. I'm a person capable of having more than one friend, and you're my
best friend anyway, so I don't know what it is you're so bloody stressed
about," Remus says.

"I'm not stressed!" Regulus bursts out, very obviously stressed.

"Would another hug help?" Remus asks and lifts his arms, only to
immediately let out an oomph and curl forward, doubling over in response
to Regulus elbowing him in the solar plexus. He wheezes slightly and
chokes out, "You know, I'm going to assume that's a no."

"Smart man," Regulus says firmly, whirling around and focusing on his
stove. "Now go sit down. I'm about to cook."

Despite himself, Remus smiles as he rubs his chest and goes to do just that,
unsure if the breathless quality to him comes from where Regulus just
elbowed him, or if it's the effects from his earned acceptance.
Probably a bit of both.

Chapter End Notes

reminder: sirius and regulus have had one (ONE) therapy session, so
they still have some work to do on some things. rest assured, they will
get there <3

also, if anyone is worried that sirius and regulus aren't going to be held
accountable for their actions past just this, you don't need to be. it will
still be addressed.

this is just the slow start of healing; it gets so, so much better. also²,
remus and james get their time to shine in the future, i promise. just
trust the process

Oh, and this had me wheezing:

Sirius: you can't fuck my brother, James!

James, whining: but whyyyy 😩😭

(Spoilers for next chapter: Regulus and James see each other again;
Sirius and Remus see each other again as well. Chaos ensues.)
 Chapter 22
Chapter Notes

Hello!!! A few things:

First, warnings for this chapter: you're not gonna believe me, but a
little bit of spice (I know that seems crazy, considering
everything, but bear with me on this; I once again ask you to trust the
process), nothing explicit (for those of you smut-averse, there's no in-
depth descriptions, I promise), and then there's some arguing, crying,
realizations, and the turning tide of making some healthy decisions,
but not first without the near-miss of toxicity.

Second, I have updated the chapter count (30 chapters in all, only eight
more to go), and the reason I have done this is because I'm basically
finished writing the fic!!! Who cheered? 😌

Third, due to the fact that I'm basically finished, I will be posting every
day until it's all up and completed, rather than posting on Wednesday,
Friday, and Sunday. So, for the next eight days, I will be consistently
posting. No more waiting, loves <3

All that aside, I hope you enjoy!!!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Regulus would like to think that letting Remus back into his life would be a
simple transition, but it's not. Really, as mortifying as it is to acknowledge,
he's well aware that it's a decision partially made from selfish, desperate
reasons.

He knows he didn't accept Remus back in just because he actually forgives

him. He does, but he also doesn't. It also genuinely comes from a place of
needing his best friend, because sometimes, when your life feels a few
fractures away from shattering, you just need that person who will help you
pick up the pieces, even if it cuts their hands to do it.

Due to this, the transition is not as smooth as it probably looks from the
outside. It's an awful thing, needing someone you wish you didn't want.
Because Regulus looks at Remus, and he sometimes wishes he never met
him. Because Regulus looks at Remus, and he sometimes wishes that his
life didn't feel like it was falling apart, just so he could toss Remus aside
and be strong enough to withstand the loss of him. Because Regulus looks
at Remus, and he sometimes wishes that he could change his mind and send
him away again, and mean it.

Because, sometimes, Regulus looks at Remus and finds himself thinking

about the fact that he chose Sirius. That's one of the most painful parts of all
this. Remus chose Sirius. A part of Regulus can't even blame him; it seems
like the natural order of life that Sirius gets everything, even Regulus' best
friend.

So, things are not smooth for them at the start, hugging aside. In this
friendship, Remus has always been the better person, the better friend—
until he wasn't. Before this, Remus made no mistakes. He didn't fuck up
once. He didn't do anything wrong, and that's why Regulus got too
complacent. But, really, when Remus goes for it, he goes for it, doesn't he?
Go big or go home, apparently. He went big with this grievance, and
Regulus hopes now that he wishes he just went home.

Despite all of that, Regulus can't get over the fact that Remus came back.
After what Regulus did to him, Remus still came back. Regulus thought he
thoroughly burnt that bridge, and here Remus is, fully attempting to make
that leap all the way across with no way of knowing if he'll make it to the
other side, or fall. A horrible, harsh part of Regulus hopes he falls. A tender,
hidden part of Regulus knows he would fling his hand out to grab him and
haul him over the edge, or simply go down with him. Those two parts are at
constant war with each other.

What stings the most is that they were never supposed to be on opposite
sides to begin with.

Regulus doesn't know how long it will last, but he hates this. He hates all of
it. In some ways, this is worse. Because things aren't the way they were
before; things have changed between them. Silence between them feels
wrong, and stifling. When they look at each, sometimes it's like there's
something big sitting between them that neither of them can see past. Even
the way they interact is different now; the quieter Regulus gets, the more
careful Remus is with him, and around him.

It's like there's an elephant in the room with them, too large to ignore, gentle
until provoked, and then it'll fucking crush them both. They avoid it as
much as they can.

It's exhausting.

And yet, over the course of a week, they put in the effort. They keep seeing
each other, keep trying, keep figuring out how to find their rhythm again.
Regulus feeds him and doesn't try to poison him. He goes over and falls
asleep on Remus' couch and smiles when they settle in to read beside each
other the next morning. They play chess, and Remus wins, and Regulus
chuckles when he blushes at his victory. Sometimes, they talk; sometimes,
they're quiet. But, slowly, they're trying. They're getting there.

It's still hard, though. Still difficult in a way it never was before, and
Regulus is learning to adjust. He's not very good with adjusting, if he's
honest, so he's at a loss more often than he's not. It's fucking Hell, to be
honest.

Regulus can't talk to Pandora about it, because he knows exactly what she'll
say, and he doesn't want to hear that. He can't talk to Remus about it,
because that sort of defeats the whole purpose, and he knows this rebuilt
foundation they're balancing on will crumble underneath them as soon as he
does. That's really the extent of people in his life he would ever go to for
advice, so he's left with avoiding the issue.

To do this, Regulus eventually caves and finds himself a proper distraction.

What's a better way to avoid his issues with his best friend than focusing on
his issues with his brother? In a strange twist of events, Sirius is the solution
to escaping the hell his life has become. The irony is not lost on him.

So, with that in mind, Regulus goes to see his brother. They haven't seen
each other since their first therapy session, and Regulus is surprised that
Sirius hasn't invaded his life again since. He's both grateful for that, and
irritated by it. Of course, Sirius has texted him to tell him that he's peeved
off that Mrs. Delby likes him more, to which Regulus simply responded
with a smirking emoji. Sirius has also sent him no less than six different
links to those videos where soldiers reunite with their families, because he
found out when they got drunk together that Regulus cries over every—
single—one.
(He can't help it. Genuinely, it's an instant tear-trigger for him, sober or
drunk. He's not proud of it, and he doesn't know why those videos get him,
but they do. Especially when it's an older brother surprising a younger
brother. Those fuck him up.)

Regulus, in turn, sends Sirius sad dog videos in retaliation, because he

discovered that those make him cry, especially the videos where dogs are
being euthanized. He sent Sirius one where a nearly-feral dog living on the
streets was caught with all intentions of being given a home, only for it to
have a condition that resulted in him being euthanized—after, of course, the
dog was cleaned up and treated nicely and finally given warmth and love.
Sirius had sent him a voice message after midnight with a croaky voice,
obviously having just cried, to tell him that he was evil and had no heart or
soul. Regulus had sent a voice message back of him quietly laughing.

Strangely, Regulus thinks Ms. Pomfrey would be proud of their progress.

In any case, Regulus needs a break from the excruciating issues with his
life, so he goes in search of his brother to see if it will be more or less
excruciating with him. Taking a page from Sirius' book, he doesn't warn
him beforehand; he simply goes to his flat, picks the lock, and lets himself
in.

"Sirius!" Regulus calls out as he comes in. "Whatever you're doing, stop
doing it. I need to get drunk, so you—"
The rest of his sentence dies on Regulus' tongue as he comes to a
screeching halt, staring at James, who stares right back from the sofa with
wide eyes. They're both frozen, James' mouth hanging open, Regulus' mind
eerily blank.

Oh, James. Fucking James. Of course it's James, because he's the one issue
that Regulus isn't running to, or away from. James is the issue that holds
him in place, that sits directly in the center of his chest, a molten sun turned
cold and hard. James is the issue he carries with him, that he can't do
anything with, that he can't avoid or throw himself into. He's quite sure that
he's stuck now, forced to just stand here for the rest of eternity, neither
coming or going.

God, but he's beautiful, isn't he? That's really the first thought that registers
in Regulus' mind, and he instantly wants to internally fling it away from
himself. It takes up too much space. Doesn't leave room for the vitriol and
hatred he's supposed to feel flooding him. He knows it's in there, it has to
be, because he's felt it. He's endured the sharp edges of it constantly leaving
tiny lacerations on his lungs. It can't be just looking at James and finding
him beautiful. He is, but so fucking what? He's not just beautiful; he's also
the person that makes Regulus want to fucking lose it. Really, truly lose it.
Scream so hard that his throat bleeds, slide down a wall while sobbing, rip
his hair out and curl into a ball type of losing it.

Oh, but he is beautiful. He's so heartbreakingly beautiful, actually. Regulus

hasn't seen him in so long; he can feel the sight of him in his knees, making
them wobbly. James' hair is as messy as it always is, defying gravity,
effortless like he just rolled out of bed. He looks so innocent when he's
startled, wide eyes behind round glasses and soft lips—which Regulus
knows for a fact—parted with no words coming out. He's wearing red, and
the only thing Regulus can think is that he should have brought a raspberry
danish with him.
And then, James is a sudden burst of motion as he springs up from the sofa
with a throw pillow in hand, which he holds in front of him like a shield. He
looks like a spooked deer, and the first thing he blurts out is, "You can't be
here."

Regulus' brain does a record-scratch. He arches an eyebrow and says, like a

reflex, "I beg your fucking pardon?"

"You can't be here," James repeats, fingers digging into the pillow, the
whites of his eyes visible like a terrified animal.

"Oh? Can't I? Why can't I?" Regulus asks. "This is my brother's flat, James.
I rather think I can be here, actually."

"I—you—" James swallows and gives a tiny, jerky shake of his head, tense
all over. "Sirius isn't here. You should go."

"Is that right?" Regulus takes a step forward, watching in mounting interest
as James automatically takes a step back, keeping the same amount of space
between them. Oh. Oh, Regulus sees what this is. "Why, James, if I didn't
know any better, I'd think you weren't happy to see me."

"Sirius isn't here, Regulus," James says again, visibly stressed.

"That's alright," Regulus replies calmly, eyes fixed on James as he takes
another step forward. James copies him again, only to bump into the sofa
and hastily take a step to the left. "I'm sure he'll be back soon enough. You
can entertain me until then."

James releases a shaky laugh, high in his throat, a noise of pure panic.
"Well, you don't want that. I'm a terrible host, really, and you—you hate me
anyway. Remember that? Remember how you hate me?"

"Oh, of course. I haven't forgotten, James, not at all," Regulus informs him,
hearing the frosty quality to his own voice. He cocks his head. "So, you're
back, then? Sirius forgave you?"

"Er," James mumbles, "we're working on it."

Regulus hums. "Be a shame if something happened to ruin all that hard
work I'm sure you're putting in."

"Regulus," James says, strained, his fingers flexing on the pillow. He jolts a
little bit when Regulus moves forward to the other side of the sofa, directly
beside him. Instantly, he slides to the left again, turning his body to face
Regulus and lifting the pillow a bit more to keep it between them.

"What's the matter, James?" Regulus murmurs, watching him, tracking his
every move. "You seem tense."
James never looks away from him, as if Regulus is a snake that will strike
the moment his eyes move away and give the opening. "Just a bit. I—you
know, I really have to go. I was just on my way out before you came in,
actually, so I—"

"Don't be rude," Regulus cuts in. "I've never known you to be rude. In fact,
you've always been unsettlingly kind. Well, excluding when you were lying
to me all that time. That wasn't very kind of you, James."

"I—yes, I know," James says weakly, nearly tripping over his own feet as
he scrambles back another step when Regulus moves closer. "I know, and
I'm sorry. I'm—I—fuck, I am so fucking sorry, Regulus. If you'd believe it,
my intentions were kind, if nothing else. I know that's no excuse. I know
you hate me for it, and you have every right to."

Regulus reaches up and calmly, casually unravels the scarf from his neck.
It's James' fucking scarf, the one he gave him when Regulus called him
while drunk and missing him, the night before his birthday. Of course,
there's nothing to be done about that now, and he's far more interested in the
way James' gaze snags on the movement. He recognizes it, clearly, because
his eyes dart up to Regulus', wide with surprise, but he ultimately gets
distracted by the slow reveal of Regulus' throat. He's visibly holding his
breath, struggling to rip his gaze away, eyes finding their way back over and
over.

"Well, if we're being perfectly honest with each other—which I do

recommend, really—then I must confess that I don't really hate you for
lying about Sirius," Regulus admits quietly, gently rolling the scarf up to
drop it on the arm of the sofa. His words cause James' gaze to snap up to his
face, eyebrows furrowing with visible confusion. "Oh, don't think I'm happy
about it, because I'm not. I'm really quite furious with you, actually. For
lying, for pretending you didn't know who I was talking about when I
mentioned my brother, my mother, my father. For deceiving me just so we
could fuck."

"No," James argues immediately, jaw clenching. "No, Regulus, that wasn't
why. That was never why. Bloody hell, I did all that before we really...did
much. It wasn't about shagging. That's not why; that's not me. You have to
know that."

"Alright, I'll let that one go," Regulus concedes with a small incline of his
head. A part of him already knew that. James, despite all that he did, isn't
that kind of man. "And I can see how you two were in a difficult situation,
especially when considering that I'm sure neither of you wanted to out me
to Sirius, so that was a whole other issue on top of the rest."

James starts to open his mouth to respond, but he seems to get stuck, his
breath audibly hitching as Regulus begins removing his coat. It's not James'
coat, thankfully, just a black peacoat with the six wide-set buttons that he
lazily plucks one at a time. James watches avidly, helplessly, strangling the
pillow.

"Of course, that doesn't much help your case, if I'm honest. I mean, you
worked with my best friend behind my back to form lies, trading
information, creating plans to make fools out of me and my brother,"
Regulus continues. "I told you things, James, things I've never told anyone.
I trusted you as much as I can ever trust anyone. I let you in, I opened up to
you, and I fell in love—and what did I get for it?"
"I know I was wrong," James whispers, snatching his gaze up to meet
Regulus' eyes again, "but don't think for a second that I was insincere in my
feelings for you. Those were never a lie."

"Have you ever heard the story of the boy who cried wolf?" Regulus asks
dryly, sliding his coat off his shoulders and draping it easily, calmly on the
back of the sofa.

"I fell in love, too," James rasps, swallowing thickly. "What do you think all
of it was about, Regulus?"

"Mm, well, that's neither here nor there," Regulus muses, flicking his
fingers like he's batting away the issue. "In fact, a part of me is almost—
relieved, isn't that ridiculous? I used to think that the worst thing you were
capable of was still better than my best. It's hilarious now, really, but I once
thought your worst secret was most likely something like you keeping
snack wrappers under your bed because you're too lazy to take it to the bin.
How mundane. And wrong, as it turns out. All that time I spent thinking
you were too good, practically perfect, and I didn't deserve you—and look
at us now."

"You thought that?" James asks, drawing up short, looking stricken by such
a thing. "That's—"

"Well, love is blind, James," Regulus cuts in. "It's come to my attention that
you're capable of making mistakes like the rest of us humans squirming
about in the mud. Not so pleasant down here, is it? But, you know, at least
we're well-suited."
"I am human," James says softly. "I wish you hadn't put me on a pedestal,
Regulus. It hurts me just as much as you when I come crashing from it. I
never wanted to let you down."

"But you did. It's alright. Most people do," Regulus tells him simply. "That's
not why I hate you, though. You seem to be under the impression that all of
this is the reason, and while it certainly doesn't help, and I'm very upset
about it—my hatred for you originates from something else entirely."

"What's that?" James mumbles, preemptively wincing but asking anyway

like he can't help himself. Regulus moves forward again, and he takes yet
another step back, only to clip the side of the sofa with his leg and briefly
glance down. One distraction, one mistake, and Regulus closes most of the
distance between them, coming to a halt inches away from the pillow.
James' head snaps up quickly, and he sucks in a sharp breath as he freezes,
eyes bulging.

Regulus reaches out and gently places his hands on the pillow, just beneath
James' fingers, not touching but almost. "I've hated you since I was eleven
years old, James."

"What?" James breathes out, and Regulus tugs the pillow out of his hands
the moment his fingers go slack from the shock. When Regulus swings his
arm out to toss it on the end of the sofa, James darts his gaze towards it,
obviously dismayed that his shield has been taken away from him.
"You stole my brother away from me," Regulus murmurs, and James' face
softens into something sad. "Of course I hated you for that. Sirius' new best
friend. I didn't even know your name, but oh, I hated you. Because you took
him away from me, and you showed him a world I never got to be a part of,
and he went to you when he left me. You're a thief, James Potter."

"It wasn't like that. I never meant—" James cuts himself off, shaking his
head. He releases a shaky breath. "It wasn't a competition, Regulus. You
have to know how much Sirius talked about you. All I heard about was little
Reggie. He loved you so, so much. He still does."

"Oh, what's done is done. There's no changing any of that now," Regulus
says. "It is what it is. You even stole me, and I have to give credit where it's
due; that's no easy feat. But you managed it. Once a thief, always a thief.
After all, you're even stealing Remus now, aren't you?"

"No!" James blurts out, near-frantic. "Of course not. He's your best friend. I
couldn't—"

"You can. You will. It's your way; you're so very good at it," Regulus says,
closing the space between them without warning, reaching up to gently run
his fingers through James' hair before he can scramble backwards even an
inch. A muffled sound falls out of James' mouth, and his eyes flutter shut.
"The question is, James, who steals you?"

"Regulus, please," James chokes out. "Sirius will fucking kill me."
"You weren't so worried about that before," Regulus muses, crowding
closer, dragging his free hand up James' arm. They hang limply by his sides,
but he's flexing his fingers. His whole body is trembling, Regulus can feel
it.

James wheezes a slightly hysterical laugh. "No, I was. I really was. But
you're just—you're so—"

"What am I?" Regulus asks, watching him, studying his face from up close.
There's a cloud growing thicker in his mind, and the proximity has effects,
making his heart thump hard in his chest. He's warmer than he's been in a
while, warm all over, a steady heat building under his skin.

"You're so lovely," James whispers, and his eyes open. His pupils are blown
wide, and Regulus gets the treat of watching them expand even more as
James hungrily scans his face, swaying closer like he can't help it. "God,
you're so fucking lovely. Every bit of you, Regulus. You always have
been."

"You want me." Regulus speaks frankly, not asking because he already
knows. "Look at you, James. It'll ruin so much for you, but you're ready to
risk it all. You want me so badly, don't you?" James just gazes at him,
looking ready to snap, and Regulus slides his hand down from James' hair
to cup his cheek, reaching out with his thumb to gently drag it along James'
bottom lip. His mouth parts, a quiet whine falling out, his breath hot and
stuttered against the pad of Regulus' thumb. Regulus lifts his gaze to meet
James' eyes, not looking away as he murmurs, "Have me, then."
"I'm supposed to be staying away from you," James croaks, rattling in
place, trying so very hard. He really is. Regulus can respect it, even as he
rips James' restraint apart.

Regulus leans in close enough that their mouths are only a breath apart and
whispers, "It'll be our little secret, love."

"Fuck," James says. Just that. Just a quiet, defeated fuck that signifies that
Regulus is victorious, and James snaps.

His hands dart up to frame Regulus' face, and he's the one who closes the
distance between them, groaning the moment their mouths meet. James
kisses him deeply, with wild abandon, completely giving in. Regulus opens
up to him immediately, letting him in, drawing him in—that was the whole
point to this, so that's the story he's sticking to. If he's honest, though, he's
giving in as well, just as sucked into James as he has always been, helpless
to do anything else.

He's so fucking grateful for the excuse.

James' mouth is hot against his own, warming him all the way through,
sending tingles through every inch of him until his toes are curling in his
shoes. He didn't forget that James could do this to him, could make him feel
like this, could make him burn. It's like every cell in his body is vibrating
furiously, lit up, on fire in the best way. He shudders, pressing closer,
moaning unabashedly as he nips at James' bottom lip.
Regulus wants him. Christ, he wants him. He wants him with the same
desperation and fervor that James feels for him, matching perfectly,
something impossible not to get lost in.

"Oh god," James gasps out when they break apart, both panting, but he
doesn't go anywhere. He doesn't pull away. He doesn't stop. No, he ducks
his head forward and mouths along Regulus' jaw, muffling a groan into his
skin as Regulus tilts his head back to give him more space. He sucks and
bites and whines, "Oh my god."

"I know," Regulus agrees breathlessly, clenching his fingers in James' hair,
tugging on him so they can go stumbling towards the sofa. James follows
like a horse on a lead, head lifting just to kiss him again, hands yanking at
his shirt.

Regulus pulls away just enough to lift his arms and let James snatch his
shirt off, immediately reaching out to shove James' shirt up as well, tugging
on it insistently. James just whips it off and curls right back into him,
cupping the back of his neck to reel Regulus into another kiss that nearly
knocks him right off his feet. The press of skin on skin makes them both
groan into the kiss, and Regulus feels his control slip further and further
away from him.

His movements become frantic, hands running all over James wherever he
can reach, trying to touch all of him at once. He kicks off his shoes without
ever breaking the kiss, and James makes a muffled sound of frustration
when he tries to do the same, only to nearly fall over.
"Dammit," James hisses, kicking his shoes aside the moment he's free of
them, like he's offended by them. He starts to reach out immediately after,
but Regulus just braces his hands on his chest and gives him a little shove,
making him fall back down onto the sofa. He barely gets to reach up and
right his glasses before Regulus climbs right into his lap. James makes a
sound like he's been punched, hands landing on his hips as he gazes up at
him, looking stunned, wearing an expression of awe like it's been slapped
on. "Christ, Regulus. You're so beautiful, love. Come here. Fucking come
here."

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Regulus mumbles, even as he rocks into
him, one hand braced on the back of the couch and the other pushing
through James' hair. James' head falls back with the motion, and Regulus
hovers over him, leveraging himself up from the platform of his thighs by
using his knees. James' arms slip around his waist, hands sliding up his
back.

James seems to get distracted pressing open-mouthed kisses along the line
of his shoulder, muttering, "I've missed you. God, I've missed you this
whole time. How can I—what was I meant to do? I never thought I'd have
you again. I can't help it. I can't help it, Regulus."

"Tread carefully, James," Regulus warns, ducking in to dip his head and nip
sharply at James' jaw. "Watch what you say."

"I love you," James whispers anyway, and Regulus squeezes his eyes shut
as he turns his head to press his face into James' neck, breathing him in. "I
love you so much."
"Stop," Regulus croaks.

"I can't," James replies, pulling him closer, holding him in the circle of his
arms. "I refuse to."

Regulus inhales, exhales. Inhales, exhales. In and out. His heart continues
to break in his chest, trying to escape the tight cage of it and fall directly
into James' waiting hands. That's where it belongs. It's his. It always was,
and it still is, and it forever will be. James is a thief, and he stole it for
himself with his sunshine smile and gravitational pull. There's nothing
Regulus can do to change that.

"One of my biggest fears was letting a man own me," Regulus says softly.
"And then there's you."

"No one owns you," James tells him. "I certainly don't."

"Then explain to me how I'm yours," Regulus whispers, pulling back to

look at him, swallowing harshly. "I'm all yours, James. All of me. You
could do anything to me."

"Then let me love you," James begs, one hand lifting to cup his cheek. "I
just want to love you, Regulus."

Regulus exhales shakily and confesses, "I want you to."

"I do. I do. I swear I do, love," James vows, pulling him closer so their
foreheads can tap together. "And—and this is an equal exchange sort of
thing, really. I'm yours, too."

"You're not all mine."

"Everyone has pieces of themselves that so many others get, a bit like gifts.
I don't have all of you, either. We're made up of so much, all of us."

"Are you trying to say we contain multitudes?" Regulus asks.

James brushes a gentle kiss over his lips. "Don't we? I think everyone does.
We all have so much to give. You have so much of me, love. Please keep it;
I don't want it back. Can't that be enough? Can't we have each other as we
already do, and keep giving each other more? Please. Please."

"Stop talking," Regulus says and kisses him to shut him up, because if he
keeps at it, keeps begging, then Regulus will give him whatever he wants.

James does, in fact, stop talking. He ends up putting his mouth to other
uses, all of which Regulus would claim are vast improvements. It's so easy
to sink into him, swaddled in his warmth, the ache of wanting him
dissipating. It's not difficult at all to forget the hatred, or anger, or pain
when James lays him out on the sofa and makes him want for nothing; he
has it all, he has everything, it's his to claim for right now.
Any form of shagging James is a bit like magic, honestly. He just does
something to Regulus. He warms him up, warms him until he's hot and
squirming, relentlessly reintroducing him to the concept of pleasure that can
and will peak, a climb that he's taken before, but no one—absolutely no
one, ever—has pushed him over the edge except James. It's a fucking
transcendent experience, not for the faint of heart, and Regulus always
thinks about la petite mort, meaning 'the little death' in French, which is a
euphemism for an orgasm.

He gets it. He really, truly does. James makes sure he gets it.

"Fucking hell, I'll never get enough of you," James whispers at some point,
in the midst of all the other mumbled promises and praise and
sweetnothings that have clicked into Regulus' heart like a typewriter. James
kisses the inside of Regulus' thigh and metaphorically pulls the lever on the
typewriter to start a new line. "Forever isn't long enough to savor every bit
of you. We only have the rest of our lives, love. Can I savor you for the rest
of mine?"

(Sometimes, Regulus thinks James belongs in a romance novel. Like,

genuinely. He says the most mental, maddening things at times that makes
Regulus believe he'd put famous heartthrobs to shame. He'll open his mouth
and something with fall out that makes Regulus wonder how everyone in a
five mile radius hasn't swooned or dropped their fucking knickers in
offering.)

Regulus makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat and shakily buries
his hand in James' hair, fisting it and guiding his head to get him to shut up
again, arching beneath him and waiting with building anticipation for yet
another little death. Leave it to James to make dying positive. Jesus Christ.

When Regulus went into this, he did so trying very hard to keep it together.
He has not kept it together, and in fact, he falls apart in the way only James
Potter can make him, shagging or not. It isn't until the rush of everything
dies down that he can even begin dragging himself around to gather all the
scattered pieces of himself, a bit slow about it, still overwhelmed by the
force in which he was blown away.

James, the ridiculous thing he is, dropped all of his weight on Regulus
approximately five minutes ago and hasn't moved since. He's a lump on top
of him, head pillowed on his chest, splayed out on him like pinning him
down this way might keep him there forever. Regulus lets him live in that
illusion for a bit longer, blinking up at the ceiling as he waits for the
intermittent tremors of his legs to pass enough that he'll actually be able to
walk away without wobbling.

"Well," Regulus says, eventually, "I don't think Sirius would approve at all
how you've entertained his brother while he was away, James."

"No," James mumbles with a deep sigh. "No, he won't."

Regulus pats his head and hums. "I don't think he'll believe I seduced you,
either."
"I know," James groans, then lifts his head to squint at Regulus, outright
pouting. "But you did. You absolutely did."

"You weren't complaining at the time," Regulus points out.

James hums, and it's a deep rumble in his chest that makes Regulus
automatically try to press his knees together, except James is lying between
them, so all he really manages to do is squeeze James' hips with his thighs.
A slow grin spreads across James' face as he props himself up and leans in
to quietly murmur, "No, I wasn't. Do it again."

"Best not," Regulus says casually. "You wouldn't want to defile Sirius' little
brother again, would you?"

"I didn't defile you," James protests weakly, deflating a little when Regulus
arches an eyebrow at him. "Oh, piss off. You were very pleased with all the
defiling, in any case."

"Do be sure to mention that to Sirius. I'm sure that will make things go
smoother for you," Regulus muses.

"I think I'll leave the details out, if that's alright," James mutters dryly.

Regulus narrows his eyes at him. "Aren't you going to try holding me to our
little secret?"
"I'm telling him," James insists firmly, holding his gaze, not backing down
an inch. "I'm not lying to anyone anymore."

"You're going to tell Sirius that you shagged his little brother yet again?"
Regulus asks incredulously, surprised by this, though some part of him isn't.
That's James, though. The most unexpected, predictable man he's ever
known.

James nods, not at all joking. "Yes, I am."

"You're funeral," Regulus says, reaching up to pat his cheek before he turns
and slips right out from underneath James, springing up from the sofa. He
gets his balance (no wobbly legs, he's pleased to note) and immediately
starts shuffling around to gather his clothes and get dressed.

"Where are you going?" James asks warily, cautiously dragging himself up
to at least locate his pants and drag them on, but he seems more interested
in watching Regulus move around with a dying light of hope shifting into
dread in his eyes.

Regulus doesn't say anything until he's slipping back into his coat, having
gathered all the pieces of himself and stuffed them somewhere hidden. He
turns to look James straight in the eyes and says, "Away from you. I thought
that was rather obvious. Surely you didn't think this meant anything."
"Don't do this to me," James whispers immediately.

"I am," Regulus replies. "What did you think was—"

"No," James cuts in harshly, shaking his head. "No, absolutely not. You
want to be cruel, Regulus? You'd damn well best do it with someone who
will believe the shit you spit like venom, because I don't. People don't shag
the way we just did—people don't feel the way we do—if it means nothing.
So, you know what you're not going to do? Fucking this."

"Oh no, it's already done," Regulus replies coldly. "You want to ruin my
life, James? Walk in and out of it as you please, take what you like, and still
demand more? I know how to ruin lives as well, and yours? I've been
wanting to do that since I was eleven years old. So—"

James scoffs—literally scoffs as if offended—and sweeps forward with no

hesitation to capture Regulus' face in between his hands and kiss him before
he can ever finish. Regulus is honestly a bit appalled by this response (most
people do not respond to his cruelty by brushing him off, but of course
James 'The Audacity' Potter didn't get that memo), and yet he melts into it
helplessly anyway. He tries so very hard not to, he really does, but—well,
it's James.

Despite everything, the kiss is soft and slow, and James pulls back to
murmur, "Go on, love. You were saying?"

"I hate you," Regulus whispers, and his voice cracks.

"No, you don't ," James tells him, then kisses him again, and again, and
again. Just quick, warm kisses that drain the tension out of Regulus' body
bit-by-bit.

"You fucking thief," Regulus says between kisses and winds his arms
around James' shoulders to press into him, stretching up to kiss him deeper,
feeling James' hum of triumph reverberate through him.

"We can figure this out, can't we?" James asks hopefully, when the kiss
breaks. He pulls back and gazes at Regulus with those big, earnest eyes that
make Regulus want to give him absolutely everything he wants.

Regulus can't give him this. "Maybe you're right. Maybe I don't hate you. I
can't, really. But this—James, there is no this. There's nothing to figure
out."

"You just think—"

"No. No, listen to me. I—I can't."

James swallows thickly and leans back, staring at him. Slowly, they slip
apart. They drift apart. "Regulus…"
"This was a mistake," Regulus whispers, because it was. It truly was. He'd
just—he'd gotten so caught up, and he was going to be cruel, but all he's
succeeded in doing is hurting them both. "We were a mistake, James."

"If it's about Sirius—"

"Of course it's about Sirius, and it's about you, and it's about me, and it's
about Remus. It's about all of us. None of us are in a place where this could
be anything other than a mistake."

"Then—then what was the point?" James chokes out. "If you're not even
going to try, then why would you—" His face twists, and Regulus' heart
fucking riots. He's never seen James cry like this. It is, hands down, one of
the most tragic things Regulus has ever seen in his life. It's the sun
exploding. "I don't understand. Why would you—"

"James—"

"I know I mucked it up, alright? I—I know, love, but I swear I won't ever
again. I won't—I'll—"

"Stop," Regulus says, his hands shaking. "James, just stop. Don't make this
harder, alright?"
"Me?" James challenges, his voice shaky and loud now, losing the thread
entirely as he starts crying in earnest. "I didn't make you do this! I didn't
make you come here and—and choose to give me love, only to take it away.
If we're such a fucking mistake, then why do you keep making it?!"

Regulus releases a shuddering breath, his fingers twitching with the urge to
reach out and touch James, to draw him into his arms and hold him until he
stops trembling apart. "I—"

"You don't get to do this to me. You can't—Regulus, please, please don't do
this to me. Don't come here and give me this and then fucking crush me. I—
I can't do it again," James says, practically gasping the words out. "Please. I
love you. Christ, I love you so much I can't even fucking breathe. Please
don't—"

And Regulus just—caves. What else is he supposed to do? How is he

supposed to look at James, crying and pleading in front of him, and deny
him anything? Regulus can't. He doesn't have it in him to be cruel to James,
not like this.

What can he do? When the sun is ripping itself apart, what can he do? It's
just light fracturing and spilling over in jagged rivulets of gold. How is he
meant to do anything but try with all the power in him to gather all that gold
in his palms that don't even know how to be tender and try with all his
might to keep it all together? He'd burn for it. He'd burn himself alive on the
blaze of James Potter if it would save him.
"Shh, alright, alright," Regulus whispers, shuffling forward to reach out,
and the moment he does, James makes a choking noise and practically
crumbles into him. James clings to him, in fact, hunched over and crying
and absolutely refusing to let any space between them. Regulus sighs
quietly and rubs his hand up and down James' back soothingly, internally
wondering how he fell in love with one of the most emotional men he's ever
fucking met. "Please stop crying, James. It makes me want to set the things
that have upset you on fire, which is problematic at the moment, because I
think it would only upset you more to see me burn."

James doesn't say anything, but his crying does eventually gentle until it
eases. It leaves him hiccupping out small, stuttered breaths like a child who
has cried so hard they made themselves hyperventilate (Regulus was that
child), and he has his hands fisted in Regulus' coat like he'd just rip it off
before he ever lets go. Regulus cards his fingers through James' hair and
holds him. Keeps holding him.

"I'm sorry," Regulus whispers. "I'm sorry I ever even attempted to be cruel
to you like this."

"Just choose to love me," James rasps, eventually.

"James," Regulus murmurs, cupping the side of his face and gently pushing
him back so they can look at each other, "I'm about to do something
incredibly selfish because falling in love with you was never a choice, but
loving you is a choice I'd like to keep making."
"That doesn't sound selfish at all," James says, sniffling, and he seems to
just melt a little bit, his eyes lighting up.

This isn't what Regulus wanted at all. He doesn't do the things he doesn't
want, and yet here he is, terrified he's about to break James' heart. Because
Regulus can't give him what he wants, or deserves. Not now. God, none of
them are in a place where they can even try. It hasn't been enough time.
They haven't healed yet.

This was a mistake, purely because nothing can come from it. Maybe if it
hadn't happened so soon. Maybe if Regulus hadn't wanted it just as much—
still wants it just as much—and found it in himself to stop, to say it wasn't
the right time, to back off before they both broke themselves crashing
together. Maybe doesn't matter in the end, because here they are anyway,
possibly about to be left in shards and bleeding from the bad idea they've
always been.

"I haven't done it yet," Regulus admits, his heart throbbing like a bruise in
his chest. He's nervous. He's scared. "I don't deserve it, I don't deserve you
—I never did—but I'm asking. I know it's not fair, not really, but I'm asking
you to give me some time. I need time with Sirius, because I don't—I
haven't had enough to be sure of...anything, really. Nothing is right yet,
even if it always feels right with you, and I have to—I need to work on...a
lot of things. So, I'm asking for you to—" He swallows thickly. "I'm asking
for you to wait, James."

James blinks. "Wait."

"I know that's selfish," Regulus breathes out in a rush. "I just can't give you
what you want right now, no matter how badly I wish to. Everything is so
fragile with Sirius, and things are only just getting better with Remus, and
that's not even counting the things we have to handle. It's just—it's a little
too much for me, right now, and I—I'm sorry, but I—"

"Regulus," James cuts in, "that's not selfish. Christ, you're a human being,
love. You're allowed to need time. Honestly, it's realistic, because it's
probably for the best that I take some as well. You're not—you aren't
wrong."

Regulus squeezes his eyes shut. "But to ask you to wait…"

"Don't you start." James' lips brush over his, gentle, a light pressure that's
there-and-gone. It succeeds in making Regulus open his eyes, and James
gazes at him with warmth, a lovely smile of sunshine blooming on his face.
He laughs softly and whispers, "I'd wait forever for you."

"You shouldn't," Regulus whispers back.

"You can't stop me," James replies, then kisses him again. It comes with a
note of finality, not a goodbye, but a see you later. When he pulls back, he
fully pulls back, putting actual space between them with a deep breath. "I'm
glad you asked, Regulus. It would have broken my heart if you hadn't."

"Oh," Regulus says, startled by this, unaware that asking was the least
selfish option after all. He supposes it would be, if they both want the same
thing.

James takes a deep breath, then lets it out. "You're right. We all have things
we need to work on. So, take your time, and I'll take mine. When we're
ready…"

"Yeah," Regulus murmurs, exhaling in solemn relief.

"I love you," James tells him.

Regulus feels a lump form in his throat, but he swallows it down and makes
sure to say it back, because James deserves to hear it. He deserves to know.
"I love you, too."

"Go on," James says softly, jerking his head towards the door, lips curling
up.

"I'm not leaving without the scarf," Regulus mumbles like a petulant child
being stubborn in the midst of a tantrum, and James breaks out into a grin
as Regulus' face burns.

Chuckling, James lopes over to the sofa to grab the scarf, then moves back
in front of Regulus to reach out and gently wind it around his neck just as
he did the very first time. Regulus gazes up at him helplessly, so
ridiculously in love that he's weak with it, really. He'd do anything for
James, he thinks.

James looks at him with unbridled affection, reaching out to gently brush
the curl of his finger down Regulus' cheek, and then he leans in and presses
a tender, lingering kiss to his forehead. Regulus sways into it with a quiet
sigh, eyelids fluttering shut, and he wants to stay right there forever.

But, when James pulls away, Regulus forces himself to do the same. He
leaves, holding firmly onto the scarf the whole way out the door.

Prongs, you better have a damn good excuse for why you're late, Sirius
thinks with a scowl, tapping the corner of his phone against the table, leg
jumping up and down beneath it.

As if he needs another reason to be angry these days. Because he is. He

spends most of his time in a constant state of agitation, and nothing seems
to be giving him relief. Simply put, he's consistently on edge, persistently
wound up, and there's not a fucking thing he can do to stop it.

He'd been under the impression that things would get better with James
back, and they are, they're getting there, but it's not easy like most things
are for them. Forgiveness, embraces, and tears aside—one conversation
didn't resolve things between them, as it turns out.
Or, well, maybe it did. Sirius isn't entirely sure. Things are so strange
between them now that he doesn't really know what's going on half the
time. He just knows it's not like before.

For one thing, Sirius knows what James looks like when he's pining over
someone. He's seen it before with Lily, both before their relationship and
after it fell apart. He couldn't miss it if he tried, and oh, he's been trying.
Because the one James is yearning for now is Sirius' little brother, which is
quite possibly the furthest thing from okay he's ever seen.

He'll catch James looking off into the distance, a quiet solemnity hanging
over him like a dense cloud, gaze unfocused as if lost in memories.
Sometimes, he'll look so fucking sad that Sirius' heart will clench with
reflexive sympathy before he remembers who James is sad about, and all
sympathy will drain out of him in one swoop. The usual bright demeanor
James has always carried around with him is now perpetually dim, like
someone turned the dial of him down. But not just someone. No, not just
someone; Regulus.

James has always rather worn his heart on his sleeve, and Sirius is tired of
looking at it while it's broken over his little brother. It's fucking
complicated.

To make matters worse, take Regulus out of the equation, and things still
aren't simple between them, and Sirius knows he's mostly the one to blame.
He's always in a bad mood these days, snapping all the time, not wanting to
talk or go out or do much at all. It's just that his life still feels like shit, so he
feels like shit, so he acts like a shit to keep with the theme. James, who lives
with him, gets to see most of the aforementioned shit.
Sirius would rather break his fingers one-by-one than ever raise a hand at
James again for any reason, but there's a lot of ways you can hurt someone
without ever hitting them. He knows that well; after all, some of the worst
pain his mother, father, and brother ever caused came from the things they
said, rather than a strike. Not hitting James is easy, so easy that he wonders
how he ever did it to start with. Not hurting him with the things he says?
Well, that's harder.

Lately, Sirius has been very aware of just how much of a prick he can truly
be without even trying. But he is trying. He's so conscious of everything he
says to James, every move he makes around him, forcing himself to think
long and hard before he opens his mouth or twitches even one finger. He's
walking around on eggshells with James, and it makes things difficult for
them, because neither of them have ever had to do anything like that before.

Sometimes, the very sight of James makes him feel like he's going to vomit.
Not because James shagged Regulus. Not because James lied to him,
betrayed him, and broke his heart at the same time that his boyfriend and
brother did, right there along with them when he was supposed to be the
one person above all who never would.

No, it's because of what Sirius has done to James; that's what makes it hard
to look at him. So, he apologizes. He cries a lot. He mentally beats himself
up, and he talks to James until he's hoarse, and he finds ways he can be
better and make up for it. He does his best, and it's not always good, but it
has gotten so much better towards the end of the week when compared to
the beginning. It's just so bloody difficult.
Sirius is trying, though. He does try. When he's feeling his worst, he'll just
seclude himself away from James, refusing to have anything to do with
him, like some form of protection. When he's feeling his best, he'll lay all
over James and crack jokes like nothing has changed between them at all,
trying not to think about how happy that makes James (even briefly). He
wishes he could do better. He wishes he was better.

It honestly wouldn't surprise him if James just opted not to show up. They'd
agreed that morning to meet at a bar later in the afternoon after Sirius spent
all day in the studio (he'd poked his head next door, but Regulus wasn't
working; they still haven't ran into each other there yet) and James spent his
day catching up on work and class stuff that he'd been slacking on
since...everything.

In a move that Sirius considers one of his smarter decisions, he chose a bar
that he and Remus didn't frequent, one that they never even went to, one he
knows of through the few times he's ran into Fabian and Gideon here. It
lowers the chances of seeing Remus by quite a lot, he thinks, and that's the
goal.

Sirius spends a great deal of time not thinking about Remus. On purpose.
Like, putting in the genuine effort not to. Well, there's a conundrum to that,
admittedly, because he'll find himself lost in memories, or wondering what
Remus is doing, or going back and forth on asking James if he's texting
Remus when he sees James on his phone (yet another thing that Sirius has
to be stiffly careful about with James—his continued friendship with Remus
fucking Lupin). But then, Sirius shuts those thoughts down and makes the
decision not to think about Remus, so it hardly counts, does it?
Sirius scoffs under his breath and shoves to his feet, stuffing his cell in his
pocket. He's going home. When he gets there, James can explain why he
never showed up, the tosser. It better be for a good reason, or Sirius might
just lose it.

He stops by the loo before he goes, and as he comes out, he nearly runs
face-first into the divider on the back of the booth right across from the
entrance to the loo. He freezes in place as soon as he hears Remus' voice,
suddenly unable to take another step, his entire body immediately rioting
the moment that voice—that lovely, lovely voice—reaches his ears.

"You're relentless, you know that?" Remus is saying, sounding exasperated,

annoyed, and slightly amused all at once.

Sirius' pounding heart surges up to lodge in his throat, and he whips around
to press his back against the divider, staring wide-eyed at the door to the
men's loo. The divider is tall, even taller than Sirius, with an open top that
has vines carved through it. A child could stand up in the booth and stick
their fingers through it, depending on how tall the child was. It's actually
quite brilliant carving work, Sirius thinks. More importantly, it's the only
thing standing between him and his Moony, who's apparently sitting in the
booth right on the other side—and he's not alone?

"Well, I have to be. I've been trying to get you to at least let us be friends
for literally over a month now, Remus, and it never takes me that long for
anyone," comes the reply from yet another familiar voice, though it takes
Sirius three seconds longer to place it than it did to recognize Remus',
which he did immediately. Gideon. What the fuck is Gideon doing with
Remus? What is happening?
"Maybe if you didn't spend most of that time trying to shag me, it wouldn't
have taken that long," Remus replies dryly.

Sirius tenses up, feeling his molars meet with increasing pressure as he tries
to grind his teeth into dust. Oh, Gideon. Not this. Sirius likes Gideon, and
now… Christ, Sirius is going to have to kill a friend. That's horrid.

"Who said I stopped?" Gideon teases, and Sirius feels less bad about the
whole idea of murdering a friend all of a sudden. Actually, he feels rather
justified. "One of these days, Remus, you and I are going to be proper
friends, the fun kind that shag sometimes. Doesn't that sound fun?"

"Gid," Remus says with a sigh.

Clicking his tongue, Gideon says, "Oh, don't look like that. You're so
morose. What's that about? Tell me what it is, or let me guess—there's
someone your heart is set on already."

Sirius holds his breath, heart racing. There's a long, long beat of silence that
has weight to it, substantial and stretching, and he can't help but wonder if
that's him. If it's his name that comes to Remus' mind. If it's his face Remus
pictures. If it's memories of him that Remus is snatched into. The silence is
full, nearly overflowing, pulsing with an unspoken answer that Sirius can
feel thudding at the same pace of his heart. Sirius, Sirius, Sirius. That's all it
can be, right? It has to be—
"No," Remus answers softly. "No, there's no one."

No one, Sirius thinks. So I'm no one. His heart clenches almost violently in
his chest before it sinks entirely. He's fucking no one, as it turns out.
Really? Brilliant, good to know, he's so damn glad that's the case. It's not as
if he wasn't aware of that already; after all, Walburga had been saying the
same for years, so it's not as if he never heard it.

It's the first time that he really believes it, though. Really, truly believes it
without a fight, without an argument, without some kind of evidence to
back up the opposite. When it's coming from Remus, it slides into Sirius
with no resistance, like a knife finding that easy place between ribs to
pierce the heart.

"Well, what about—" Gideon cuts himself off when Sirius abruptly pushes
away from the divider and casually strolls around it. Remus is sitting with
his back towards him, so it's Gideon who sees him first, and he immediately
sits up straighter as he blurts out, "Sirius!"

Remus spits out a mouthful of drink and immediately starts hacking and
coughing, and Sirius claps him on the back as he goes by, watching him in
faux concern as his head whips towards him, eyes bulging. "Alright there,
mate? Don't choke."

"Sirius, what are you doing here? It's been ages," Gideon declares with a
grin, his eyes sparkling as he scoots further into the booth so Sirius can ease
in beside him.
"Oh, I was waiting for someone, but they never showed. Left me lonely,"
Sirius complains, leaning back casually and resting his arm along the back
of the booth to meet Gideon's gaze, holding it. "Then I saw you, and I
thought to myself, well, now my day's about to get better."

"Is that right?" Gideon arches an eyebrow, but it does nothing to hide the
way he flicks his gaze over Sirius, a blatant look of interest. Gideon hasn't
changed much since Sirius last saw him, but he does have a messy sort of
mullet haircut going on that suits him quite well, and he's wearing an ascot
that—on anyone else—would usually look ridiculous, but works for him,
because of course it does. Gideon flashes him a quick smile and inclines his
head towards Remus. "Sirius, this is Remus."

"Is it?" Sirius asks, swiveling his head lazily to flick his gaze over Remus
with feigned disinterest. Remus is pale, lips parted, eyes wide. He's fucking
beautiful, and Sirius wants to look at him forever. His heartbeat spikes
when their eyes meet, a brief moment that Sirius hastily breaks by looking
away carelessly. "Friend of yours?"

"I work with him at a coffee shop," Gideon says.

"What are you doing working at a coffee shop, Gid?"

"Molly said they need the help; some prick quit without warning,
apparently, so I'm really doing it as a favor to her."
Remus coughs and seems to recover enough to mutter, "That prick you're
talking about is my best mate, Gideon, so it might be best to watch what
you say, yeah?"

"You're a good sort, Remus, defending him when he's not even here. See,
this is why we should be friends. I think you'd make for a wonderful
friend," Gideon says insistently, like he's had this argument many times
before.

"Are you two friends?" Remus asks quietly, flicking his gaze between Sirius
and Gideon almost helplessly.

"Oh, we're proper friends, we are," Sirius replies casually, flashing him a
grin, inwardly preening when Remus fails to look anything other than
utterly enamored with him. No one. Pfft, alright. "Wouldn't you say so,
Gideon? Always did prefer you over Fab, but you can't tell him."

"Our secret, mate," Gideon says, chuckling, and he reaches out to clap his
hand on Sirius' shoulder. He shakes him a little bit, and Sirius flows with
the motion, but the whole time, he just keeps looking at Remus—who keeps
looking right back.

"Although," Sirius continues in a murmur, holding Remus' gaze like a

challenge, "that could be just because you would shag me when Fab never
would."
Remus' shoulders go tight, fingers twitching on top of the table, but his face
slips into something infuriatingly neutral. He suddenly looks like the most
polite man in the room.

"Well, what are friends for?" Gideon asks lightly, nudging the side of Sirius'
knee with his own. Sirius looks away from Remus and makes sure to give
Gideon a long, lingering look and a slow smile, which makes Gideon
respond by sitting up straighter in his seat. Sirius can feel Remus' gaze
locked onto the side of his head. "You said you were waiting on someone,
but they never came? Sorry about your date, mate."

Remus seems to shrink in on himself a bit, looking stricken. Sirius wants,

inexplicably, to bite him. To sink his teeth into Remus and chew him up,
then spit him out again. He also wants to crawl into the seat next to Remus
and cradle him, hold him, run his fingers through Remus' hair and remain
steady while Remus folds himself down into a tight ball that somehow
defies all logic and fits into his arms. Sirius wants to tear Remus apart and
keep him so, so safe.

"Hm, I'm not upset my day hasn't gone well so far," Sirius muses, winking
at Gideon. "It's starting to look up."

"Oh, is it?" Gideon asks, grinning.

Sirius reaches up to lazily tug his hair over one shoulder, baring his throat
just so he can feel Remus' gaze leave a trail of fire over it. "You tell me,
Gid."
"Excuse me," Remus mumbles, starting to slide right out of the booth,
looking a bit ill.

"Oh, don't go anywhere," Sirius says sharply, hand snapping out to capture
Remus' wrist. The contact makes Remus go still like someone just found his
off-button. "I don't want to run you off. Gideon obviously wants to be your
friend."

"Sirius," Remus whispers, swallowing thickly.

"Wouldn't want to ruin that for him, would I?" Sirius asks, his voice brittle
with anger, growing harsher and harsher. "And who am I to stop him,
really? No one. No one at all."

Remus takes in a quick breath, then blows it out, shaking his head slightly.
"I should go. You and Gideon have a lot of catching up to do, I'm sure. I
don't want to interfere."

"Don't you, Remus?" Sirius retorts.

"You know," Gideon says slowly, "I'm starting to get the feeling that you
two know each other."

Sirius barks a harsh laugh. "Oh no, I don't know him. Don't know a damn
thing about him."
"I'm not fucking doing this," Remus hisses, snatching his wrist out of Sirius'
grip, his face flushed, eyes blazing. "I'm not doing this, Sirius. Whatever
game you want to play, I'm not interested, alright?"

"Really?" Sirius snaps. "Because you were so interested in playing your

own games, weren't you? Can't stomach it when you're not in control of the
rules, is that it?"

"Alright," Gideon mumbles wearily, "I can see that you two know each
other very well. Um—"

"I wasn't playing a fucking game with you," Remus informs him, his voice
low, cheek twitching from where he's clearly clenching his jaw. He's
wearing the sweater he put on Sirius the first night he saw Regulus again.
Sirius remembers how soft and warm it was. He wants to touch it, and he
wants to burn it. "I never did anything with the intention to hurt you. I know
what I did, what we did, was wrong. I know that. But the whole point
behind it was to avoid being hurt. All of us."

"And would you say you succeeded?" Sirius asks sarcastically, then scoffs
when Remus sighs and looks away, his shoulders slumping like he's tired.
"Yeah, how'd that go for you, Remus? You did a swell fucking job,
sweetheart."

"I'm sorry," Remus croaks, then all but flings himself out of his seat,
heading right for the door.
"Oh, he must be joking," Sirius hisses, throwing himself out of his seat as
well, following Remus right across the bar and out the door. He stomps up
behind him to grab his arm right above his elbow and yank him around.
"You're sorry? All of that, and you just offer one lousy apology and that's
it?"

"I am sorry, Sirius," Remus says softly, tipping his head forward with
pinched eyebrows, so much sincerity shining through in his gaze that it
makes Sirius' chest go tight. "I'm sorry I lied to you, and deceived you, and
I'm sorry I worked with James to best do that. But—"

Sirius' nostrils flare. "But? There is no but, Remus! There's no fucking

excuse for—"

"But," Remus continues firmly, "I'm not sorry for loving you. I don't
apologize for that, only for being so desperate for more, for everything, for
all of it that I helped each of us lose it."

"You did. You did this to us," Sirius tells him forcefully, snatching his hand
off Remus' arm because he wants to tighten his grip, wants to squeeze,
wants to hold on so hard that Remus will feel the pressure of his fingers on
him for the rest of his life. "You did this, so you don't get to just apologize
and carry on with your day like—like it doesn't even matter."

"Sirius—"
"That's not it. That's not enough. There has to be—"

"More?" Remus suggests quietly, and Sirius snaps his mouth shut, his heart
thumping loudly in his ears. "What more could I do? What do you want
from me?"

"I don't want a damn thing from you, Remus," Sirius says coldly. "When it
comes to you, I want nothing."

Remus swallows and gives a stiff nod. "Yes, I assumed so. That's your right.
I'll go, then."

"Just like that?" Sirius asks, both furious and disbelieving. Remus takes a
step back, watching him. "You do realize that I'm going to shag Gideon,
don't you?"

"I picked up on that being your goal," Remus mutters.

Sirius has to curl his hands into fists so he won't reach out, grab Remus, and
shake him. "That's all you're going to say? You're just going to...leave me to
it?"

"As opposed to what, Sirius?"

"Oh, I don't know, maybe some jealousy, some sulking, things such as that.
You're not even going to put up a fight?"

"For what?" Remus asks, holding his arms out by his sides before he lets
them flop back down. It's like all the fight has gone out of him. "What
exactly am I fighting for? What right do I have to fight? You're done with
me, and I—I—" There's a clear struggle for a moment, and then he drops
his gaze, eyes sinking shut. "We're done. It's over."

"You're such a fucking shit, you know that?" Sirius snarls, stepping forward
until their boots nearly touch. Remus' eyes open, and he looks so very tired.
"You don't get to do this. You don't get to act like you don't care. Do you
understand what I'm telling you? I'm going to fuck him. Him, and anyone
else who happens to smile at me twice. I'm going to take people to my bed,
the same bed you used to sleep in, and fuck. And fuck. And fuck. But I will
never touch you again."

"Okay, Sirius," Remus murmurs.

"Okay? Okay? That's just okay with you?" Sirius asks, and distantly, he can
recognize the note of hysteria that's creeping into his tone, frantic and
wobbly.

"Sirius—"

"It's okay with you that I'm going to be held in arms that aren't yours,
Remus? Is it okay that my hands will be on someone else's skin?"
"Sirius—"

"So, is it okay that someone else will kiss me? It's okay that I'll moan a
name that isn't yours, and cuddle up with a body besides your own, and—"

"Sirius!" Remus shouts, gaze sharp. "Stop. Just stop. Just—"

"How can that be okay with you, Remus? Because it's not okay with me,"
Sirius chokes out, and the moment his eyes start to sting, he's gripped with
immediate fury. Remus looks at him for a beat, then his face softens, and
Sirius can't take it anymore. He reaches out and shoves Remus back a step,
pushing at his chest. "I'm not no one! I was—I was someone to you!"

"Yes," Remus whispers. "Yeah, I know."

"So, don't—don't act like it's not ripping you up inside. Don't pretend you're
not jealous, or upset, or—or—" Sirius drops his hands at his sides,
breathing hard, fingers shaking. He feels frazzled. All out of sorts. "You
loved me."

"I still do," Remus admits.

"Then fucking act like it!" Sirius bursts out. "You want more, Moony? You
want me? Then go after it!"

"I can't have it," Remus grits out with some sort of helpless frustration,
reaching up to gesture with his hands towards his chest like he's trying to
pluck his own heart out.

"No, you can't, and I don't care. Go after it anyway, so I can tell you that
you can't have it. Ask for it, beg for it, just so I can tell you no," Sirius says
in a rush, everything moving fast and shaky inside him, leaving him jittery.
Coming apart at the seams. A thread being tugged on so he'll unravel. He
doesn't know what's at the center of himself, but the more he comes undone,
the closer he gets to it. "Fight a fight you can't win. Take the fucking
beating, Remus."

"Sirius—"

"Be hurt. Be hurt. Walk willingly into another trap that promises more hurt,
just for me. Get your hopes up, knowing that they'll be crushed. Just—just
fucking try, Remus. Try like you can't help it, even though it won't get you
anywhere."

Remus just looks at him sadly and softly says, "Sirius…"

"Please. Please," Sirius croaks, his whole body rattling while the
unspooling of him continues. "Because it can't be just me. That's not fair.
This isn't fair, Moony. I can't be the only one feeling like this. You don't get
to do this to me; you don't get to ruin me and just—just be okay afterwards;
you don't get to stand there like you don't want me, when all I want is you. I
mean something to you. I'm not just no one. I'm worth more than that, and
I'm enough—I was enough, Remus—and it wasn't my fault. This time, it
wasn't my fault. It wasn't, and I wasn't just no one. You loved me. You did
this, and should be begging on your knees, so why aren't you? Why aren't
you? Why, when all you have to do is say my name and touch me, and I'd
melt. I'd fucking melt, and it's not fair. It can't be just me, because I wasn't
no one to you. I was—"

"Alright, Sirius, hey," Remus interrupts, and only then does Sirius really
realize that he was rambling, that somewhere in there, he started crying.
"Shh, I know, I'm sorry. Come here. I'm so sorry." He shuffles forward and
puts his arms around him, and of course, Sirius melts into him instantly
with a tiny, muffled sob. "You're not no one, Sirius, and you're enough.
You're more than enough; you always have been. I know it's not fair. I
know."

"This hurts so much," Sirius confesses in something that's nearly a

whimper, and he buries his face into that spot in the curve of Remus' neck.
That warm, lovely spot below his jaw that smells of cinnamon spice biscuits
with honey and patchouli, home and earth. He smells so fucking good. He
always has, and it's like some kind of Pavlovian response to the scent of
him that makes Sirius relax and settle in increments.

Slowly, Sirius comes to the conclusion that he just had a minor breakdown.
Well, that's less than ideal. It's likely a reaction to repeatedly avoiding his
problems and pretending not to feel anything about the subject of being
heartbroken over the man he's in love with. But, well, it's too late to stop
himself from having that reaction, so he will just avoid that, too. What's one
more thing, right? He has this under control.
Except for how he doesn't. Remus makes him lose his head. He's the
fucking moon controlling the tide, sending wave after wave crashing down
over Sirius before he can properly catch his breath. He's dangerous, so very
dangerous, and Sirius has known nightmares his whole life, but Remus is
undoubtedly the most beautiful one Sirius has ever been haunted by.

He was a dream, and then he became reality, and now it's a fucking
nightmare being without him.

Sirius presses into him, exhaling softly when Remus tightens his arms
around him, holding him closer like he won't let him go. That's what Sirius
wants. He wants Remus to not let him go, because he can't let go.

"I miss you," Remus whispers.

"I'm right here," Sirius whispers back, tilting his face up to brush his lips
over Remus' jaw. Remus inhales sharply, so Sirius does it again, and again,
and again. He does it more firmly each time, feeling Remus' fingers flex
against his back, and he's eventually just dragging his mouth along Remus'
skin until he's not far from his lips at all.

"I want you so badly, Sirius, and I'm already ruined. This will break me,"
Remus confesses.
"Good," Sirius says, then deliberately brushes a featherlight kiss to Remus'
lips, something singing in the rush of his blood when Remus' mouth parts
with a quiet sigh.

Sirius pulls back just enough for plausible deniability, then waits, taking the
time to scan Remus' face through hooded eyes. Remus is visibly wavering,
and it takes only four seconds for him to reach up and cradle Sirius' cheek
with one hand, then duck in and kiss him more firmly. Sirius' eyes flutter
shut as he melts into that, too.

It's sweet. So very sweet. Almost innocent, really. Less so in technique, but
more so in how careful they are with each other. Remus kisses him gently,
intimately, with full commitment to savoring every second of it. This kiss is
slow, and soft, and so long that Sirius feels the world melt away. It's the sort
of kiss that sweeps him away, in fact, leaving him so caught up that he
forgets there are other moments in life to exist in other than this one.

Sirius doesn't mean to, but he muffles a broken sound into Remus' mouth
that seems to come from the very depths of him. The hidden dark corners
that are locked away where the most vulnerable parts of himself reside, and
they're all crying out at once. Remus pulls back just enough to gently shush
him in a soothing manner, a soft, "Shh, I've got you," and he tenderly
swipes his thumb across Sirius' cheek before he ducks back in to kiss him
again, and keep kissing him, not stopping.

If it was possible, Sirius—in this moment—would stitch them together, or

melt them both down so that when they harden back up, they're formed as
one. Then where would Remus go? What could either of them do, but stay
just like this? Sirius wants so very much for them to stay just like this.
"Please," falls out between them, and Sirius is so dizzy that he thinks, at
first, that he's the one who says it. But then Remus is all but clinging to him
as he says it again. "Please."

"What?" Sirius breathes out, turning his head to rest it against Remus'
temple, eyes clamped shut. His heart is pounding, but he feels calmer than
he has in a while. One of Remus' hands is buried in his hair, not pulling it,
just resting there.

"Don't shag Gideon. Don't shag anyone. Are you really dating again?"
Remus blurts in a wobbly rush. "Please don't. I'm not ready; I don't know
that I'll ever be ready. It's not okay. It's so far from okay that I—I—"

"Go on," Sirius encourages gently.

Remus chokes out, "I can't do it. I can't comprehend how I'm meant to carry
on like I'm not still waiting for you, like I'm not desperate to come back to
you. I love you, Sirius. I don't know how to leave you alone. I don't want
to."

There, Sirius thinks, relief pouring into him as he looks into Remus' eyes
and finally, finally sees the panic and devastation in them that Sirius feels so
starkly himself. He's not alone in it; Remus just hates feeling weak. But, for
this, he's going to have to, because Sirius—well, Sirius is about to break
him.
It's a sudden, crushing realization; one that's too late to keep from stumbling
upon. Because they can't. Sirius stands there and looks at Remus, suddenly
struck with the knowledge that they can't. He lifts his hand, eyes stinging,
and he cups Remus' cheek. Strokes his skin, the light rasp of stubble,
feeling it whisper against the pad of his thumb. He strikes a beautiful
picture in the mid-afternoon light, the brightest beacon in the world like he's
still the moon shining when it's not even night.

"Oh, this was so foolish of me," Sirius whispers, feeling his shoulders
slump. "I've been reckless again."

"Sirius," Remus breathes out, a red flush spreading over the bridge of his
nose, under his eyes. Tears form.

"You're not going to believe me, Moony," Sirius rasps, "but I didn't mean to
this time."

Remus swallows thickly. "You're right. I don't believe you. This is what you
wanted, isn't it? Me to take the beating." He pulls back sharply and sniffs.
"Sometimes, it feels like all life does is beat me down. I didn't need this,
too."

"Remus," Sirius mumbles, "I—"

"Where do I belong now? Tell me, Sirius, if it's not with you, then where
the fuck is it? You promised me everything, and I'm begging. I've never
begged anyone for anything in my entire life, but I'm begging you." Remus
catches his bottom lip between his teeth and makes a weak noise. "Fuck, do
I have to get down on my knees, too? I will. For you, I will."

Sirius shakes his head and chokes out, "Don't. God, don't do that. I just—I
only wanted—"

"You wanted to hurt me, because you're hurt," Remus tells him. "That's
what you do."

"Sweetheart," Sirius says, and it's almost a whine.

"I fucking told you I couldn't have it. You think I don't know? And you still
—" Remus closes his eyes and inhales before slowly exhaling, his head
ducking forward as he takes a step back. When he looks up again, the tears
have fallen. "Is this enough for you, Sirius? Is this the more you were
looking for?"

"No, I—that's not—" Sirius trips over his words, his breathing short and
choppy as he feels his panic start to rise, because this isn't what he wanted.
Not really. No matter what he said in the peak of his emotions when he was
breaking down, this is the last thing he meant to do. If he's honest with
himself, he wanted Remus to fight so he could give in.

Except he can't, because this—it's not right. None of them are ready. There
hasn't been enough time. Sirius and Regulus aren't even secure yet, and this
would just… Now isn't the time for any of them. Maybe this just isn't the
life where they get to be together, and the thought makes Sirius feel fucking
insane. It's not fair. None of this is fair.

"Just go," Remus says wearily.

"I'm in love with you," Sirius blurts out, and Remus blinks, looking
genuinely startled by the abrupt turn this has taken, but Sirius needs him to
understand. "I don't want to go. I'm so maddeningly in love with you that I
feel like you're in my fucking lungs, in my blood, like to separate myself
from you I'd have to be nothing but ash, but you'd be in that, too. And then
you'd be in the wind when it carries my ashes away, and in the world, all
over the world, because you already are. I love you everywhere, here and
there, places I've never been and lives I haven't even lived yet."

Remus swallows. "Sirius…"

"You do belong with me. You just do, and I want to give you everything,
Moony. There's no one else. For me, it's just you, and I can't—I'm barely
keeping it together," Sirius admits in a rush. "I love you. I love you, and I
miss you, and I want you. Please believe that. Please believe me."

"Alright," Remus says softly. "I believe you, Sirius. I'm just not sure where
that leaves us."

Sirius shakes out his hands, exhaling slowly. "For a very long time, I made
Regulus my priority over everything else, even my own well-being. And
then, for eight years, I didn't. I don't know how to find the healthy medium
between that yet, but I know I have to. I have to—do a lot of things. Work
on a lot of things. It's not just him; it's also James; it's also just myself. I
need time, Remus. I told you before that I was sorry I made you wait so
long for me, but sweetheart, I think I'm going to need you to wait a little bit
longer. Can you? Will you?"

"I'm not alone in it, am I?" Remus asks him, his face softening as he looks
at Sirius, and he suddenly looks sad. "You'll be waiting with me, won't
you?"

"At least we'll be together," Sirius says, and his voice cracks.

"Except we won't be, not really," Remus whispers.

"I'm sorry," Sirius rasps, dangerously close to crying again.

Remus shakes his head and steps forward again, reaching out to gently
press his fingers through Sirius' hair, letting Sirius curl into him. He kisses
Sirius' temple and noses at his hair, murmuring, "Don't you dare apologize,
Sirius. Not for this. Not for being the one to do the right thing for you—for
all of us, really, if I'm honest. You're not the only one who has things to
work on, alright? You're not doing anything wrong by admitting we need
time. In fact, you're probably saving us a whole world of hurt by not
ignoring it."

"I don't want to hurt you, Remus, and I don't want to hurt anymore," Sirius
admits, his voice hoarse, throat clogged with tears he's fighting so hard to
keep down.

"I know," Remus says, kissing his hair. "I know."

"I don't want to wait for my next life to have you. I want you in this one,"
Sirius mumbles.

"You have me," Remus assures him. "Christ, of course you do. I'm yours.
I'm right here."

"But you're going to leave."

"Because it's the best for us both right now, but I'll come back. I always
come back, don't I?"

Sirius makes a quiet noise of complaint, as well as acceptance, not pleased

but knowing it's necessary. He tips his chin up and presses a quick, firm kiss
to Remus' mouth, then forces himself to pull away. "You better. I mean it,
Moony. As soon we all have our shit together, you better be right back. And
I'll never let you leave again, do you understand? We're going to get
married and have a whole brood of children and grow old and grey together
and then die in each other's arms. We don't even get to outlive each other."

"Really? Is that right?" Remus' lips twitch, and there's a light of fondness in
his eyes that speaks of further depths; the deeper one goes, the more love
there is to be found. Sirius wants to drown in him. "Yeah, alright, I believe
you."

"Good," Sirius says firmly. "Now leave before I drag you off and shag you,
which would be very counterproductive."

"That it would, indeed," Remus agrees, lingering for a beat, a long look
passing between them where they're very clearly considering it. In the end,
though, Remus takes a step back and shakes his head. "You're right. Again.
Really, Padfoot, you're outdoing yourself today."

"Thank you," Sirius whispers. And then, "I love you."

Remus' face softens. "I love you, too."

When he goes, he looks back over and over, and Sirius stares after him with
a helpless mixture of yearning and acceptance. He wonders vaguely if this
is what it is to be a good person, to not act so foolishly and recklessly, to
make the hard choices to limit the pain it would cause everyone. If he's
honest, Sirius can admit to himself that he hates it a little bit, but the pride
he gets from it feels too good to pass up.

It's a while before Sirius turns around and goes back into the bar, one last
thing he needs to do. Gideon is still sitting there, nursing his drink and
playing on his phone. He looks startled when Sirius gets close enough for
him to notice him. "Oh, Sirius, I thought you left with Remus, mate. Saw
you snogging him outside. Are you two—"
Sirius ignores him as he digs around for some quid to throw down on the
table. "That should cover the drinks and get you another one."

"Cheers. So, are you and Remus together? Not usually your style; settling
down. Is he available?" Gideon checks.

Sirius braces his hand on the table and leans in, raising his eyebrows at
Gideon. His voice lowers, hard like steel when he says, "Oh, you might
want to leave Remus alone, Gid."

"Why's that?" Gideon asks, arching an eyebrow.

Sirius smiles at him with all teeth. "Because I'm fucking mental about him,
and I mean that literally, so don't even try it. If I find out that you do try…"

"Plan to finish that threat, Black?" Gideon says dryly, but there is a spark of
wariness in his gaze. He went to Hogwarts with Sirius as well, albeit being
two years ahead, so he's no stranger to the reckless wrath of Sirius Black.

"No, actually. I'll let you think about what I might do, and I promise you
that what I actually do will be much worse," Sirius replies simply,
straightening up. He nods and doesn't say anything else. Doesn't have to.
Sirius doesn't make empty threats; everyone who knows him knows that.
With that, he turns around and goes home.

Chapter End Notes

Regulus: Why are you running? Why are you running?

James, internally: dontdoitdontdoitdontdoit

Also, James: Does It Immediately

Poor James. He tried SO HARD, he really did 😭 give him a break.

His brain was moving at the speed of light.

And then there's Sirius with his breakdown, poor babe 😔😕 if you've
ever gone through a breakup where it felt like you were falling apart,
and that other person was just...fine, you KNOW how awful that
feeling is. That shit hurts so bad, not gonna lie. Also, his self-esteem
issues jumped up and smacked him in the face. He was just trying to
wait for his best friend (who was shagging his little brother) and then
his entire day turned on its head. Cut him some slack. He's gonna need
it 😭😭😭

Anyway, thoughts?

I'll see all you TOMORROW!!! (love that I get to say that)
 Chapter 23
Chapter Notes

warnings for this chapter: a long overdue meeting, a long-awaited

discussion, a bit of yelling, a bit of crying, and the reminder that
healing isn't linear, but that doesn't mean it's not still happening <3

enjoy!
See the end of the chapter for more notes

Sirius bursts into the flat in the middle of James pacing restlessly in the
kitchen like an animal in a cage. He feels his stomach twist into knots,
because things have only just gotten to a good point between them, and
now…

Well, now James is about to tell him he shagged his little brother. Again.

"I have had an insane day, mate," Sirius announces as soon as he comes into
the kitchen.

"Makes two of us," James mumbles.

"Me first," Sirius says, smacking his keys to his bike down on the counter.
"You never showed up at the bar, so I decided I would come home. Stopped
by the loo, and when I came out, I overheard Remus there with, ah,
Gideon."
"Gideon?" James asks, squinting in confusion.

Sirius grunts. "Yeah, apparently he took over Regulus' position at the cafe
as a favor to his sister. Don't actually know all the details, don't care.
Anyway, they were having a lovely chat, so I stopped by to say hello."

"Did you?" James mutters flatly.

"Oi, Gid's a mate. Why shouldn't I speak to him when I see him?" Sirius
grumbles, looking away with a scowl. "In any case, Remus tried to leave.
So, I followed him. We...had a bit of an argument. Sort of."

James heaves a sigh and reaches up to swipe his hand down his face, in no
mood right now to drag this out. He's too tangled up at the moment. "Get on
with it. What happened?"

"We snogged," Sirius says, still not looking at him.

"You and Remus, or you and Gid?" James bites out.

Sirius frowns at him, visibly stung. "Me and Remus. You think I'd—I
wouldn't. I'd never—"
"I just—" James sighs and doesn't have it in him to feel bad for the hurt
blooming in Sirius' eyes at the assumption. "Well, it's not exactly being
disloyal, is it?"

"We never broke up."

"No offense, but you're not doing much dating either, are you?"

"I—what the hell is your problem?" Sirius blurts out, actually shrinking
back a little bit.

James grimaces. "Just...tell me what happened. You snogged Moony,

then?"

"I did, yeah. Well, it was all a bit emotional and awful, if I'm honest, and we
both cried at some point. Anyway, we talked, and I—I did the right thing
for once, I think. We both agreed we needed time to work on some things,
and once we were in better places in our lives, we'd...you know." Sirius
gives him a significant look, and then he smiles slightly. "We'd give it
another go, when it's the right time. Oh, and we made the mature, adult
decision to not shag, even though I know we both really, really wanted to.
Good, right?"

"Yeah, mate. Brilliant," James says weakly.

Sirius grins at him. "So, that's some incentive for me to get my shit together.
Now, your turn. You said you had an insane day, did you? Why didn't you
show up?"

"Um." James clears his throat and awkwardly fidgets with his fingers.
Sirius' grin slowly fades, and his eyes narrow with suspicion. Swallowing,
James rasps, "So, Regulus stopped by earlier, looking for you."

"Did he?" Sirius asks, an edge to his voice already. They stare at each other,
and Sirius tucks his lips in, eyes sparking with the beginning of true rage.
"James, tell me you did not shag my little brother again."

"I—I, ah, can't tell you that," James admits in a whisper, wincing when
Sirius hisses between his teeth like he's just been burned. "He showed up at
the flat earlier, and it took maybe five minutes before we were shagging."

"You mean to tell me that Regulus came here, and you whisked him off to
bed within five minutes?" Sirius grinds out.

James looks down, chastised. "Sofa. We—it was the—"

"You—" Sirius takes a deep breath, holding it as his eyes sink shut. He lifts
his hands and slowly pushes them outwards as he exhales in what looks like
some sort of breathing technique, the dramatic git. He breathes in again,
then out, and he hums with a tremble of audible anger in the sound, eyes
snapping open as he carefully places his hands by his sides. "You shagged
my little brother. Again. On the sofa."
It's the absolute fury in Sirius' tone that really gets to him. He's not
expecting it to, honestly, but it does. Just the way Sirius is so fucking upset
about it makes James upset.

James, in general, isn't a very angry person. He doesn't have much to be

angry about in life, does he? Not on the whole. Good parents, a nice
childhood, food in his pantry and a steady income and a bed to curl up in at
night.

Of course, James has gotten angry many times throughout his life—Snape
comes to mind—but he doesn't have the build-up of trauma it requires to
make him an angry person. That sort of thing does require a little bit of
backstory to it; people aren't born angry, are they? Not usually, in any case.
Sirius, for example, is an angry person who never would have been if he'd
gotten the life of love and acceptance he deserves—the life everyone in the
world deserves, but so few actually get. James knows how incredibly lucky
he is. You're not just Sirius Black's best friend without being painfully
aware of the ways your life could have been much, much worse.

That being said, James has never gotten angry at Sirius. Not like this. Not in
this way. He wasn't actually convinced that he could be angry at Sirius.

Now, he's convinced. Oh, but he's convinced.

"As if you and Remus haven't shagged on the sofa, Sirius," James says,
scowling.
"Remus isn't your brother!"

"Yes, I'm aware. What's your point?"

"Regulus is my little brother!" Sirius bellows, flinging his hands up before

balling them into fists at his sides like it's the only thing that's keeping him
from lashing out.

James holds his gaze. "Yes, I'm aware. What's your point?"

"My point?!" Sirius shouts. "He's my little brother, James! You shagged my
little brother!"

"Yes, I'm aware. What's your point?" James repeats.

Sirius stares at him incredulously. "You can't do that."

"Why not?" James asks calmly. "He's an adult. It was entirely consensual
between us. He's not a fucking child, Sirius. He can shag who he damn well
wants to, even if it is me, and there's nothing you can do about it."
"Oh, is that right?" Sirius murmurs, his fingers flexing and fisting again so
hard that his knuckles are pasty white. There's a wild gleam in his blazing
eyes, the kind he's always gotten before he's done something incredibly
reckless and damaging for everyone involved. But all Sirius does is swing
his hand out to grasp his keys again and slowly, softly say, "You and I are
going on a drive, James. We're going to go visit Regulus, and you can either
get on the bike of your own free will, or I can tie you to it and drag your
arse screaming and flailing behind it."

"Oh, there's no need for the fucking dramatics, Sirius," James snaps. "I'm
more than happy to go visit Regulus. In fact—"

"Watch it," Sirius warns sharply, nostrils flaring. "It might do us both some
good to just shut the fuck up for now. I drive recklessly when I'm angry."

James scoffs and reaches out to snatch the keys before Sirius can stop him.
"That's why I'm driving."

James has driven Sirius' bike four times in the years he's had it and
maintained it, which goes to show just how precious the blasted thing is to
him. Out of everyone, James has gotten special privileges with the bike,
being the only other person besides Sirius to actually sit on it—well,
excluding Remus, which is yet another way James was convinced that
Sirius and Remus were in love. Actually, it was the sort of thing that had
James wholeheartedly convinced that they'd be married one day, and James
would be Sirius' best man at the wedding, while Regulus would be Remus'.
He daydreamed about that more than he cares to admit, at least before it all
went to shit.
In any case, James is a careful driver on the bike—Sirius wouldn't let him
breathe near it if he wasn't—so they arrive at their destination safe and
sound. Off the bike first, James approaches the building without waiting.
Sirius makes a low sound of displeasure behind him and scrambles to
follow.

When Sirius reaches out to grasp his arm, James snatches it roughly from
his grip and keeps moving. Sirius says his name, then says it again, then
growls in frustration when James flings open the doors and immediately
picks up the pace. He practically takes the stairs two at a time, listening to
Sirius curse violently under his breath as he comes after him.

James makes it to the door before Sirius does, and he's not an angry person,
but he knocks like one. Before Sirius can so much as protest, James bangs
harshly on the door and steps back, pinning a glare on Sirius, who glares
back. The door snatches open a moment later, and James looks away from
Sirius to see Regulus standing there, all the color draining out of his face
rapidly as his gaze flicks between James and Sirius.

"No," Regulus says immediately, and goes to close the door.

James catches it with his hand and snarls, "Don't you fucking dare," as he
pushes forward, moving into Regulus' space with such determination that
Regulus gives up on the door instantly and starts stumbling backwards.

"Oh, Christ," Remus breathes out from where he's sitting on Regulus' sofa,
and then he goes promptly quiet when Sirius comes in, the door shutting
with a soft click.
It's the first time they're all in a room together since all this started, and
James is fucking furious.

"James, what the hell are you doing?" Sirius snaps. "Back off my brother.
Have you gone mad?"

James ignores him. "I got to thinking, love. I've decided that no one is going
to be lying anymore. No more secrets, no more sneaking around, no more
hiding."

"Oh, you're angry," Regulus whispers, sounding a mixture of startled and

breathless.

"What gave it away?" James asks harshly, swinging out his arm to point
vigorously at the sofa. "Blame your stubborn fucking brother. You're going
to sit down, and we're all going to talk."

Regulus visibly swallows. "James—"

"Sit. Down," James orders. "Now."

All the color that drained from Regulus' face before has returned, leaving
his cheeks properly flushed. His mouth hangs open a little bit, and for a
moment full of tension, he's just staring at James with wide eyes, pupils
expanding by the second. His breath audibly hitches, and then he coughs,
clearing his throat. Dropping his gaze, Regulus shuffles over to the sofa and
sits down next to Remus, completely silent.

James exhales sharply and moves around with familiarity, dragging two
chairs across from the sofa and turning to look at Sirius. A beat passes in
which Sirius stares at him with his lips pressed into a thin line, jaw
clenched.

"You've lost it," Sirius finally declares.

"Sirius, get in the seat before I put you in it," James warns, pointing at the
chair.

Sirius narrows his eyes. "You're welcome to damn well try. Who do you
think you are, talking to Reggie like that, talking to me like that? I don't
know what you think—"

"Sirius," Remus says, and that's all he says, but that's really all he has to say,
as it turns out.

Mouth snapping shut, Sirius flicks his gaze towards Remus, and Remus
inclines his head towards the chair. Sirius remains stubborn for all of five
seconds before he stomps over to throw himself down in the seat.
James sits down as well, and silence stretches between all of them, heavy
and stilted. None of them seem to know who to look at, or how to act with
all these worlds colliding in one room. Honestly, if James wasn't so angry
right now, he thinks he'd feel incredibly awkward. Rage is a strong
motivator, though, so he's not uncomfortable at all.

Almost instinctively, James finds himself looking at Remus, who catches

his gaze and holds it. Something passes between them then, an unspoken
understanding that needs no words, a silent resolve that pulls taut like
they're preparing to hold an imaginable amount of pressure, but they'll bear
it together.

It's so strange how incredibly important Remus has become to James since
meeting him. He thinks about Remus' quiet kindness, the warmth of him
that he hardly seems aware that he exudes, how collected and accepting he
is as a person. He's sharp with his words and mind, charming in the way
that means he clearly doesn't realize it and would be confused every time
anyone pointed it out, but James thinks the best thing about him is the
gentle, hidden way he wants to cup the world in careful hands and protect
every part of it. It's just that the world—his world—consists of people
rather than places, and at least two of them are in this room right now.

Three, James corrects internally, because he knows that Remus cares about
him, too. The thought calms him just a bit when no other has so far. Thank
god for Moony; James isn't sure he would be able to make it through this
without him.

"Fucking hell," Sirius mumbles, shifting restlessly in his seat.

Regulus looks at him and mutters, "Reminds you of—"

"Waiting in Mother's study?" Sirius fills in dryly.

"Doesn't it?" Regulus agrees.

They share a grimace, and James flicks his gaze between them, briefly
snatched out of his fury because he's so startled. They seem...fine? They're
talking. They're looking at each other without glaring. In fact, they seem to
be doing some odd brotherly communication that involves Regulus arching
an eyebrow and Sirius wrinkling his nose. Another long look passes
between them, and they both shake their heads at the same exact time in
perfect unison.

James remembers suddenly that Regulus had broken into the flat earlier to
see Sirius. Like, that was the whole point. He'd come in banging on about
wanting to get drunk, presumably with Sirius. James leans back, stunned.

"You two reconciled!" James bursts out as soon as he realizes it, and
everyone turns to stare at him. "You've made up!"

"No," Sirius argues immediately, but he doesn't sound too sure about that,
actually. His voice is weak.
"This whole time—" Remus shifts on the sofa to stare at Regulus in
disbelief. "Do you mean to tell me—"

"We didn't," Regulus snaps.

James scoffs. "So, what were you doing at the flat earlier? You came in
calling for Sirius."

"Only to end up fucking my best friend," Sirius snarls, his face twisting into
a scowl as he looks at Regulus.

"Oh, fucking hell," Remus blurts out, eyes bulging. He stares at James in
disbelief. "You did it again?"

"I was—seduced," James admits, mildly sheepish.

Sirius makes a strangled noise of pure fury. "Seduced? Seduced?! You're

saying Reggie—you're trying to blame Reggie for—"

"No, Sirius, I'm not. I did put in the effort to—not shag him, obviously, but
I'm not blaming anyone, because it's not a fucking problem. I already told
you, Regulus can shag who he likes, even if it is me." James shoots Regulus
a quick look, clearing his throat. "I mean, preferably me, though."
"Yes, James, I got that part," Regulus says flatly.

"Those are incredibly bold words for someone who can't shag my little
brother if he's fucking dead," Sirius snaps.

"Do you hear yourself? Like, do you actually hear what you just said,
Sirius? You just threatened to kill me—me!—for shagging Regulus.
Murder. Do you realize how ridiculous that is?" James says.

"Piss off!" Sirius growls. "Are you even sorry this time?"

"No," James announces shamelessly. Boldly. "No, I'm not. Because why
should I be sorry, Sirius? Why? I'm not sorry for falling in love with
Regulus. I shouldn't have to be. If that makes me selfish, then so fucking be
it! I'll be selfish, then! Why shouldn't I be selfish? Why is it so selfish to
want to be happy? Do you know what I would give so everyone I love could
be happy? Anything! Everything! But what about me?! What about my
happiness?!"

"James—"

"No! No! I don't fucking apologize, actually. I don't apologize for finding
him and doing everything I could to hold onto him. Loving him does not
make me selfish! Wanting to be happy doesn't make me selfish! I'd never,
never want you to be anything other than happy and loved, so how can you
do it to me and claim to be my best friend? The only person who's selfish
here is you."
Sirius stares at him with wide eyes, gone pale. He no longer looks like he's
about to spring from his seat. Now, he shrinks back, curling in on himself.
Distantly, James realizes that he's gone off on a tangent, yelling, but he can't
stop. The fury grips him and raises him right out of the chair.

"Because it's all so stupid! This is all so fucking stupid, do you realize that?
There's no sense to it, to acting like Remus and I are the ones who
committed some unforgivable act. The horrible, unforgivable act of falling
in love. Do you know how stupid it is for you and Regulus to act like that's
some crime?!"

"James," Remus says carefully, but James isn't stopping.

"You want me to apologize? For what?!" James explodes, throwing his

arms out wide. "What am I supposed to be apologizing for, Sirius?!"

"James," Remus repeats, firmer this time. He's ignored once again. James
can't really hear him over the ringing in his ears anyway, his thudding heart
echoing in his head.

"I don't apologize for shagging Regulus. You keep calling him your little
brother, your little Reggie, but that's not all that he is. You can't just claim
people and expect their lives and sense of happiness to revolve around
you," James rants, stepping forward loom over Sirius and point at him. "I
don't regret shagging him, either. I'm not apologizing for feeling as I do.
And the fact that you want me to is fucked. That's not even considering how
hypocritical it is, you fucking—"
"That's enough," Regulus cuts in sharply, suddenly off the sofa and standing
right beside James, grabbing his arm and firmly pushing him back a step.
His eyes are cold as he stares James down, standing in front of Sirius. "You
can make your point without berating him. You're not going to keep yelling
at him, or you can get the fuck out of my flat."

At first, James is too lost in his anger, too hot-headed in the moment, to be
anything other than defensive and willing to argue until his throat bleeds.
He starts to open his mouth to say—probably not anything great, honestly,
but Regulus' eyes flash with warning, with something dangerous. It's
enough to draw James up short and knock him loose from his own racing
thoughts, his words finally catching up to him.

James flicks his gaze over Regulus' shoulder to see Sirius looking pale and
small in a way James has never before made him look. Just like that, all of
the anger bleeds out of him, because he's not an angry person. Not really. To
the core of him, he's all love, and he loves Sirius like no other.

"Oh, fuck," James whispers, horrified with himself as the instant regret hits
him at full force. He steps back, then steps back again, then drops back
down into his chair. Regulus moves back over to the sofa to sit next to
Remus while Sirius looks at him, swallowing, and James shakes his head.
"Shit, Pads, I'm—I didn't—"

"You meant it," Sirius interrupts hoarsely. "Every word."

"I—" James opens and closes his mouth, struggling while everyone just
watches him. The silence feels like splinters digging underneath his skin,
wriggling deeper. He can feel his chest going tight. "I just don't understand.
I don't—I mean, what's wrong with me, mate?" He makes a weak noise and
deflates, eyes stinging. "You've known me for literally half of your life, and
—and I thought—I just don't know what I've done so wrong that makes you
think I'm not good enough for you brother. What am I missing? It's like—
it's like you don't like who I am, or—or you just don't trust me?"

"It's not—no, James, I just…" Sirius grimaces and reaches up to push his
hair back with a shaky hand.

"What is it?" James chokes out. "Do you just not trust me to be good to
him? You said—you told me that there's nothing wrong with how I love, but
is that it? Is it not enough? Too much? I—I don't know what's wrong."

Sirius' face tightens with strain, and he quietly says, "It's not you. There
isn't anything wrong with how you love. It's—"

"But it has to be me, doesn't it? It is me, somehow, and if I knew—if you'd
just tell me what I've done wrong, why it's a problem, then maybe…"
James' shoulders heave, his eyes blurring. "Maybe I could—"

"It's not you," Sirius bursts out. "It's not that I don't trust you. I just don't
trust you not to be someone he loves more."
James' eyebrows pinch together as he hears Regulus' sharp inhale and
Remus' soft exhale like he's just been punched. It takes James a second
longer to process that and what it means, because he's so busy looking at the
mixture of mortification, frustration, and unmistakable fear in Sirius'
expression.

When the words finally land, they land hard. James feels it like someone
decided to toss his heart in the middle of a football game, the poor thing
being kicked about in all directions. His face crumbles, and the chair
stutters against the floor as he scoots it over to immediately reach out and
fumble for Sirius' hand, which Sirius clings to so tightly that it actually
hurts.

"Sirius," James mumbles weakly.

"He's my brother, James. Mine," Sirius rasps. "You can't have him. I've
barely even—I mean, you've had all this time with him, and I didn't. You
know him better than I do, and he's my brother. How is that fair? And
you're my best friend; my best friend. And you're you, and you're one of the
best people I know. Of course he'd love you. Who wouldn't? But—but
you're my—and he's—he's my—"

"Stop," James whispers. "Don't do that, mate. I'm always going to be your
best friend; that's nonegotiable. We're a package deal, remember? You and
me. And, as for him, I'd never come between you. Never. Of course he's
your brother. I know that. I'm not trying to take him away from you. Please
don't think that I am. You don't have to worry about that, alright?"
"It's not his fault," Regulus says quietly. When they all stare at him, he
looks down and clears his throat. "It's common in, ah, abusive households
or dysfunctional families for the eldest sibling to—to feel a sense of
responsibility for the younger. With that comes protectiveness and a not-
entirely-healthy sense of control. It's instinct. You said I'm not a child, and
I'm not, but in many ways, he sees me as the child he took care of."

"Ah," Sirius croaks, "someone was paying attention in therapy. Ms.

Pomfrey will be so pleased, Reggie."

"Shut up," Regulus mumbles, but it lacks heat. He's being remarkably
subdued at the moment.

"Therapy?" Remus asks, turning to raise his eyebrows at Regulus, who

makes a face at him. "I thought you said—"

"Pandora's fault. And Sirius'," Regulus admits with a heavy sigh. "She
convinced him, and he made me go with him."

"I didn't make you," Sirius grumbles. "I just—"

"Wait, you're in therapy, too?" James blurts out, his fingers spasming
around Sirius' hand. "With Regulus? Like, you two go together? At the
same time?"
"Listen," Sirius starts defensively, but James cuts him off.

"No! No, this is good. This is an exciting development, actually," James

says earnestly, bobbing his head. "It's brilliant that you two are getting on.
Really."

"Oh, we've brought you two together," Remus murmurs, lips twitching as
he places his hand against his chest and stares at Regulus with a teasing
glint in his eyes. "There's nothing like a traitorous best friend and a lying
lover to break through years of hatred and form a bond. You're welcome."

"It was our plan all along," James adds, glancing over at Remus, a helpless
grin stretching across his face.

Remus hums sagely and nods. "Yes, exactly. In fact, our work here is done."
He sighs, and all the humor drains out of him as he looks at Sirius. "Really,
I'm very happy that you and Reg are working on things. That's good, Sirius.
It's important. You have no idea just how much he loves you."

"Remus," Regulus hisses, glancing at him in betrayal.

"I know this because I'm his best friend. I'm telling you this for the same
reason, because he won't, or he can't." Remus holds Sirius' gaze. "He wants
you in his life. He's always wanted you in his life; he always will, and—
James or no James, me or no me—that isn't going to change. Ever."
Regulus elbows Remus in the arm hard. "What the fuck are you doing,
Lupin? Piss off."

"Well, you weren't going to tell him between all your severe abandonment
issues and whatnot," Remus mutters, rolling his eyes when Regulus scowls
at him. "Now that all of that is out of the way, I should tell you…"

"Remus," Sirius blurts out, sitting forward.

"Tell me what?" Regulus asks sharply. "Remus, did you shag—"

"No."

"So, why are you—"

"We snogged," Remus announces, darting his gaze between Sirius and
Regulus.

"You weren't going to mention this to me?" Regulus asks, and everyone
falls silent to watch in a sense of wariness as Remus and Regulus stare at
each other. "Have we learned nothing?"
"I didn't really have the time before James showed up in a strop, now did
I?" Remus says simply. "Reg, if you're expecting some sort of apology from
me for falling in love with your brother, I'm with James on this one. I'm not
sorry for that. I don't know how to make it more clear to you that I never
did it to hurt you, and I never left you."

"You chose him," Regulus grits out.

Remus sighs wearily, exhausted. "No, I didn't. That's the whole thing of it.
The whole purpose behind everything James and I did was to not choose,
because we wanted to both. I said it before, but if I was going to choose
Sirius, I would have never fought so hard to keep you. And it's the same in
reverse. And it's the same for James. That's what neither of you stopped to
think about, or maybe—maybe you just didn't care. Not really. Not about
us, the way we do both of you."

"Is that what you believe?" Regulus asks, his voice going flat, face blank. It
seems to make Sirius tense up, his hand clenching around James', but
Remus doesn't look put off by it in the least. Even James is used to it. Sirius
clearly isn't, and it's obvious that he doesn't like it, but that's just...Regulus.

"I don't know what I believe anymore," Remus admits with a sad smile. "I
know you don't actually care that I shagged your brother. You just hate the
idea that you'd lose me to him, or him to me, and I'm quite sure you
wouldn't care at all about our shagging habits if you could believe it when I
tell you that you wouldn't lose us. You're just not at a point where you can
let me prove it to you yet."
Regulus studies him for a long moment, and then—in a rare show of
gentleness—his face softens as he says, "You're such a miserable sod, you
know that?"

"I know," Remus replies. He takes a deep breath, then slowly lets it out.
"But you're worse. The difference between us and you and Sirius is that
everything we did that was wrong, we did with the goal of making us all
happy, while you and Sirius did what you did to make sure that we're not."

Sirius' head snaps up. "That's not fair. You and James don't get to act like
we're not allowed to be upset just because you had good intentions."

"I'm not," Remus says bluntly. "We were just scared and trying to find some
way to do the right thing, because being without either of you was so
fundamentally wrong that we took the risk. It didn't pay off, and now…"

"That's not fair either," Regulus snaps. "You act like this is easy for either of
us. We haven't even had time. We've been to one therapy session, for fuck's
sake. One, Remus. Are we supposed to just have all our shit figured out that
easily?"

Sighing, Remus shakes his head. "That's not what I meant. You can have all
the time you need, both of you. It's just really fucking tragic. You know, the
saddest part is that both of you got out of that house, and yet you're both
still committed to misery. Neither of you deserve that."
"He's right," James agrees, and Regulus glances over at him, throat
bobbing. James gives him a tight smile. "You and Sirius deserve much
better than you ever allow yourselves."

"Easier said than done," Sirius whispers.

"Honestly, this was long overdue. Remus and I should have sat down with
both of you from the beginning, and I'm sorry that we didn't. I'm sorry that
we were scared, so much so that we let it turn us into cowards who hurt
both of you. That's what we're sorry for," James says softly. "But this had to
happen, and I think we all know that, because none of us have been doing
well since everything came to light."

"James," Regulus murmurs.

Pulling his hand away, James blinks hard and clears the lump out of his
throat. He wishes he was angry again, so maybe this would be easier.
"You'll have your time. Whatever you need, I suppose. But I'm not—I won't
hide or lie anymore. It has to be both, because not having both will break
my fucking heart, so you two have to figure it out now. Remus and I tried,
but it comes down to the two of you, really."

Regulus flinches, and then he's looking at James with that look where his
eyes are big and sad, like he might start crying any second. That gut-punch
of an expression that makes James want to get on his hands and knees and
crawl if that would make Regulus feel better. That cracked-open, raw
display of emotion that yanks at every one of James' heartstrings,
demanding him to give Regulus whatever he wants. If Regulus wanted the
stars, James would prop a ladder up against the moon and climb it to get
them for him. He'd gather them one at a time and spend the rest of his life
going up and down, bringing one to Regulus every day, just to see him
smile. Something in James keens with the grief of actually putting that look
on his face this time.

"You know what I said," Remus murmurs, looking at Sirius, who swallows
and nods. "I meant it."

"I know," Sirius whispers.

"Regulus," James tells him, pushing to his feet. "I meant everything I said,
too. Whenever you're ready. Whenever we're all ready. Because you do
deserve good things. I just hope you'll let me be one of them."

Regulus sways in his seat, hands tangled in his lap, and he looks down. The
veil of tears in his eyes are hidden by the sweep of his eyelashes, and James
forces himself not to see if any of them fall to his cheeks. He swallows
harshly and tries to keep from crying himself, looking desperately at
Remus.

"Maybe it's best to leave you two alone," Remus says softly, glancing
between Sirius and Regulus as he also stands. He looks at James with
genuine sympathy. "Do you want to take the tube with me? Hate going
alone."
"Yeah," James manages to get out, his voice strangled and thick with tears.
"Yeah, mate, thanks. "

So, together, they leave. The worst part, James thinks, is that neither Sirius
or Regulus stops either of them as they go. But, despite the pain of it, he
knows it's for the best. Maybe it's blind optimism, or just the steady pulse of
love he has for both of them, but he's gripped with unrelenting hope.

Somehow, he knows it won't always be this way.

There's a certain kind of ringing silence that takes over the world when
devastating, disastrous things have happened. The lungs of the world
expanding on a held breath. The spine of the skies turning to iron, and the
joints of the ground splitting from the strain of not moving. Everything—
the air, the earth, the entire universe—just stops. Just for a moment.

In that moment, there's a safe space to exist in. Because when you're there,
you don't have to be anywhere else. You don't have to be anyone at all. It's a
pause, and nothing can reach you in it. Sirius has been here many times
before—the first morning he woke up after he ran away from home, every
night before he drifted off on Regulus' birthday, each time the punishments
lasted long enough that the curtain came down.

Unfortunately, this is not a phenomenon that can last forever. It doesn't last
forever. Sirius and Regulus both have been too still for too long, not moving
or speaking, staring listlessly at nothing. There's a twitch in Sirius' fingers,
and this spurs on a stilted exhale, his chest stuttering as he gives a violent
blink.

Sirius feels himself be forcefully evicted from that safe pause, that small
pocket of shock where nothing reaches him, and all he can do is sit there as
it all finally catches up to him.

Oh, fuck.

The way it hurts is somehow unexpected, which he thinks might be one of

the most ridiculous responses he could have ever found himself subject to.
For one, he knows pain; knows it inside and out; knows what twisted forms
it can take, and how there are so many faces to pain that he couldn't see
them all even if he lived forever, and knows that he's still stared into more
faces than most—so this means that this shouldn't take him by surprise. For
another thing, what the hell did he think was going to happen? Like, what
was the goal here, really? Of course it's going to hurt; as if losing the person
you're in love with could ever be anything else, and oh.

Oh, that's what it was all about. This. Avoiding this, right here, right now.
This awful, horrible reality they've all found themselves in where happiness
crumbled in their palms. They were rough with it. Why didn't they know
how to be tender?

And yet, despite knowing what the outcome would be, Sirius finds that it
does not, in fact, save him from the pain of it. He's hit with a wave of
staunch regret that goes black and rotted in the pit of his stomach, churning
and burning and making him want to curl into a tight ball as he presses his
fist into his gut. Sort of the same way someone would prod at a sore tooth,
repeatedly poking at the exposed nerve for the controlled pain, except it's in
his skin, in his intestines, in the core of him. He has the wild, inexplicable
urge to fucking gut himself the same as the anguished defiance of someone
with a sore tooth who can't bear it wants to snatch the tooth out by the root.

Sirius lifts his head because, with no warning, Regulus suddenly stands up.
He just shoots to his feet with his lips tucked in so tight that they're a
wrinkled, bloodless white. His hands wring in front of him, shaking, and
there's an almost desperate gleam in his eyes—as well as an unmistakable
swirl of building tears. His whole body is stiff, so he moves around like he's
rusted over and dangerously close to crumbling.

"Tea?" Regulus asks—or, he means to ask, but the word comes out thick
and garbled, and the only reason Sirius can make out what he said at all is
likely due to some sibling superpower.

Regulus also doesn't wait for his answer. He just heads right for the kitchen
and throws himself into making tea. He does it with vigor, too, and Sirius
watches him with this heavy sort of exhaustion weighing on him. There's a
tiny part of him that's tired, that wants to bury his head in the sand and
pretend nothing has actually happened, but he knows he can't.

A clatter of a kettle finally gets Sirius to his feet. Regulus is trying his best,
he really is, but no one functions well when they're freshly hurt like this.
Sirius isn't sure that Regulus has ever had his heart properly broken before,
and it's this thought that makes him realize that neither of them have. They
grew up with bruised and beaten hearts, but were wise enough not to give
that organ to anyone who could break it open and drop it with a lackluster
splat, especially because the damn thing was so bruised and beaten already
for both of them.

Christ, haven't they been through enough?

"Regulus," Sirius says quietly, and this is easier. This is what he needs, he
realizes. The relief of putting aside his own pain to focus on someone else's,
someone who matters more. That's the thing, isn't it? Regulus has always
mattered more.

It hits Sirius, then. Just a thought that nearly barrels him over entirely. A
realization he couldn't grasp as a child, the ruthless perception of his own
life warped and layered with lies he told himself to make it through, but the
truth is… The truth, he now knows, is that it hurt so much to believe
Regulus didn't need him anymore because Sirius still needed him.

Regulus doesn't acknowledge him. He's repeatedly bringing tea cups down
and putting them back, cycling through each one as if weighing his options.
His back is to Sirius, and he won't slow down, or stop, or even look at him.

Sirius steps closer and reaches out to gently cover Regulus' hands, making
him go still. Carefully, Sirius moves the tea cup away and repeats, softer
this time, "Regulus."

Regulus is wound so tight that Sirius almost doesn't even know what to do
with him. His shoulders are tense to the point that they're wrenched up near
his ears, and Sirius can hear the quiet, repeated hitch in his breathing like
it's so very hard for him to do. He sounds like he's drowning.

The worst part, Sirius thinks, is that James and Remus didn't even do
anything other than what Regulus and Sirius needed them to. It's just
heartbreaking to have to watch someone walk away when you want them so
badly. James and Remus haven't done anything wrong. They did it exactly
right, and Sirius knows that he and Regulus are more heartbroken by the
circumstances than them. Time is such a cruel thing to be trapped by, even
more so when they have no choice but to need it. Sometimes, emotions
aren't rational, and Sirius knows that this is one such time for both of them.

Slowly, Sirius reaches out and gently grasps the side of Regulus' arm,
urging him to turn and look at him. Literally the second Regulus meets his
eyes, his entire face crumbles like the mask he's spent years perfecting has
gone up in ash. A mask and a curtain gazing upon each other for years, and
just like that, they're set ablaze and dashed away entirely. Sirius knows what
to do about this; he always knows what to do when Regulus breaks down
like this. He pulls him into an embrace and comforts him, because he
always has.

"Alright, I know," Sirius murmurs, tenderly bussing Regulus on the back of

his head, cupping the back of it as Regulus chokes out a muffled sound into
his shoulder. "I can't talk rubbish about him because—well, he's my best
friend and not a rubbish person, but I'll give it a go, if you like. We can
pretend I mean it when I say he's shit, and not worth your time, and I'll kill
him. Do you want me to kill him?"

"Yes," Regulus rasps.

Sirius chuckles weakly. "You're such a bitch, Reggie. Yeah, alright. I'll kill
him for you."

"Make it slow," Regulus tells him, sounding small and petulant. "I want it to
hurt."

"I think you've covered that already," Sirius mutters, and Regulus cries
harder, making Sirius grimace. "Right, that may have been bad timing. Not
my best moment, I'll admit."

"No, it's just who you are. You're a good friend," Regulus whispers, "but
you're not a good brother."

"I'm trying," Sirius croaks, and thinks ouch. Because yeah, that fucking
hurts. Regulus is so casually cruel for the sake of being honest for him to be
such a liar.

Regulus sniffs and rubs his face against Sirius' shoulder to presumably wipe
away snot and tears, which is disgusting and makes Sirius wrinkle his nose,
but then Regulus pulls back and mumbles, "I know you are. You're doing
better than me; you always have. I'm not a good anything."

"Yeah, you're pretty shit," Sirius agrees, and Regulus huffs out a hoarse
laugh that threatens to crack off into more sobbing, so Sirius clears his
throat and continues, "but I still—"
And he stops. He stops and lets it hang there, because he doesn't know what
comes next. He can sense that whatever it is would be a point of no return,
an honesty he can't come back from, and right now, he's not willing to walk
right into something that can and likely will hurt him. Not even for his little
brother. He's tired. He's so fucking tired.

"I don't want tea anymore," Regulus declares, and then spends the next
minute undoing all the work he put in to make them tea to start with. He's
such a strange person. There's no mistaking his bitterness towards Sirius,
though. Half the reason is likely just him being so petty that he doesn't want
to give Sirius anything right now, not even tea.

Sirius sighs. "What do you want me to say? I'm not going to lie to you,
Regulus. I know this isn't easy for us, but it's not easy for them either.
James, especially."

"Is that so?" Regulus asks sharply.

"Yes," Sirius emphasizes, needing him to realize it, because some part of
him thinks that Regulus doesn't, or flatout refuses to. "You don't realize how
much of a big deal it was for James to put himself out there again, after
Lily. He was so cautious to love again, because when he loves, he loves.
With all of him. With all that he has. He's hurting, too."

"Oh, don't you bloody well start with me," Regulus snaps, cutting him a
harsh glare. "You're a fucking hypocrite, Sirius, you know that? How do
you think Remus feels?"
"Stop," Sirius bites out, his heart sinking.

"No," Regulus replies coldly. "You started this. He's felt on the outside of
things his entire life, like he didn't belong anywhere, and you just shoved
him farther out."

Sirius scoffs. "Oh, like you're not pleased about it. I'll bet you're so fucking
delighted that that you could hang this over him, just more proof for why
I'm the worst person in the entire world, isn't that right?"

"Funnily enough, no, actually," Regulus snarls. "Believe it or not, I don't

find it gratifying that my best friend has been hurt at all. But, of course, you
wouldn't realize that, because you don't think I'm capable of caring about
anyone."

"I find it a little hard to believe, yeah."

"I care about him."

"You tried to fucking poison him, Regulus!" Sirius bursts out

incredulously.

Regulus smacks his teeth. "That was one time, and I didn't actually do it!"
"That's not actually helping your case, you know."

"Well, at least I didn't fucking hit him."

"Oh, piss off," Sirius growls defensively, properly angry now. He can feel it
bubbling within him, all the frustration and hurt, everything dangerously
close to exploding out of him like a gushing geyser boiling over from the
pressure.

"Look at you, having a go at me for your best friend like you're not a
hypocrite, but what more could I expect from you? Of course you'd defend
him," Regulus hisses. "Of course James Potter gets your support and
sympathy before anyone else."

"You're literally doing the same thing with Remus!"

"Oh, is that bothering you? Does that upset you, Sirius? Imagine how I felt
for my entire fucking life!"

Sirius jabs a finger at his own chest. "That's not my fault! It's not my fault
that you were a jealous, insecure little—"
"Who made me that way?!" Regulus shouts. "You, Sirius. You made me that
way! I was never good enough for you, even before I got older. What had I
done at eleven years old to deserve being second place to him? Nothing! I
waited for you to come home, and all you wanted to do was leave. Leave
and go back to James Potter, some stupid boy who took everything away
from me. And there was nothing I could do to stop it."

"You're the most self-centered person I know. Do you even know how many
times I had to fight with Mother and Father to come home, just so I could
see you?" Sirius grits out. "All the times they thought it would be the
perfect punishment to make me stay at Hogwarts, because I pleaded and
cried each fucking time to get back to you. I certainly wasn't going home
for them. Do you know how many times I turned James down to come
spend Christmas break, or Easter break, or part of the summer, or even the
whole fucking summer with him? Just because I wanted to see you. Because
I didn't want to leave you alone. Because I missed you. And for what? For
what, Reggie? Because every time, you just got worse and worse! You
made me hate you, and I still came!"

"Oh, is that supposed to matter? Is that supposed to move me emotionally?

You're telling me that you could have been less miserable away from me,
and I'm supposed to feel sorry for you? Well, I fucking don't," Regulus tells
him harshly. "Your grand sacrifice, coming home to me. Wow, Sirius, thank
you so fucking much for going through the trouble." He leans in, eyes
narrowed into slits. "I wish you hadn't bothered. I wish you'd gone off and
lived your life happily away from me, since I was never enough for you.
But oh, James was, wasn't he? In fact, he was the brother you never had!"

"Well, he's certainly a better one!" Sirius explodes, his chest heaving. "I
wish he was, but I got stuck with you!"
Regulus goes quiet, his face instantly blank. Sirius breathes hard, still
fuming, his mind in an uproar and refusing to slow down and process what
he just said. He's rattling with how furious he is, so he's already unsteady
on his feet when Regulus abruptly lashes out and shoves him hard. Just puts
both hands against his chest and pushes him, and keeps pushing him, over
and over.

"Get out. Get the fuck out! Get out of my flat, and my life, and stay the fuck
away from me!" Regulus chants, continuously shoving Sirius back towards
the door.

"Oh, gladly!" Sirius bellows, swatting Regulus' hands away from him so he
can stomp to the door and fling it open. He steps out and whirls around,
sneering. "I don't know why I bothered wasting my time on you anyway.
We know how this goes, don't we?"

"Fuck you," Regulus spits. "You're a shit person. And trust me, wishing
anyone else in the world was your brother is feeling you learn to get used
to. I've been feeling it my whole life!"

"I'm very fucking aware," Sirius snaps. "I should have known better than to
think anyone in my fucking family could ever be anything other than a
disappointment."

"The feeling is mutual," Regulus hisses, glaring, and then he slams the door
in Sirius' face.
Sirius slaps his hand to it with a growl, cursing under his breath, and then
he whirls around to leave. He seethes all the way down the stairs and out
the door, striding for his bike with the hot itch of rage skitting up and down
his spine. He wants to hit something. He wants to hit Regulus.

Stupid fucking prick. He's a vindictive, cruel, selfish bitch without a scrap
of kindness in him. So what if he's a cook? So what if he has friends he
cares about, and a man he fell in love with? So what if he got out in the end,
and grasped his freedom with both hands, and built a life for himself? So
what, when he's still the same horrible person he grew into the moment the
chubby innocence of his cheeks melted away? He's not that child anymore,
and Sirius is done pretending that there's any part of that child still in him.
It's gone. It's dead, and Sirius refuses to keep reaching for it, to keep sifting
through all the sharp edges of Regulus to find it, cutting himself in the
process for something that doesn't even exist.

Sirius climbs on his bike, scowling and furiously palming the handles, and
then he...doesn't go anywhere.

He sits there. Angry. Spitting mad.

He sits there, and sits there, and sits there without moving.

Go, Sirius urges himself. Just fucking go. Because that's easier, isn't it?
Because that's where this was always heading, wasn't it? Because they
know this, don't they? Because this is what they do, and somehow they're
here yet again, aren't they?
A minute passes. Two. Five. The time keeps spreading out before him, and
the road awaits him. He should go. He's going to go, because he's done. He
is. Regulus isn't worth the breath Sirius would waste on him.

The bike remains shut off. Sirius grinds his teeth, his legs bouncing up and
down on either side, fingers flexing around the handles. He squeezes his
eyes shut, shaking his head, and then he exhales angrily through his nose
like a bull. Grunting, he launches himself back off the bike, because
apparently his body isn't listening to him anymore, and he paces beside it
for another minute, at war with himself. The frustration bubbles up until he
kicks out and slams his boot into the side of the bike, right above the
foothold.

Instantly, Sirius groans and folds forward to crouch down beside his bike,
rubbing the seat as he murmurs, "Oh, I'm sorry, my love. Shouldn't have
done that. It's not you, really. It's my stupid fucking brother. He's pretty
shit."

Yeah, you're pretty shit, Sirius had said and couldn't finish, but the rest
comes to his mind now, unbidden. But I still love you anyway. Always have,
always will.

Oh, that infuriates him like nothing else, and it also takes half the fight right
out of him. Sirius heaves a sigh and hangs his head forward. He can't do
this. He can't do it again. He can't leave Regulus again, not after...not
when…

He just can't.
Sirius pushes to his feet and pats his bike one more time in apology, feeling
genuinely awful to have kicked it, but it seems altogether fine. He breaks
away from it and swivels around to head right back into the building,
dragging his feet like a child who would rather be doing anything else.

He makes it up the first flight of stairs and comes to a halt before the
second, because Regulus has just stepped off across from him. They both
freeze, staring at each other, startled to find one another in the midst of
doing essentially the same thing. What they didn't do eight years ago.

Something in Sirius softens without his permission, and he lets it. He

doesn't fight it. His lips purse, and then relax into a tiny smile as he says,
"Going somewhere?"

"Forget something?" Regulus shoots back, arching an eyebrow at him, the

little shit.

"Yeah." Sirius takes a deep breath, holds his arms out by his sides in a
gesture of fuck it, I've given up, and then lets them flop back down to his
sides. "Maybe the universe likes to have a laugh, and that's why we got
stuck with each other. I don't know. But...you're my brother, and I'm yours.
Maybe I'm not the best one, and maybe you're not the best person, but you
can't hate me, and I love you anyway. I'm not doing it again, Reggie. I'm not
leaving you again."

Regulus looks at him for a long moment, then clears his throat and says,
rather gruffly, "Well, I was just going to check the weather."
"No, you weren't," Sirius murmurs.

"No, I wasn't," Regulus admits, and then, inexplicably, he shakes his head
and gives Sirius a smile. It's a little lopsided and sweet, and Sirius blinks,
because he hasn't seen that smile ever before in his life, not even when
Regulus was a child. It's… It's Regulus' smile. Not just his lips twitching, or
a smirk, or a twist of a smile that forms from emotions a smile shouldn't
even be paired with. It's a real, genuine smile that belongs solely to
Regulus. "You do have to leave, though."

Sirius frowns. "I just said—"

"I'm coming with you. I'm hungry and haven't gotten paid yet, so you're
taking me for lunch," Regulus informs him.

"Oh," Sirius says, and then, "Yeah, alright."

So, they go to get lunch. Well, it's a bit of a trial, actually, because Regulus
kicks up a fuss about riding the bike, but Sirius refuses to call a ride when
he has one. They stand there and argue for literally twenty minutes, five of
which is just Sirius verbally ripping Regulus to shreds for insulting his bike,
and then Regulus hisses like a furious cat when Sirius forces the helmet on
his head even while he's still refusing to get on the bike. It takes another
seven minutes before Regulus gives in and gets on the bike in a clear strop,
grumbling about the likelihood of them dying being the only reason, as he's
apparently enticed by the sweet release of death.
In any case, they do not die, but Sirius' shoulders ache from how hard
Regulus held onto them through the entire ride, and they spend the first ten
minutes of sharing lunch bickering about Sirius' driving skills. It's clear that
they're still harboring some lingering bitterness towards one another for
their earlier argument, but it does inevitably fade in the only way it can
between siblings, even without an apology.

That's the thing, really. Siblings can do this, even siblings as complicated as
them. They can have explosive arguments, and then go out for lunch
afterwards. They can go eight years not speaking, not knowing each other,
and then waltz right back into each other's lives with insults and
exasperation and persistent love like a day hasn't passed.

"Do you still do that?" Sirius asks at one point, watching Regulus lay out
his silverware in a neat row, even though it's just a plastic fork and knife.

Regulus eyes him and sardonically says, "Some habits are too hard to
break."

"I don't know how I can feel like I know you, and not know you at all, at the
same time," Sirius admits, sighing.

"You haven't tried to get to know me," Regulus says bluntly, and Sirius
frowns. "You think I'm such a bad person because you still see me as I
was."
Sirius stiffens. "What? I—I don't see you as a girl, Regulus. Do you think
—"

"No, that's not what I meant. You've been exceptionally well-adjusted about
that," Regulus murmurs. "You should know, I never thought you wouldn't
be."

"Oh," Sirius says, finding himself relieved to hear it, even if he is surprised.
He idly waves his fork. "Can I ask why? I mean, you're so willing to see me
as an awful person, so why wouldn't you think I would be about this?"

Regulus shrugs one shoulder lazily. "You're not Mother, or Father. You're
not like them. You never were. Besides, for me, good people can do awful
things, which stands to reason that awful people can do good things."

"And which am I?"

"Do you want the truth?"

Sirius wrinkles his nose. "Your truth, you mean. I don't know why I'm
asking. I already know."

"Because I'm a liar." Regulus raises his eyebrows. "I'll only say this once,
because I'm only honest on rare occasions, so don't expect me to repeat it.
You're not an awful person, Sirius, you just do awful things sometimes.
You've always been a good person; I've known that since I was a child. I'm
quite sure it's one of the first things I ever learned."

"That's...shockingly kind," Sirius mumbles, suspicious.

Regulus hums. "Yes, well, I hated you for that, too."

"There we are," Sirius says dryly.

"I'm not a good person who does awful things," Regulus tells him simply.
"I'm an awful person who, in very rare moments of my life, will do things
that are moderately less awful than is expected of me. You could say that
this led to resentment towards you, because you hated that about me,
because I wasn't and would never be like you."

"According to James and Remus," Sirius muses, spearing a vegetable with

his fork, "we're very alike."

"Well, what do they know?" Regulus grumbles.

Sirius sighs. "Quite a lot, unfortunately. The bastards."

"Mm," is all Regulus responds with, just as irritated as Sirius.

"You know," Sirius says a few minutes later, in the middle of them both
eating, "I really don't know much about you. About how you've changed, I
mean. Like, yes, I know you're a cook, but I don't—" Sirius frowns,
struggling to figure out how to say what he wants. In the end, he settles on,
"It's like this, yeah? I know James' mean barista likes to go ziplining, and is
passionate about spices, and puts some sort of powder in hot cocoa to make
it better. I know Remus' best friend doesn't open up easily, and likes chess,
and has a favorite book he likes so much he can quote most of it. But I
don't…"

Regulus stares at him. "Sirius, that's me. All of that is me."

"I know," Sirius agrees, frustrated, "but none of that was something I
learned about you. They told me. I know, logically, that all of that is you,
but it's hard to—to connect it with my brother. Do you know what I mean?"

Sirius gazes at him, willing him to just get it, and it's very clear that
Regulus—doesn't. There's this wretched gap between them that neither of
them seem to know how to close, and Sirius doesn't know what to do about
it. He doesn't know how to gather all the right words to explain what he's
feeling. He doesn't know how to delve into the rushing river of his thoughts
and pluck something that makes sense out of the never-ending current.

Because, really, that's what all this is about. Neither of them are in a secure,
stable, healthy place in their lives to be able to do what they truly want. For
so long, they made each other their priority, and then they went so long not
doing that, and now they're stuck in this spot where they can't get anywhere.
They have to meet in the middle. They need time. It's all so fucking
complicated, and Sirius doesn't know what to do.

Regulus keeps looking at him for a moment, and something in Sirius just
pleads with him to instinctively understand. It's not that simple, though, and
Sirius knows it. He feels like they're set up for failure before they even get
anywhere; he feels like giving up is the safest option. And then, Regulus
puts down his fork, plunks his elbows down on the table, and threads his
fingers together in front of his chin in a move that Sirius has never seen
before. (Elbows on the table is a lack of decorum that Walburga never
allowed. Sirius defied that rule religiously with relish. Regulus never did—
until now, it seems.)

"Explain it to me," Regulus says.

Sirius blinks. "What?"

Regulus separates his hands to lazily wave one of them, then links them
back together. "Explain it to me. All of it. What you mean. What you're so
frustrated about. Explain it."

"I—I can't," Sirius admits with a grimace. "I mean, when I try, it all just
sounds—stupid. Or wrong. It's like...my thoughts are slippery, and trying to
explain how I feel never goes well because I don't know half the time. It
never comes out right."
"Sirius, I'm rather accustomed to you sounding stupid and blathering on
about nonsense, but I can't do anything with nothing," Regulus insists. "You
have to give me something."

"You're going to be a prick about everything I say."

"I won't."

"You will," Sirius corrects. "I won't even blame you, in this case. It's all
very…" He clears his throat. "Vulnerable."

"I promise not to be a prick about your vulnerability. I may break out in
hives, but I can't control that," Regulus says, and Sirius snorts. "Now, go
on."

"I…" Sirius scrunches up his face, then blows out a deep breath and tips his
head back to stare at the ceiling. "I don't know. It's complicated. I feel—I
just don't like it. I don't like that James has known you for so long and didn't
tell me, or Remus, because it feels like...a missed opportunity, possibly.
They didn't know that I—well, I never talked to Remus about you, and
James was under the impression that I hated you. And I do. But I also don't.
It's complicated. It's stupid. I just—I hate how uncertain it all is. Because
sometimes I think that maybe we're...trying, you know, like Ms. Promfrey
said. Trying to mend our brotherhood, or whatever."

"Mhm," Regulus hums, letting him know he's listening.

"And then something happens that makes me think you don't want to, or
maybe it really is impossible, after everything. And I sometimes think about
how pleased Mother would be to know we're not close the way we were,
and how much she'd hate it if we actually were proper family again. It just
feels like I lost you eight years ago, and now everyone else gets to have
you, but I don't, and I'm the only person to blame because I left. And I think
I'm guilty, and confused, and just—I don't know. I hate that you're hurting
because you want to be with James, and at the same time, I don't want you
to be with James because it's like I said. You'll love him more. You'll love
him easier. You'll need him and not me, and it doesn't feel fair."

"Mm."

"It just feels like shit. It feels like—betraying who we used to be. The
children we were. Because I want to forgive them, I really do, but it's so
fucking difficult. I used to look at you and think I'd die for you, and by the
end, I used to look at you and think you would prefer it if I did. But we're
both alive; we both got out. So, why isn't it easy? Why can't we just—start
over? Except I don't want to start over either."

"Right. Go on."

"I want it all to stop being so fucking complicated, but it never is, and it's
exhausting. You exhaust me sometimes, but other times, it feels worth it.
And I—I don't know. Maybe I want it all to mean something; all the things
we suffered together could mean something if we came out of it with
something to show for it. Because I think we could, if we tried, but I don't
know if we could get there. And I want to get there, most of the time,
because I look at you and see things about you that I never knew. Things
that make me proud, and things that make me grieve. I just—I miss you. I
think I always missed you."

"I see."

"None of this makes sense. It's all so contradicting, and now I sound like a
fucking weepy, soppy idiot," Sirius mutters, dropping his head forward to
scrub his fingers over his hairline in frustration. He sighs and pushes his
plate away with force, appetite completely gone.

"I'm selfish," Regulus announces, and Sirius tilts his head up to frown at
him. Regulus grimaces slightly. "About you. I'm selfish when it comes to
you, Sirius. I don't want James to have you, or Remus. I hate that you have
a life I don't know much about. I don't know you right now any more than
you know me right now, and it drives me fucking mad."

"Really?" Sirius asks, and Regulus nods. "I just… I know it's not healthy,
but I—"

"It's hard," Regulus murmurs.

Sirius swallows. "All of it is. I—I really love Remus, you know. I want to
be with him, Reggie. I…"
"I want to be with James," Regulus replies, and they both stare at each
other. Something passes between them, small and silent, but necessary all
the same. A certain kind of camaraderie. Acceptance. "We just need time."

"So, you get it," Sirius says cautiously.

Regulus clicks his tongue. "Partially. I'm not a weepy, soppy idiot about it,
but…"

"You said you wouldn't be a prick."

"The vulnerable moment is over. I've had enough."

"Of course you have," Sirius mutters with a weak laugh.

"I used to…" Regulus looks away, sighing. "Look, I used to wait for you to
come back for me after you left, and I would have gone with you the
moment you had." He pauses, jaw clenching enough that his cheek jumps,
and then he turns his head and holds Sirius' gaze. "You're eight years late,
but I still came."

Sirius feels the words like he's just been slammed back into the floor, the
breath knocked out of his lungs. He swallows harshly and croaks, "So, not
eight years too late, then?"
"No, Sirius," Regulus murmurs, "not too late at all."

"Oh," Sirius says weakly, and then he proceeds to break down right there at
the table and cry. It feels like something just cracks open in his chest, and
he can breathe better than he has in such a long time. The relief of it is hard-
hitting, wiping him out completely, leaving him shaking from the sudden
unloading of weight he didn't think he'd ever stop carrying.

"Sirius," Regulus says quietly, and Sirius covers his face with one hand
while swinging the other out to fumble for whatever he can grasp onto first.
He manages to clamp on Regulus' wrist, which he holds onto tight as his
shoulders shake, and Regulus sighs before he pats Sirius' hand with his free
one, likely in a very awkward manner. "You're making a scene. You always
make a bloody scene."

"Sorry," Sirius chokes out. "I'm sorry. Reggie, I'm sorry."

"I know," Regulus whispers. "I know you are. I am, too."

Sirius squeezes his wrist and manages to somehow get out, through his
tears, a desperate request. "We'll try?"

"We'll try," Regulus tells him. "We're trying."

"Okay," Sirius rasps, and then keeps crying for a bit. It's a whole mess, but
he feels immensely better once it's over, once he can suck in a shuddering
breath and let it out, shaky as it is. His eyes are puffy and itchy by the time
he calms down, and he scrubs at his face with his sleeve, quite sure that he
looks like a fucking wreck at the moment. He's an odd mixture of
embarrassed and delighted, so he can barely bring himself to look at
Regulus, but he also can't stop smiling.

"Are you done? Is it over? Tell me it's over," Regulus says flatly, moving
his hand away from Sirius', even though Sirius is still holding onto his
wrist. Not as tight, though.

"Yeah, think so," Sirius mumbles, trying to locate any sense of dignity. The
request for it is still pending. He coughs and shifts awkwardly in his seat.

Regulus pulls his wrist from Sirius' grip, but he does it slowly and gently
with visible effort not to come off as a prick about it. That's an
improvement, at least. "Does this mean we can stop going to therapy?"

"I think this means we have to keep going to therapy," Sirius admits with a
sigh, and they share a despaired grimace at the truth in that observation at
the same time.

They look away from each other, focusing on their food, but they're both
smiling when they do. And that's enough.

They're trying.
Chapter End Notes

can you believe that these four were never all in a room together for
OVER 200K words? that's insane. but that's okay. they will be in the
future <3

also, yes, this is that messy portion of healing where it's like: okay, we
have to step up and commit to it, or we're going to get nowhere. which
is hard. and messy. but they're getting there. they're trying.

also²: james potter is hot when he's angry, and i know it because
regulus told me himself. pass it on.

thank you all for the lovely comments; i intend to get to replying to
them when i have a little more free time, but i hope you all know that i
see them and adore them. let me know your thoughts on this one, and
see you tomorrow! :)
 Chapter 24
Chapter Notes

Warnings for this chapter: Sirius falls through a curtain, Regulus goes
swimming, James meets a man with no nose, and Remus goes into the
light.

Kidding. IM KIDDING. ITS APRIL FIRST AND THIS IS AN APRIL

FOOLS JOKE!!!!

No, uh, real warnings for this chapter: brief discussion about
cannibalism (NOT an April Fools joke), but only because of Sweeney
Todd (yes, the musical; yes, there are spoilers if you haven't seen it),
which leads to talk about Hannibal (the show, and yes, there are minor
spoilers if you haven't seen it). some references to suicide (like when
people thought regulus died when he left home, nothing too heavy, i
promise). some discussions about sexual things as well, but but too
explicit. this all seems very bad, but bear with me here, this is mostly a
lighthearted, healing chapter <3

enjoy :)
See the end of the chapter for more notes

Remus looks up at the sound of the door and watches James briefly pause
on the way to the counter to stop and talk to Fabian. It's a quick
conversation, exchanging greetings and smiles, but James doesn't linger. He
probably would, knowing him, but Fabian seems pretty focused on his
phone, and it's not like they haven't run into each other often enough in the
last month. Fabian comes in every day, and James comes in a few times a
week.

"Busy today?" James asks as he stops on the other side of the counter,
offering Remus a faint smile.
"It was, yeah, but Gideon and I managed it well enough," Remus says, and
purposefully leaves out the part where every fibre of his being wishes he'd
worked with Regulus instead.

That's not a slight against Gideon. He's good under pressure; he just doesn't
work with Remus the way Regulus always used to. Besides, Gideon has
been...different since—everything.

Remus doesn't really have any hard feelings for Gideon, exactly. A part of
him wants to bash his head in for being someone Sirius shagged before him,
but he knows that's not fair. (The feeling persists anyway, so he does his
best to ignore it.) In any case, he'd planned to be perfectly polite when they
went back to working together.

It's just, Gideon is very different towards him now. He's still friendly and
helpful, but all traces of flirting have vanished. He keeps his distance like
he's getting paid to, never coming too close, never touching, never even
dropping a hint that they could be friends who shag. Remus finds, oddly
enough, that he sort of misses it. Not enough to do anything about it, but he
is confused about what made Gideon suddenly stop. He never planned to
take Gideon up on his offer, Sirius or no Sirius, so he's not particularly
interested in urging Gideon to resume the way he was before, but it is a bit
of a riddle.

As for why he doesn't admit this to James, well… Well, they simply do not
talk about their respective best friends to one another in any capacity
whatsoever. At all. Remus doesn't so much as breathe Regulus' name
around James, and James frequently halts mid-sentence (where he's clearly
about to talk about Sirius) to suddenly change the subject to literally
anything else in a move that's not subtle but much appreciated all the same.
They're making it work. Just a couple of lads pretending their best friend
doesn't exist for the sake of each other. Ah, true friendship.

They have a very strange friendship, Remus reflects.

"Dropping in to ask if you want to grab lunch with me and Lily," James
says, looking hopeful.

"I don't know, James…" Remus trails off warily.

James clasps his hands together and bumps them to his own chin. "Please,
Remus. You'll literally be saving my life. She's going to be a nightmare."

"Is she?" Remus asks, amused despite himself.

"You have no idea, mate. She's brilliant, really," James mutters with a sigh,
"but it's it's too long since I've spoken to her about anything with substance,
so she's threatened to hunt me down and drag me out by the ear. I've been
putting her off, but in a strange turn of events, she's not taking no for an
answer."

Remus raises his eyebrows. "Why is that strange? Lily strikes me as the
type of woman who doesn't give up on much."
"Well, it's ironic, you see, because I spent almost six years pestering her to
go out with me while she repeatedly told me no," James explains.

"What?" Remus blinks. "You fancied Lily?"

James chuckles. "Mate, I was hair over my toes for Lily. Made a constant
arse of myself for...a really long time because of it, in fact. We dated for two
years."

The first and only thought Remus has is oh, Regulus is going to kill me. He
realizes then that Regulus once gave Sirius advice to give to James about
Lily, and then he realizes that Regulus 'I am fiercely territorial and
persistently jealous' Black would be absolutely furious to know that Remus
quite likes Lily.

It takes everything in Remus not to blurt out asking if Regulus knows of

James' past with Lily, because he's quite sure that if Regulus does, then he
hates Lily on principle. This puts him in a bit of a difficult position,
admittedly, but the upside to his life repeatedly going to shit is that he's
gotten rather used to coexisting with the shambles.

"Are you and Lily…?" Remus once again trails off, mostly because he can
hear the hesitancy in his own voice. He shouldn't really feel anything about
it if James is moving on, or moving backwards, but he finds that the thought
displeases him. He can't help it. Regulus is his best friend.
"Oh, what? No, no, nothing like that," James says quickly, seeming
genuinely baffled by the thought. He shakes his head and snorts. "No, Lily
is a friend. We're better off that way. Besides, I told Regulus I'd wait. I
meant it."

"Right," Remus says very carefully.

"Yeah." James clears his throat and looks away with a frown. It makes
Remus' heart pang to realize that he's never seen James frown as much as he
does these days. It's sad seeing someone who always used to smile slowly
lose the ability to, and it's even worse to watch them take it a step further
and do the opposite. "What about you? Thinking about…?"

"No," Remus murmurs. "I meant it when I said I'd wait. There won't be
anyone else but Sirius." Not ever, he doesn't say. He knows it, though.
Knows it down to the marrow of his bones. Has known it from the very
start. Sirius is it for him. It's always going to be Sirius, for Remus.

Just another one of life's greatest tragedies—him and Sirius. At least Remus
is rather accustomed to those.

It still hurts, though.

It still hurts.
"Right," James says, chewing on his bottom lip.

"Yeah," is Remus' quiet response. Sometimes, he gets the random impulse

to apologize for saying yes for Regulus when James first asked him out.
This is one of those times.

"So, erm, will you come?" James asks, coughing. "Just, you know, to help a
mate out. She'll be less...less if you're around, possibly. Well, no, probably
not, but you'll make it bearable."

Well, Remus knows all about that. They make a lot of things bearable for
each other, funnily enough. It's sort of what they do. "Sure, James, I'll
come."

This, as it turns out, is a huge mistake. Lily is not less less because Remus
shows up with James. If anything, she's more more. Remus is not prepared.

"Lovely, I've got both idiots here to berate," Lily declares as soon as she
sees them, and then she does just that.

Getting lectured by the force that is Lily Evans isn't a fun experience,
Remus finds out. James seems resigned to it, but this is Remus' first time,
so he's sort of terrified. He's also bowled over by how eloquent she is about
it. Somehow, she knows exactly what happened (eventually admitting that
Sirius explained, and that comes with a five minute tangent about the fact
that she's spent half her life thinking Sirius had a sister, only to find out she
was wrong all this time, and Remus can't help but feel a pulse of fondness
in his chest for Sirius pulling that off with someone as headstrong as Lily),
and she makes it very clear that what they did was incredibly stupid.

And then, in a move Remus doesn't at all see coming, she states outright
that she understands why they were incredibly stupid in the first place, and
while she's not condoning their actions, she doesn't think they're actually
stupid or bad people. She then softens right up to tell them that she's there
as their friend—Remus included—and that she just wants everyone to be
happy, not leaving Sirius or Regulus out of that statement. She's so
aggressively kind about it that Remus doesn't really have the heart to tell
her that he and James are about as far from happy as they can get, but James
takes the plunge and gently explains that he—as well as Remus—have
given Regulus and Sirius time to figure things out, and Lily groans about
the fact that they're not just together and happy.

"Well, we're not particularly delighted about it either, Lily," James says with
a heavy sigh. "This was the outcome we were avoiding from the start,
hence the being incredibly stupid bit."

"Oh, this is so disappointing," Lily mutters wearily, and Remus snorts

weakly, because yeah, that about sums it up.

Lily looks so sad for him, for both of them, and the look doesn't go away
even though she backs off. Things do get easier after that, though, because
she stops talking about Regulus and Sirius altogether, which is how Remus
and James tend to prefer it these days.
Lily clearly doesn't want to leave it there, but she's respectful enough to do
so, which makes the lunch less painful for all of them. Instead, after that, it's
actually...nice. Lily truly is brilliant, and Remus finds himself warmed that
she treats him as a friend. It's sort of one of those rare moments where
Remus remembers there's more to life than all the tragedies he's grown
accustomed to. There are lovely people out there in the world that offer
perspective and take the sting of loneliness out of existing. It reminds him
that they're all here; everyone is all here together, just trying to make it
through. There's something precious about that, despite everything.

Towards the end of lunch, Lily insists on getting his number so they can
talk and also finish their discussion about Jane Austen's Persuasion, which
is a very dangerous topic, actually, because the main theme of the book is
the idea of a second chance at love or needing to wait until it's the right time
to be with someone you love. He agrees nonetheless, setting aside his
reservations, and right before he puts his cell away, it buzzes with a
message from Regulus.

Come over, Regulus has sent, succinct as always. It's quickly followed by:
I'm making something.

I've just had lunch, Remus replies.

Well, I'm not making lunch, Regulus messages back, and Remus heaves a
sigh before rolling his eyes.

Give me an hour.
You have half of that.

Remus clicks his tongue and slips his phone away. "Sorry to dash off, but I
have to go."

"Somewhere to be?" James asks lightly, clearly asking out of curiosity and
not with the thought of Regulus at all.

"Yeah, I…" Remus clears his throat and looks away. "Just have this thing.
Anyway, this was—nice. I'll see you."

"Right," James mumbles, and the light tone has faded, because it's obvious
he's picked up on what thing Remus has.

It's a little stilted after that, but James still claps him on the shoulder and
promises to see him tomorrow. Remus just nods, even though he wonders
what brings James into the shop outside of his persistent determination to
stay friends. James never orders anything. Never. He just comes in to chat
for a bit, occasionally drags Remus out to lunch, which they trade off on
paying for, and that's it. Remus doesn't protest or point any of this out,
though. He's grateful for it, honestly.

When he does make it to Regulus', he finds that the place smells sweet, the
sort of sugary scent that comes with baking. It reminds him of his mum, and
there's a sharp prick of nostalgia for the scent of biscuits she always used to
make. Hope Lupin wasn't very good about actually talking to her son, but
she damn well made sure he was fed. He misses her; he missed her before
she ever died, and he still does after.

Regulus is quiet as he gestures for Remus to sit down. It's been a month
since the fallout in this very flat, coming up on two months since Sirius and
Regulus found out the truth. Time has a funny way of making things seem
bigger than they are, and smaller. In the present, it's all-encompassing, like
there's no future to even look towards. Yet, the future comes, and the
present fades into the past, and sometimes it's as equally hard to look back
as it is to look forward. Remus wants to close his eyes most of the time.
He's surrounded by mistakes and tragedies. But he keeps looking forward
anyway.

"What'd you have for lunch?" Regulus murmurs.

"Egg rolls, mostly," Remus admits, watching Regulus carry over a plate
curiously. "What's this?"

Regulus drops off the plate in front of him and moves to sit down. "I
believe I promised you tiramisu."

"Ah," Remus replies, picking up his fork. He sighs and stares down at the
cake. It looks good. Mouth-watering, really.

Remus contemplates for a moment the positives that came from what
happened a month ago. He didn't expect anything good to come from it, if
he's honest, fully prepared for it to be an awful wait, but this has. This
being: Regulus' new mission—for a lack of a better phrase—to make
amends. He has, for the last month, been buttering Remus up as much as he
ever does, which is to say that he never has before, and Remus didn't even
know he was capable of it. But he is, and his form of groveling comes in
food and forced proximity.

Regulus hasn't apologized for the time in which he treated Remus awfully
—not with words, at least—but Remus knows he's sorry. He's made it very
blatant that he's sorry, and Remus is surprised by how much that actually
matters. More so than just an apology. Anyone can apologize, even without
remorse, but if they're not sorry, truly sorry, then it rings hollow. This
doesn't, and Remus has reached the point where he's just letting Regulus do
it out of pure amusement.

There's an unspoken forgiveness between them in both directions. It's more

than acceptance. It's better than that, because they're them again. Best
friends and miserable sods making it through life together. Remus is more
relieved by it than he'll ever admit, but he's sure Regulus knows anyway.

"So?" Regulus prompts when Remus has his first bite, arching an eyebrow.
"You liked the flavored gelato. What about this?"

"I like the gelato better," Remus admits, dipping his fork again with a
thoughtful hum. "It's good, though. I don't hate it."

"Sirius does," Regulus says softly, and Remus stops chewing for a moment,
simply because he can't swallow. "That's all we were allowed to have for
dessert growing up, you see, so that's why he hates it, I think. He's always
hated it."

Remus grunts and looks down at the plate, refusing to ask about him. He
wants to, but he and James agreed to stay out of it, and they have been.
Sometimes, Remus can tell that Regulus is trying to goad him into it. "Oh.
Right."

"Spiteful prat," Regulus notes with a sigh. Remus doesn't deem that worthy
of a response, and Regulus frowns before clicking his tongue and shaking
his head. "Alright, fine, sure. Finish it, then, and we'll watch something
after."

"What are we watching?"

"Up to you."

"Regulus," Remus says, helplessly amused and a bit fond against his will.
Regulus being pliant without one complaint is a bit like a dog suddenly
talking. Entertaining, really.

Regulus' lips twitch. "We'll watch something you like. What are you in the
mood for? I know you like your musicals. Les Misérables? The Greatest
Showman? Sweeney Todd?"
"Oh, I have options now?"

"Sweeney Todd it is."

Remus laughs softly. Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street is
reluctantly Regulus' favorite of all the musicals that Remus has ever made
him watch. It makes sense, Remus thinks, because Regulus is an emo little
shit who likes dour, fucked up stories such as that. A murderous barber with
a tragic past and his immoral girlfriend with no qualms about turning
people into unwitting cannibals really would be his favorite, and the
reluctant part of it comes from the fact that Helena Bonham Carter is a main
actress in it.

(Regulus is one of the only people in the world that Remus knows of that
takes issue with her. Not with her, exactly, but with who she reminds him
of. To hear him tell it, she bears an uncomfortable resemblance to one of his
most dreadful cousins. The reminder isn't a pleasant one, apparently.)

Nonetheless, they do settle in on the sofa and start the film. Remus rather
enjoys it, and he's seen it enough by now that it's been conditioned into him
to find it relaxing. As always, Regulus mouths the words to the songs,
especially delighted by declaring that London is a hole in the world like a
great black pit, and it's filled with people who are filled with shit, and the
vermin of the world inhabit it. By the time the song, Pirelli’s Miracle Elixir,
comes on, Regulus finally breaks to softly sing along to it. That one always
gets him, every time.
"'T'was Pirelli's miracle elixir. That's what did the trick, sir. True, sir, true,"
Regulus croons, tapping his fingers on his knee.

"Every time," Remus declares, chuckling.

Regulus turns and sings, "Was it quick, sir? Did it in a tick, sir. Just like an
elixir—ought to do." He reaches out and pokes Remus on the end of his
nose on the word do, breaking out into a grin when Remus lazily swats his
finger away.

He looks so much like Sirius when he grins. Remus can't stop himself from
looking away, swallowing and focusing on the screen, listening to Regulus
softly sing right beside him.

"God, that's awful," Remus says with a resigned laugh as he watches an

entire crowd turn into cannibals without knowing it. Really, the whole
theme of this musical is supremely fucked up. Now wonder they find it so
compelling.

"Humans don't actually hold significant nutritional value, you know,"

Regulus tells him casually. "You'd get better from other animals, in fact.
Besides, cannibalism isn't beneficial to the body. Also, consuming a brain
can lead to prion diseases."

"What?"
"But also, consuming cooked human flesh is no more dangerous than eating
the cooked flesh of other animals. It's true for the majority of the human
body, excluding the brain; the health implications are similar to that of
eating any large omnivore."

Remus stares at him. "Reg, why do you know that?"

"I'm a cook," Regulus says, eyebrows furrowed.

"That—that doesn't mean you should know that. People aren't on the menu.
Bodies aren't ingredients. What the fuck?"

"I like to keep my options open."

"That's so disturbing. Like, legitimately unnerving," Remus whispers, and

Regulus just cocks his head at him, and then they're both laughing as
Sweeney Todd slits another throat.

"I aspire to be Hannibal Lector—the show Hannibal Lector specifically,

where he's gay for the man with anxiety," Regulus says, still chuckling.

"God, why would you?"

"Well, he was classy, had brilliant tastes in music and literature, and was a
truly fantastic cook."

"Reg, he ate people."

"Rude people."

"You're rude people," Remus points out.

Regulus pauses, then concedes with a nod. "He would have absolutely
cooked me. I'm oddly honored by the thought. Oh, to be consumed by the
Mads Mikkelsen version of Hannibal Lector. Will Graham was a fool to
ever refuse him."

"Didn't they end up together in the end?"

"Allegorically, I'd say so. They killed a man together, took bites out of him
and everything; it was all very sensual. Peak romance, honestly. Then they
flung themselves off a cliff."

"Only you would watch a show about a strangely polite cannibal and see it
as a gay romcom."
"I can't help it that I'm smarter than everyone else."

Remus shakes his head with a smile. "Sure, Reg, whatever you say. I worry
for you, you know, you fucking lunatic."

"That's fair," Regulus allows, then gets distracted by the film again, caught
up in another song. (By the Sea.)

"Well," Remus says when the film is over, "I think that rather put me off
food for a bit."

Regulus hums and nudges him with his elbow. "Maybe I'm just naturally
disposed to deplorable, fucked up things, but I'm so very tempted to make
some meat pies now."

"I won't be having any."

"Well, I'll hold the human, obviously."

"Cheers," Remus says flatly, but a laugh bubbles up out of him, and
Regulus echoes it. Remus glances over at him, feeling his face soften with a
mixture of fondness and curiosity. "Can I ask you something? It's going to
sound like an insult, I think, but I don't mean it as one."
"Oh, this should be lovely," Regulus mutters, his laughter fading into a sigh.
He nods wearily. "Go on, then."

Remus purses his lips, then clears his throat. "It's just, you seem...lighter
lately. Freer than you usually are, I mean. Laughing more. Smiling more.
And I thought—well, with everything that happened with James, I just
assumed…"

"Ah." Regulus looks down at his hands loosely linked in his lap. One of his
thumbs gently traces lines in his other palm, and he takes a deep breath
before he slowly lets it out. "Don't think I'm… It's just, I'm not happy, not
really. I—" He swallows and clears his throat. "I miss him. All the time,
honestly. And I want—well, I want a lot of things, but I... But I've made my
peace with it. For now."

"How?" Remus asks, genuinely confused, because he knows just how much
Regulus loves James. How does someone just let that go? How do they
come to terms with not having it?

"Well, for one...." Regulus closes his eyes, looking so sad that Remus
regrets asking at all. "It just...wasn't the right time, but it helps that I'm
getting there. It's just awful that he's the right person; we just found each
other at the wrong time."

Remus' eyebrows pinch together. "What do you mean?"

"I think about it a lot," Regulus whispers, opening his eyes to stare straight
ahead, gaze unfocused. "Sirius and I—we're trying, you know. We're
actually trying to be brothers, to talk, and we're still going to therapy. It's
working, I think, and I can see how things could turn out for us. Really
well, despite everything. Believe me, no one is as surprised as we are."

"I'm not surprised at all. You two love each other. I knew that before either
of you would even admit it to yourselves."

"Yes, well, some things take time and effort, I suppose. In any case, I think
about what would have been if I didn't meet James until after I saw that
painting in the art gallery and bumped into Sirius that night. If maybe I
would have gotten to a place with Sirius where I could meet his friends,
meet his best friend, and maybe… Well, I think about it a lot. But that's not
how it went, and now we're all unhappy."

"Is it…? I mean, is it getting better?" Remus asks, unable to stop himself.
He's so desperate to know.

Regulus takes a deep breath and slowly lets it out, turning to look right into
Remus' eyes. "It is. I'm just really—" He swallows harshly and seems to
gather some sort of courage, setting his shoulders. "I'm scared. I'm afraid of
what happens when I do try. That's a part of it, and it's also… Remus, I
think for the first time in my life, I'm actually—I'm finding some sort of
peace with my brother. When it comes to Sirius, we're in the best place
we've been in years, and I needed to focus on that. We're trying, we're
working on it, but it has taken time. I wasn't going to try to do anything
with James before I was even in a good enough place to properly offer
anything to him. I'm a mess, and he deserves better than that."
"I'm not sure he would agree with that last bit."

"No, probably not."

"It's good for you," Remus mumbles. "Sirius, I mean. He's good for you. It's
making you happier that you're working on it, I can tell. I'm—I'm proud of
you, Reg."

Regulus lets that hang for a moment, blinking hard and ducking his head,
then he looks up with a tiny smile. "Thank you. He… Remus, he misses
you, you know."

"He told you that?"

"He didn't have to. It's obvious. Sirius has never been particularly subtle
about what he's feeling."

"Why do you care?" Remus asks shortly. "What, are you ready to give me
your blessing now, is that it?"

"That's the thing about regrets," Regulus replies softly, looking down at his
hands again. "If we knew that we'd suffer so much from them, we'd never
lead ourselves into torment. I wish I could go back and give you my
blessing, just as much as a part of me still doesn't want to."

Remus' face twists. "That's selfish, Regulus."

"I know," Regulus murmurs. "I'm very selfish about Sirius. I've been
working on that as well, for both of our sakes. It's not particularly healthy, is
it? Ms. Pomfrey says that it's limiting and restricting and will lead to
resentment, which we've already seen by now. She also says that it's a sort
of defense mechanism forged from trauma and my abandonment issues, and
my trust issues. It was suggested that I likely do this with many people in
my life, especially if they're very important to me. You're very important to
me, Remus."

"Am I?" Remus asks, softening right on up again. Regulus and Sirius have
this ability in common, even if they execute it very differently; this ability
to cause a whiplash of emotion that spikes and eases with a few simple
words and the soul-rattling glimpse of their eyes. So similar, and yet they
make Remus feel so different, but that ability is a shared trait.

"You really are," Regulus whispers. "You're my best friend."

"So, what I'm hearing is, you don't want to share me either. You're selfish
with me, too."

"I don't, and I am. Again, not very healthy, but I'm rather fucked up. You
know this. Like I said, I'm working on it."
"I think you're doing beautifully," Remus tells him.

Regulus quirks a smile. "You mean you're enjoying me buttering you up."

"Well," Remus says, grinning, "that, too."

Regulus blinks lazily at the sight of Pandora lecturing Barty and Evan on
the science of anti gravity, going on and on about electromagnetism and
aerodynamics. Evan and Barty are staring at her like she's the most
fascinating person they've ever met in their lives, and also like they have no
idea what the fuck she's talking about. Pandora has that effect, though.

"So, so hold on," Evan says, leaning in to narrow his eyes at Pandora. "You
mean to tell me, I'd lose my muscles without gravity? And my bones?"

"Bone mass," Pandora corrects. "And yes, there would be natural muscle
degeneration."

Barty clicks his tongue. "Well, there goes my dreams of being an astronaut.
I'd never put my perfect physique in danger."
"You never wanted to be an astronaut," Evan says flatly.

"You're not smart enough to be an astronaut," Regulus adds, lips curling up

when Barty frowns. "I just mean you'd want to take a walk in space and get
lost almost immediately."

"I wouldn't get lost," Barty replies, affronted. "But yeah, who wouldn't want
to float about in space? I'd tie myself to the ship. It'd be fine."

"I'd like to send you on an expedition to explore the inside of a black hole,"
Pandora tells him. "Would you go?"

"That sounds vaguely sexual, just so you know," Barty replies, grinning,
and Pandora just raises her eyebrows at him and waits. "Sure, I'd go. What's
in a black hole anyway?"

Pandora shakes her head. "Yeah, you're not smart enough to be an astronaut.
That's alright. Not many people are."

"Are you?" Evan asks.

"I'm smart enough to not want to be," Pandora answers.

Regulus chuckles, and Pandora sends him a warm smile, but they all look
up when Aiko comes bustling back to the table with a tray of drinks in
hand. She'd insisted on getting the first round, because she has all plans to
get pissed and swears that she will be by the third round, so she wanted to
handle this one so she wouldn't have to stand up again until she was
stumbling into her ride home. She has her system, and Regulus respects it.
At least someone has their shit figured out.

"Sorry, sorry," Aiko says with a grimace as Barty and Evan swap their
drinks from where she mixed them up when she handed them out. "I forgot
who had what. My mind isn't really here at the moment."

"Where is it?" Pandora asks. She and Aiko had an almost instant friendship
spring up the moment Regulus introduced them to each other ten minutes
ago—but, again, Pandora has that effect. She's even won over Evan and
Barty after one conversation, despite their visible skepticism at the start.

"Home, honestly," Aiko complains as she plops down on the seat next to
Regulus with a sigh. "I think I've upset my neighbor. I don't even know
how. He asked me if I'd ever been to some restaurant he likes—or, I think
he did, I'm not sure. I had my headphones in and my music loud. I hadn't
been, so I said no, and he looked so upset about it. Now, he won't even talk
to me. Or look at me."

Barty shrugs lazily. "So? Who cares? Who even talks to their neighbors
these days?"

"I do," Aiko admits. "Or, I did. He was so nice."

"Clearly not, if he'll stop talking to you just because you've never been
somewhere he likes," Regulus points out.

Aiko sighs. "Suppose you're right. Shame."

"Well," Evan says simply, nudging her glass towards her with a smirk, "let's
take your mind off it, yeah?"

Regulus cuts him a sharp, warning look. Evan immediately fixes an

innocent expression on his face, and Regulus narrows his eyes at him.
"Don't even think about it."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"You want to get her pissed, because you think it'll be funny."

"Bang on as always, Reggie. Aiko doesn't mind, right?"

"No, it's fine. I rather want to get pissed, actually. Feel free to laugh at me,
but please don't let me dance. I always try to dance when I'm drunk," Aiko
says with a sigh. "Oh, and I'm not shagging anyone, so don't think about
that."
"You don't have to worry about that from me, love," Evan assures her with a
wink.

"Gay?" Aiko asks.

Evan shakes his head. "No. I just don't shag."

"Asexual," Regulus murmurs, eyebrows shooting up.

"What's that?" Evan asks, frowning after he takes a deep drink from his
glass. "I'm not a sexual, actually. Not really my thing."

"No, it's—" Regulus helplessly huffs out a laugh and shakes his head. He's
surprised, but he thinks maybe he shouldn't be at all. Evan has always been
a flirt, and he can be just as filthy as Barty sometimes when he's in a playful
mood, but he was never interested in anything sexual when they were
younger. Regulus propositioned him once, and Evan had rejected him, then
introduced him to Barty—and it was all downhill from there. Regulus had
just thought that Evan did it to seem cool, like he was playing hard to get or
something (except Regulus was never one to play any sort of games back
then), but then Evan just never...did anything. With anyone. Here he is, a
grown man, and that hasn't changed a bit. "It's a term for people who don't
feel sexual attraction. Like, you know, you don't get the urge to shag
anyone."
"There's a word for that?" Evan muses thoughtfully. He hums quietly.
"Well, I like getting off on my own, so I'm sure that doesn't really apply to
me. I've even had girlfriends."

"Give me your cell," Regulus says, holding out his hand. With suspicion
(which is fair), Evan warily passes it over, and Regulus uses the five
seconds it takes to pull up information about asexuality, then slides the
phone back in front of him. He points at it. "Read that."

Evan quirks an eyebrow, but he dutifully starts reading.

"I don't have to worry about it with you, right?" Aiko checks, looking at
Barty, who glances down at himself like he needs to confer with his body if
he's going to try anything or not.

"I'm not getting drunk, Aiko," Regulus murmurs. "I won't stop you from
dancing, but I will stop Barty from trying anything."

"I think I'd prefer you to stop me from dancing," Aiko tells him with a
groan.

"Not so sure that I would try anything, actually," Barty muses, pursing his
lips. "Unless you have a cock? I'm trying to dip my toes into the world of
cocks, you see."
Aiko shakes her head. "Sorry, no, but I support you giving it a go. I quite
like them myself."

"I've never much thought about it," Barty says. "I probably never would
have if not for our darling Reggie here. Say, Reggie, what would happen if I
tried something with you?"

"Try it and find out, but I promise you won't like what happens," Regulus
warns, arching an eyebrow.

Barty heaves a sigh and dumps his chin off into his palm, pouting a bit.
"You just couldn't be single, could you? Where's your boyfriend, Reggie?
What does he have that I don't?"

My heart is the very first thing that pops into Regulus' head, which
immediately makes him grimace. What a nauseating thought. Christ, what
has James done to him?

"What was that?" Barty asks, eyes narrowing. He squints at Regulus, who
presses his lips into a thin line. "No, what was that? You made a face."

"I didn't make a face."

"You did. You often do not, so I'm very sure when you have, and you most
certainly made a face."
"Barty, piss off."

"No, what was that about? Your boyfriend? Trouble in paradise, is that it?"

Regulus glances over at Pandora, who smiles at him, though it's tinged with
sadness. Aiko is watching him curiously, and Barty is waiting impatiently.
Sighing, Regulus tips his head back and mumbles, "It's complicated."

"Oh, is that so?" Barty says instantly, leaning forward with a slow grin.
"What happened, then?"

"It turns out," Regulus grinds out, "my boyfriend was—is Sirius' best
friend."

"Your brother?" Aiko asks in surprise.

"Oh, have you met?" Pandora asks pleasantly. "He's lovely, isn't he?"

"Wait, wait, you were shagging Jim?" Barty blurts out.

"James," Regulus corrects instantly.

Barty snaps his fingers. "That was his name! Oh. Oh, bloody hell, Reggie."
He drops his hand, then abruptly starts cackling like a madman, absolutely
living for this. "Ha! You—you mean to tell me that you shagged Sirius' best
friend?! Evan! Evan, mate, are you hearing this?"

"Sorry, what?" Evan mutters distractedly, tearing his focus away from his
cell with a small frown.

"You know Jim—"

"James," Regulus corrects yet again.

"Right, James. Sirius' best mate that we met?" Barty continues, grinning
broadly. "Reggie shagged him!"

Evan blinks, then looks at Regulus. "Did you really? But you hate Sirius'
best friend. Or, that's how I remember it."

"No, this is brilliant! That's fucking brilliant," Barty hisses in delight.

"That's the most hilarious thing I've ever heard. Think about it, mate. What's
a better way to get under Sirius' skin than shag his best mate? Reggie, you
fucking genius."
"It wasn't on purpose," Regulus grumbles.

Barty deflates. "Oh. Alright, you've lost me."

"Might as well get it out of the way," Pandora says gently, reaching over to
pat Regulus' arm with sympathy.

So, heaving a sigh, Regulus explains the whole mess. Or, well, he explains
what he's willing to share, really. He leaves out some of the more personal
details, but, otherwise, he tells them most of everything else. Ms. Promfrey
bangs on about honesty and support systems and such, so as much as he
doesn't really like airing out his business, he doubts there are any other
people he would even consider telling this to.

In a way, it's nice. Aiko—well, Regulus actually really likes her, and they've
gotten closer since she started interacting with him in class. He's not
entirely comfortable with her the way he is with Pandora, or Remus, but
she's easy to talk to, and she's opened up to him a few times. So, he doesn't
mind letting her know all of this. As for Barty and Evan, they can be
insensitive at the best of times, but they've made it clear that they've seen
him as a friend since they were children, even if Regulus didn't really think
they would. And then there's Pandora, of course, who knows everything
already.

Aiko is the only person who doesn't know he's trans, so when he explains
that whole part of it (because he genuinely doesn't care who knows or
doesn't know), she actually looks startled. She goes with it, though, not
interrupting and still listening. He didn't think she was the type to take issue
with things such as that, but it's nice to have the confirmation all the same.

It's as he's explaining all of it (or most of it) that he finds himself seeing it
very differently than he thought he did. It's only as he speaks it out loud and
hears what he's saying that it finally, finally clicks for him, fully and
completely, why James and Remus did what they did. As much as they tried
to explain, and as much as he'd come to terms with it, he'd still struggled to
understand it. There was some sort of block that he couldn't get past, a
resentment he couldn't let go of, and he just couldn't fully grasp it. He
couldn't really forgive it, either.

Regulus couldn't look any further than the lies, or his own selfishness with
Sirius, and James, and Remus. To him, it was all about the ruin of trust, and
the fact that two of the people he trusted the most in the world kept his
brother away from him. Even when he'd accepted it and came to the
conclusion that he would move past it, he hadn't understood it, and that
meant he couldn't forgive it.

But he gets it now. It just sort of hits him in the midst of him explaining
what James and Remus did. It clicks, because he realizes that they were
trying to avoid this. Exactly this. They were scared, and in love, and doing
everything they could to keep them all from losing each other. He finally
understands, because it's as he's talking about it that he realizes he would
have done the same exact thing.

If roles were reversed, if it was James and Remus as brothers with a fraught
history, Regulus would have done no differently than they did, just to keep
them both.
He understands.

It's the awful kind of understanding that comes too late, after he's already
reacted without consideration, after he has ruined the last thing he ever
wanted to see in tatters. It breaks his heart a bit, actually, because every cell
in his body wants to rewind with this new understanding and do it all over
again, just so he could do it right. He did it wrong. He knows that he did,
but now he knows exactly why it was wrong.

He also knows how fortunate it is that he's going to get to do it over, that he
has a second chance waiting on him. He feels like a fool, sitting here and
wasting it.

"Fuck, talk about drama," Aiko hisses through her teeth when he eventually
trails off, having explained most of everything.

"I think you should keep shagging the best friend," Evan tells him
thoughtfully. "It would serve Sirius right. What's he going to do? Beat his
best mate up for shagging his little brother?"

"Christ, I'd pay to see that," Barty says, amused. "But, if you're not
shagging his best mate anymore, I'm very available."

"Barty, mate, let it go," Evan mutters, rolling his eyes.

Regulus frowns. "If you're so desperate for cock, Barty, I can find you cock.
Not mine, but someone else's."

"Aha! So, you do have a cock," Barty bursts out.

"I have many, and none of them are for you."

"Tease."

Aiko chuckles and swivels in her chair. "Alright, tonight is about finding
Barty a nice, respectable bloke who won't scare him off from the world of
cocks forever."

"You," Barty says, pointing at her. "I like you."

Evan snorts. "You like being the center of attention, that's what you like."

"Shut it, Evan. This is my night," Barty declares. He pauses, then rakes his
gaze over Even in consideration. Evan arches an eyebrow at him. "Hm,
what about you? I've seen your cock before. It didn't make me want to
vomit, so that has to be a good sign, yeah?"
"I'm sure it is," Evan says flatly, "but I've no interest in it, and I'm not a
nice, respectable bloke at all. Besides," he adds, lifting up his phone, "I
think I'm this. I mean, I'm quite literally all of these things."

Barty leans in curiously. "Are you? Let me see."

"What about him?" Aiko whispers to Pandora and Regulus, nodding to

someone across the room. As one, Regulus and Pandora discreetly look
over. "I saw him blatantly chatting up a guy earlier, but the bloke ended up
turning him down. I talked to him a bit at the bar. He seems nice."

"Let's see," Pandora muses, turning back to pick up her straw paper and
flick it at Barty, who looks up with a scowl from where he's hunched over
Evan's phone with Evan. "Do you see that bloke over there in the grey
turtleneck?"

"Yeah, what about him?" Barty asks, flicking his gaze over.

"He was chatting a man up, who turned him down, so he's at least open to
men," Pandora explains.

"Who turned him down?" Barty asks, arching an eyebrow.

Aiko leans to the side to point someone out across the bar, pursing her lips.
"That one in the purple. Didn't much like him, if I'm honest. He was
pompous. Spent the entire time talking about himself and made it a
challenge for the poor bloke to even get a word in edgewise. Seems like the
type that's in love with their reflection."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Barty sputters. "I'm in love with my

reflection."

"I've gathered that," Aiko says, "which is why I didn't bother to suggest
him. That's not a battle you can win, I'm afraid, and I'm quite sure you'd be
wasting his time."

Barty cocks his head and flicks his gaze over the bloke, then he shrugs and
says, "I love wasting people's time," before he pushes to his feet, and he's
gone.

"No, not...that…one…" Aiko trails off with a sigh. "Oh, that's not going to
go well."

"No, this could be funny," Regulus says.

Pandora lightly swats his arm. "You're meant to want your friends to thrive,
not crash and burn."

"It's like you don't even know who I am," Regulus mutters, and Evan
chuckles as Aiko breaks out into giggles.
The night carries on, and Aiko is tipsy by her second round (Evan grabs that
one), but she's rather tiny, so that makes sense. She and Regulus get into a
rather passionate debate on the proper way to make a poached egg, while
Pandora and Evan provide commentary just to make them more heated
about the topic, apparently amused. They keep an eye on Barty, who looks
both disdainful and delighted by the bloke he's clearly arguing with
and...chatting up, maybe? (At this point, none of them can actually tell, but
it is fun to watch.)

Regulus grabs the next round, taking the long way around the bar to go past
Barty and make sure he doesn't need saving of some sort. Regulus won't
save him, but he would enjoy letting Barty make faces pleading to be saved,
only for Regulus to leave him to his misery. But that's not the case, it seems.
All Regulus gathers from Barty and the other bloke is that they're having
some sort of cock-measuring contest in conversation without any of the
cocks. Men, Regulus thinks in disgust as he walks by, then briefly despairs
that he belongs to that category and also seeks partners from that category.

When Regulus makes it back to the table, Aiko and Pandora are locked
entirely in a deep discussion about...dolphins? They're vigorously
exchanging very disturbing facts about them, and Regulus, who has a secret
fear of the ocean (any large bodies of water, honestly), does not join the
conversation for his own sake. Instead, he sits down in Barty's empty seat
next to Evan and hands out the drinks, glancing over to find Evan on his
cell again, focused on the screen.

"Sorry, what?" Evan blurts out, head snapping up when Regulus slides his
drink in front of him. "What'd you say?"
Regulus watches Evan quickly put his phone away and feels his lips curl
up. "It's nice, isn't it?"

"What? Barty going away? Always," Evan says.

"Well, yes, but that's not what I meant," Regulus replies lightly. "It's nice
figuring something out about yourself."

Evan stares at him for a long beat, then murmurs, "I didn't know there was a
word for it."

"There's a word for a lot of things, these days."

"I just meant… I didn't know other people—"

"Are like you?" Regulus fills in when Evan cuts himself off, looking down
with a frown. Evan nods. "More than you'd think. Do you find it
comforting?"

"Did you, when you figured out your whole…" Evan raises his hand and
lazily waves it at him.
Regulus hums. "No, not at all. I was devastated. But, in my defense, I
wasn't really in an environment where learning that about myself would
ever be a comfort. If anything, it felt like a death sentence."

"You never said anything," Evan says quietly.

"We were children, Evan, and not very kind ones. Of course I didn't say
anything. I have self-preservation instincts."

"I think, honestly, that I wouldn't have cared. I mean, I don't really care.
Seems like a stupid thing to worry about in comparison to believing you
were dead. I'd rather you alive and a bloke, then dead. Does that make
sense?"

"It does," Regulus admits, amused.

"Barty, though… I don't know how he would have felt about it back then.
He was—worse when he was younger, you know that. As awful as it
sounds, I think it's probably for the best that he didn't find out until after he
spent time believing you were dead. Funny how that puts things in
perspective."

"Isn't it?"
"He's come a long way. Still a menace, you know that, but I do think it
actually broke his heart a bit when we came to the conclusion that you were
gone," Evan murmurs, lifting his head to meet Regulus' gaze. "He loved
you, you know."

"I know," Regulus says. "He doesn't anymore."

Evan chuckles. "No, he doesn't. He could, though. You'll always be his first
love. Who else would he dive into a world of cocks for?"

"To infuriate his father, undoubtedly."

"Yeah, that's true."

Regulus sighs. "It wasn't his fault that I didn't love him. I suppose I had love
for him, but I couldn't love him. I didn't love me, and he loved someone
I...wasn't."

"Could you love him now?" Evan asks.

"No," Regulus answers.

Evan nods slowly. "That's probably for the best, honestly. You were always
a better friend to him than a lover. Can I ask? It's because of Jim, isn't it?"

"James," Regulus corrects yet again.

"Right, him. He's why? Because you...love him," Evan says carefully,
scanning his face.

"Yeah," is all Regulus says, simple and honest.

"A bit complicated, that," Evan muses.

Regulus nods. "I'm very aware."

"Well, don't tell Barty, but I hope it works out for you. It worried us, you
know. How bad you were towards the end. How bad it was at home for
you."

"Evan—"

"No, just—just listen, yeah? We were young and stupid, so we abandoned

you when we shouldn't have. We just stopped coming round. Stopped
picking up when you rang. We buried our heads in the sand because—well,
honestly, because we didn't know what the fuck to do, and it was scary, and
we didn't want to deal the trouble of it."

"It's—"

"Don't say it's fine," Evan cuts in sharply, and Regulus shuts up. "It wasn't
fine. We beat ourselves up for a long time about that. Like maybe if we'd
been there, you wouldn't have… But, of course, you didn't die. Still, the
things you learn from an experience like that doesn't just go away. We
changed when we lost you, and I think we changed for the better, because it
could have gone an entirely different way."

"Are you thanking me for dying?" Regulus asks, raising his eyebrows at
him.

"No, you prick," Evan says, exasperated. "I'm thanking you for not dying,
because I think—I think if you hadn't gotten out and done this for yourself,
chose to be yourself, then you would have. You would have, wouldn't
you?"

Regulus doesn't even have to think about it. He already knows. With a nod,
he whispers, "Yes, I would have."

"That's so fucking depressing," Evan mutters, reaching up to scratch his

cheek. He swings his leg out and bumps Regulus' knee with his own. "But
it's—it's not like that now, yeah? You seem… I mean, you're alright, right?
You seem alright."
"Yeah," Regulus says softly, "I'm alright."

Evan clears his throat. "Good. Yeah, good."

"There's nothing wrong with you, you know," Regulus says, and Evan
blinks at him. "Well, there is, but I mean about your sexuality. There's
nothing wrong with it, Evan."

"I didn't say there was."

"No, but I know the way we grew up, the environment and families we
grew up in. You used to lie to your father and tell him that I was your
girlfriend."

"You knew about that?" Evan whispers, eyes widening.

Regulus' lips twitch. "Barty and I both knew about it. We let you do it, and
we never said anything. He wasn't even jealous."

"I didn't know that."

"He's always loved you more than me."

"I did know that," Evan admits, grinning. He shakes his head and looks
down at his cell. "I don't know… It is nice, yeah. Just knowing that there's a
word for it, I guess. Knowing that I'm not the only one. Suppose I did think
something was wrong with me. It's not—I mean, I can fancy girls. I just
don't want to shag them." Regulus hums to let him know he understands
what he's saying, and Evan suddenly glances at him and breaks out into a
grin. "I never fancied you, Regulus."

"I know," Regulus says slowly, eyebrows pulling together, not entirely sure
why Evan is pointing this out. It's not exactly new information. They've
always just been friends.

Evan chuckles. "No, do you see what I'm trying to tell you? I fancy girls,
but I never fancied you. But that makes sense, doesn't it, seeing as you're
not a girl?"

"Evan, that's not…" Regulus stares at him, seeing his grin, and he lets it go.
He sighs and nods. "Yeah, sure. Makes sense."

Barty suddenly throws himself down into Regulus' old seat between Aiko
and Pandora, gathering the immediate attention of everyone at the table.
"And now we wait."

"Wait for what?" Pandora asks.

"What happened?" Aiko demands, eyes bright with curiosity, face flushed.
She's right pissed, only on her third drink.

"Gilderoy Lockhart is his name," Barty announces. "He is absolutely

deplorable, self-obsessed, and arrogant."

"So...you, but prettier?" Regulus announces, and Evan cracks up laughing

immediately.

Barty scoffs. "No, he's worse. Smarmy git. He wants to be famous, and I've
never met someone more ill-suited for fame. It took him two minutes to
inform me that he despises me, and the feeling is mutual."

"I knew he seemed dodgy," Aiko mutters, squinting in apparent offense on

Barty's behalf. She reaches over and pats his hand, which he allows, looking
faintly amused. "That's alright. We'll find someone for you. A nice man."

"Mm, no, I'm going to shag him," Barty says, and everyone stares at him in
disbelief. Well, except for Regulus. He expects nothing less, honestly. Of
course Barty is. "I told him that he'd be more tolerable if he'd shut up, and
I'd offer him my cock to better occupy his mouth with. Then I told him if he
was still thinking about it by the time I left, I'd take him home and keep him
quiet, then return the favor."

"Barty, you've never sucked cock before," Regulus says.

"No, I haven't," Barty agrees. "First time for everything, I suppose. Any
advice? You were always so good at it."

"Spitters are for quitters," Pandora announces immediately.

"Be a quitter. Swallow for no man that you wouldn't marry," Regulus argues
and works very, very hard not to think about all the swallowing he's done
for James. He's just not going to acknowledge that. Not tonight. No.

"No, no, what are you saying?" Aiko gasps out. "Do not suck a random
stranger's cock without protection!"

Barty frowns. "Like...a weapon? I hardly think I need one. He's a limp
noodle, I can tell. Besides, if he tried anything, I could just—bite it off.
Right?"

"A weapon, he says," Regulus hisses, shoulders shaking as he dissolves into

laughter immediately. "My god, Barty, you fucking nutter. I can't."

"I meant a condom," Aiko whines. "That's important, Barty! You've no idea
where his cock has been. Just—be safe, yeah? But, if he did try something,
you could theoretically bite his cock off. Never done it myself, but the
option is always there."
"Why are there so many rules with cocks?" Barty heaves a sigh and looks
off into the distance wistfully. "I'm so late to the world of cocks. Damn you,
Reggie."

Evan laughs. "It's alright, mate. Don't get discouraged, yeah? New things
can be exciting."

"How do you know he's thinking about it anyway?" Pandora asks, eyebrows
raised.

Barty flashes her a grin. "Because I can see him glaring at me from across
the room in the reflection of the telly over Evan's shoulder. He's thinking
about it, trust me."

"This is not how your first shag with a man should go. You should have
someone who will treat you well," Aiko says sadly.

"Darling, let me let you in on a little secret," Barty whispers, leaning in to

wink at her. "It's not fun for me if I'm being treated well."

"My fault?" Regulus mumbles to Evan.

"Your fault," Evan confirms with a grin.

Regulus just chuckles under his breath, and the night continues on. They
have a few more rounds in which Evan, Aiko, and Pandora get
progressively more drunk while Barty and Regulus remain sober (opting for
water). Regulus has to keep Aiko from dancing at some point, Evan
repeatedly tries to encourage it, and Pandora ends up going back and forth
to the loo because she made the mistake of breaking the seal in the first
place. Pandora ends up going home first, so Regulus makes sure Aiko gets
into the ride with her safely. Barty does, in fact, end up leaving with that
bloke he doesn't like, and Regulus walks Evan home because he can barely
walk in a straight line. It's not far, and Evan spends the entire trip trying to
find places he can curl up and sleep in.

By the time Regulus makes it home, he's tired himself and very ready to
crawl into bed, which is why he heaves a sigh when he steps into his flat
and finds Sirius kicked back on his sofa, lazily flipping through one of his
books. Dorian Gray, by the looks of it. Sirius glances up when he comes in
and gently sits the book aside as he pushes himself up.

"Where've you been?" Sirius asks. "I've been here for hours."

"Out," Regulus replies, tugging off his coat and unraveling his scarf,
glancing at Sirius with a frown. "Just had some drinks with some friends.
What are you doing here?"

"What friends?"

"Barty, Evan, Aiko, and Pandora."

Sirius purses his lips. "Right. I'm doing it again, aren't I?"

"A bit," Regulus admits wearily. "It's fine. I don't really mind telling you, or
I wouldn't tell you."

"I feel like you should have to tell me," Sirius says. He pauses, then shakes
his head. "You don't, though."

Regulus nods. "I know."

"But—thanks for telling me anyway," Sirius mumbles, grimacing slightly as

he says it.

"Mhm." Regulus moves over and sinks down on the other end of the sofa
with a sigh. "Now, are you going to tell me why you're here?"

"Do you want me to leave?"

"If you're here just to pester me and be a prick, then yeah, I do. I'm too tired
to tolerate it right now. But if you're here to talk or something, then no,
that's fine."
Sirius chuckles and settles in, slumping down a bit to get more comfortable.
"Fortunately for you, I come in peace. I just… How are things with
Remus?"

"Good," Regulus murmurs. "I invited him out, but he… He said he had
prior plans after work, so…"

"James, I think," Sirius says, lips twitching. "He texted to tell me he'd be
out of the flat for a few hours."

"How is he?" Regulus asks quietly, staring down at his fingers.

"He's… He's definitely been better. I think it helps that we're alright again.
Properly alright, I mean."

"Still buttering him up?"

"I crawl into bed with him literally every night." Sirius smiles a little more,
unaware that Regulus is wistfully thinking how does it feel to live my
dream? "He's no match for my charms. He gave in weeks ago, but I'm still
pampering him, yeah. He deserves it after all the shit I put him through."

"We," Regulus corrects. "We put him through."

"Yeah," Sirius allows. "And Moony? Still groveling?"

"I made him tiramisu last week," Regulus says wryly, and Sirius wrinkles
his nose. "He liked it. I said you hated it, and he refused to acknowledge
it."

"Passive-aggressive prick," Sirius murmurs fondly, and now he's the wistful
one.

Regulus hums. "He is, yeah. But, you know, he deserves the buttering up,
considering everything I did."

"We," Sirius reminds him. "Everything we did."

"Right," Regulus agrees.

Sirius sighs, and Regulus echoes him, and they drift off into wistful,
miserable silence. They do this a lot now, briefly checking in and trading
information about Remus and James. It's ironically what James and Remus
used to do about them, but it's much sadder and more tentative. They don't
shy away from the knowledge that the other is in love with their best friend,
but they don't directly address it either.

Not usually, in any case. Tonight is not a usual night, apparently, because
Sirius—of course it's Sirius; he's braver, and bolder, always has been—rolls
his head to the side to gaze at Regulus with big, sad eyes and whispers, "I
miss him."

"I know," Regulus replies.

"Do you—" Sirius swallows. "Do you miss James?"

"You know the answer to that."

"I want to hear you say it."

Regulus holds his breath for a long moment, then exhales shakily and
confesses, "I do. I really fucking miss him."

"You love him?" Sirius asks. "I mean...genuinely love him? Like, he's—he's
the one? He's it?"

"Yeah." Regulus shrugs helplessly and tries for a smile, but it trembles on
his face. His eyes sting. "I know you want to hear a different answer,
but...there isn't one. He's the sun. I'm so cold without him, all the time. I feel
like I'll never be warm again, and I know… This is the hardest part, really. I
know I won't ever love someone like I love him, and I know I won't ever be
loved the way he loves me."
Sirius watches him with a furrow in his eyebrows. "James is the best person
I know."

"He's too good for me," Regulus croaks. "I don't deserve him."

"Reggie," Sirius says softly, "that's Mother."

Regulus blinks. "What?"

"That's Mother," Sirius repeats. "Thinking like that… It's her. We got out,
you know, but sometimes I think we took her with us. Parts of her. Things
she—she scarred us with. When do we let her go? When do we tell
ourselves what she never did?"

"I don't think I can," Regulus mumbles.

"James is good, really good, but that doesn't mean…" Sirius takes a deep
breath and holds his gaze, more serious than Regulus has ever seen him.
"I'll tell you, if you can't tell yourself. Don't listen to Mother; listen to me.
Listen to me when I tell you that you deserve good things, Regulus."

"James said that," Regulus says, ducking his head as his eyes start to water,
no matter how much he hates it.
Sirius clicks his tongue and swings his leg out to nudge Regulus' thigh,
gently murmuring, "Yeah, and he was right. I'm sorry it's so hard for you to
believe it."

Regulus lifts his head and stares at him through a thick layer of tears. "You
don't want me to be with your best friend."

"I—" Sirius scrunches his face up, then runs his tongue under his top lip,
then he straightens up and sets his shoulders like he's about to go into war.
"It doesn't matter what I want for you, not at the end of the day, because
you're your own person in control of your own life. You're not just my little
brother, no matter how much I might wish to just...protect you and be the
only thing you need in life. That's selfish, Reggie, and I'm—I am trying
really hard to unlearn that. Because, really, all I genuinely want is for you to
be safe and happy, and if I'm honest, I don't know who you'd be safer with
than James, so if he's someone who makes you happy, then… Well, then I
do want you to be with my best friend, I suppose."

"Oh," Regulus says, then sniffs. "Was that very difficult for you to say?"

"I've been practicing some version of it in the mirror for the last two weeks
and couldn't bring myself to say it until just now," Sirius admits with a
weak, sheepish smile.

"I'm going to do something, and we're not going to talk about it. We're not
going to even acknowledge it."
"Um, alright? Wait, is it—"

"Shut up," Regulus cuts in and then scoots down the sofa to tug harshly on
Sirius' arm and pull him into a hug.

Sirius stiffens for only a second, then relaxes with a quiet snort. "You've
gone soft, Reggie."

"Choke," Regulus mutters. He squeezes Sirius hard enough to make him

cough and wheeze a bit from the strain, and distantly, Regulus realizes this
is the first time they've ever hugged without having a fucking breakdown
beforehand. It's a hug for a hug's sake, not because they need to hold onto
each other due to the fact that they're falling apart. Regulus swallows and
breathes out a soft, heartfelt, "Thank you."

"Don't mention it. Ever. To anyone," Sirius mumbles as he pulls away, lips
curling up.

Regulus takes a deep breath and blurts out, "I don't care if you shag my best
friend, but if you neglect me, or make him neglect me, I'll kill you."

Sirius blinks. "Oh. Right. Wait, is that what you're so worried about? Christ,
you really do have abandonment issues."

"And trust issues," Regulus grumbles, scowling.

"That's my fault, isn't it?" Sirius asks, shoulders slumping.

Regulus shakes his head. "No. Not yours. Mother's, really. You were only a
child, Sirius. We were only children."

"I always feel like I can breathe better when you say that."

"Me too. Why do you think I keep saying it? The best part is that it's true.
It's also the worst part."

"Because no child should have…" Sirius gives him a long look, frowning at
him. "We shouldn't have suffered what we did, Regulus. You know that,
don't you? I think, for a long time, I didn't know that. I think I'm only
starting to figure it out."

"I know what you mean," Regulus admits, because when it comes to this, he
gets it. He thinks he and Sirius are the only people in the world who will
ever truly get it. They were in it together. Sometimes, they still are.

Sirius chews on his bottom lip. "About Remus… I mean, thanks for—you
know, but… It's been a month. What if I fucked it up? You know I fuck up
everything, so this—"
"Mother," Regulus cuts in. Sirius stares at him, and then his eyes get wide
when he realizes what Regulus is saying to him. Regulus elaborates
anyway. "That's Mother. So, listen to me instead of her. You're not a fuckup,
Sirius. You don't ruin everything. You may make mistakes, but everyone
does, and you don't have to be perfect to be—" The words catch in his
throat, his heart clenching when he realizes the true root of some of Sirius'
issues. "You don't have to be perfect to be loved. You don't have to be
anything other than who you are."

They stare at each other for a long moment in silence, sort of just existing in
the quiet with their own thoughts. It's possibly the most calm Regulus has
felt in the presence of his brother since he was...fourteen? Thirteen? He
can't really remember anymore, but he's not sure if that matters. This
matters more; this calm they've invited between them now. The fact that
they're here together now. The way they're trying now.

"I'm staying on your sofa tonight," Sirius says, finally.

"Alright," Regulus replies simply.

Sirius swallows. "In the morning, I'm going to go home, and I'm going to
talk to James. And you're going to go talk to Remus. And then we're going
to—stop."

"Stop," Regulus repeats, numb, his heart racing.

"Stop making all of us miserable," Sirius clarifies. "I'm tired of being
miserable, Regulus. Aren't you?"

Regulus nods slowly. "Yeah, Sirius, I am."

"We're—I mean, we're in a good place, aren't we? Like, we'll be fine,
probably. Right?"

"I think so."

"Good, because at this point, I'm done waiting," Sirius declares

unapologetically, and Regulus feels his lips twitch weakly in response,
against his will. Sirius gives him a lopsided grin. "So, do we have a plan?"

"Suppose we do, yeah," Regulus allows, and he shakes his head, the irony
not lost on him. "At least ours will actually work. We can never let them be
in charge of any plans ever again, agreed?"

Sirius snorts. "Oh, yeah, agreed."

Chapter End Notes

can you tell that i am So Fond of evan and barty? also aiko and
pandora!!! also remus and regulus!!! and sirius and james and lily and
and and...

yeah, i love all of them so much! <3

as always, thank you for all the comments and support. i adore every
single one and WILL be replying to them as soon as im not as busy.
tell me what you thought of this one!

see you tomorrow :)

 Chapter 25
Chapter Notes

this chapter....

babes, i LOVE this chapter so much.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

James has a very strange morning, and this is how it goes:

He drags himself up from bed with a yawn and goes straight for the loo,
then he dresses for the day and heads into the kitchen, coming to a
screeching halt when he sees that Sirius is already awake. Entirely too
awake, by all standards, considering that Sirius rarely wakes up before mid-
morning and is never in a good mood if he has.

Sirius doesn't look to be in an unpleasant mood, however. In fact, as soon as

James comes in, he bustles over to hug him and ruffle his hair (he's been
non-stop affectionate since what happened), and he pushes a cup with a lid
right into his hands. It's warm, so James curls his fingers around it and
blinks.

"You're awake before me?" James mumbles, startled.

"The things we do for love, mate," Sirius says wryly, wrinkling his nose a
bit, then he clears his throat and nods to the cup in James' hand. "It's coffee.
Made special just for you."
"Is it?" James asks, amused and fond despite himself. Sirius has always
been a generally considerate and kind best friend, but he's been outright
spoiling James recently. Honestly? James isn't complaining. It's nice.

Sirius flashes him a smile, so James rolls his eyes and lifts the cup to his
mouth, taking a delicate sip from the small opening at the top. The first
taste nearly makes him choke, and he swallows it down purely from shock.
It warms him all the way through, tasting so good he could fucking cry, but
it would because Regulus made it. James knows instantly that Regulus has
made it, because he spent months ordering this exact drink that Regulus
always, always made special just for him.

James slowly lowers the cup, staring at Sirius, who watches him without a
word. "Regulus made this."

"Yeah," Sirius says quietly.

"He made it, and you—brought it to me?"

"Yeah."

"On purpose," James adds, testing the waters.

Sirius heaves a sigh and looks away, shoulders slumping. He frowns. "I—I
found out yesterday that everything I hated my mother for doing to me, I do
to myself. How fucked is that, yeah? It's so fucked up, James. I tried so hard
to escape her, and I just kept her with me all these years."

This is such an abrupt change of subject that James honestly needs a second
to catch up. He can tell by the topic, however, that he needs to put the latte
down, which he does. He takes a deep breath and switches gears.

"That's not your fault," James murmurs.

"I know. That's the worst part," Sirius croaks.

James feels like his heart breaks. He shifts forward to grab Sirius, reaching
out to throw his arms around him and tug him into a hug. "Let her go,
Sirius."

"I'm trying," Sirius chokes out.

"You're doing so well," James whispers, squeezing him a little bit, eyes
stinging just because Sirius' must be. "You've been doing really well your
whole life, and I'm sorry you had to. I'm sorry you have to fight this hard at
all. Can I help? How can I help? Tell me, and I will. Of course I will."
"You always help. You always have," Sirius rasps, dropping his head down
on James' shoulder. He sniffles. "Regulus is helping, you know. We're
helping each other."

"That's good. That's really good, Sirius," James says softly.

Sirius sighs quietly. "Please be good to him."

James freezes, his heart jumping in his chest, and he can't help but wrench
back. He grips Sirius' shoulders and searches his face, nearly shaking from
the sudden burst of excitement that's coursing through him. "You're
saying…?"

"We've had some...revelations," Sirius mutters carefully, a chagrined quality

to his tone.

"Revelations," James repeats breathlessly.

"You could say that," Sirius mumbles, smiling weakly.

"Does this mean I can shag your brother again?" James blurts out, then
instantly wants to bang his head against whatever available surface is
closest for saying quite possibly the most idiotic thing he could have in that
moment. The worst thing, really. It's not even about the shagging. What the
fuck is wrong with him? It's like he's asking to be punched.
Sirius cringes instantly, like a reflex, but then the dramatic git pulls away,
adopts a meditation pose, and deliberately hums low in his throat before
focusing on his breathing. His lips twitch, and he cracks open one eye,
breaking out into a grin as soon as he sees James staring at him warily. He
barks a laugh and drops his arms, eyes sparkling.

"You know what, mate? Have at it," Sirius tells him, waving a hand lazily,
like it's no big deal. "Keep the details to yourself, though. My grip on my
sanity is so flimsy already."

"Wait, really?!" James yelps, his eyes bulging.

Sirius waggles his eyebrows. "I know. This is the new me, Prongs. The
open, well-rounded, generous version of me who doesn't stand in the way of
anyone's happiness or do anything stupid. Lovely, isn't it?"

"Oh my god, finally. I thought I'd have to wait forever," James breathes out.
"Christ, no offense, but it took you long enough."

"James," Sirius says, his humor draining like this is the most important
thing he's ever said in his life. He holds James' gaze, unwavering. "I was
wrong. I was wrong to ever tell you to leave Regulus alone, and not just
because he's a grown man who can shag who he damn well pleases, as you
said. But also because I have always, always wanted you to be happy. And
maybe I lost sight of that in my own selfish need to keep you and him to
myself, out of some misplaced fear that—that I wouldn't be enough for
either of you."
"Sirius," James whispers, immediately emotional, but Sirius is a man on a
mission, and he's not stopping.

"I was wrong to be angry with you, because I trust you. I trust you with
everything, with my life, and I always have—and I still do. You're in love,
and I'm happy for you, genuinely. If he ever hurts you, I'll never forgive
him, you do realize? Because that was part of it, too—needing to learn to
trust him as well. I can forgive him for hurting me, especially because we
were children and it wasn't his fault, but you, James… I'd never forgive him
for hurting you. So, now, your happiness with him is a requirement, at this
point. But it's also not—my business, really, and I won't be awful about it
anymore; or, I'll try not to. I was wrong, and I'm sorry."

"Oh, Christ, you're gonna make me fucking cry. I—I really think I needed
that. You know I—I get it, yeah? I understand that you weren't being
intentionally malicious, at least not all the time. I know it's complicated."

"My love and trust for you is not," Sirius tells him firmly, shaking his head.
"It never has been, and it never will be. Me and you, yeah?"

"Yeah," James says, sniffling.

"I have a question."

"I'll find you the answer."

"Would you have? Waited forever, I mean."

"Sirius, for your brother, I'd be immortal."

"Hm." Sirius eyes him for a long moment, then purses his lips like he's
hiding a smile. "Just to be clear, if you hurt him, I'll turn you inside-out.
Slowly."

James chuckles. "Christ, listen at you. Who would have thought you'd say
anything like that?"

"You know what that is?" Sirius grins and taps his chest, eyes sparkling.
"Growth. I'm growing, James."

James smiles gently. "And I'm proud of you, mate." Sirius beams at him,
and James' heart clenches. "You know, Sirius, I have always been proud of
you. Do you know that?"

"Oh, sure," Sirius says, laughing.

"No, I'm serious. I'm—"

"Actually, I'm—"

"Sirius," James cuts in firmly, and Sirius blinks, his smile slowly fading, "I
mean it. I've always been proud of you. I love you just as you are, alright?
Never think there's anything you have to do, anything you have to be, to
earn that. It's unconditional, mate."

"James," Sirius whispers, "you can't make me cry before breakfast. That's
just not on."

"I just need you to know," James tells him, and Sirius nods at him. "And
you and Regulus? You're going to be fine, yeah? It's not—rushing? I mean,
have you two talked?"

"We did, yeah. We're fine. I stayed over at his last night."

"Did you? How'd that go?"

Sirius chatters on a bit about his night. It turns out that he and Regulus got
into a scuffle and ended up breaking one of the handles off the tap (Sirius
ripped it off in the middle of a rant, apparently), so they had to go out and
get the necessary items to replace said handle (it was an easy fix, according
to Sirius), and it took them three hours to do it—not because it was hard,
but because they were bickering too much to actually get it done (Sirius'
words).
They also made a cake (Sirius rambles about of the baking tips he knows
now, thanks to his 'annoyingly competent little brother'), started a new show
to watch together (their therapist thinks it's a good bonding activity to find
an interest they can both share, but Sirius confesses that it took them half
the night to actually agree on something, at least until they eventually
worked out that they were both refusing shows out of spite just because the
other suggested it), and actually had an altogether alright time. James is so
furiously happy about this, for them, that he doesn't really know what to do
about it.

"Anyway," Sirius says, "I need to go get ready. I'm going to see Moony
today."

"Are you?" James asks, eyebrows shooting up.

Sirius grins at him. "Might as well. You should probably get some work
done. You told me to remind you about the essay you need to finish off."

"Shit," James groans as Sirius laughs brightly on the way out of the kitchen.
Alone, James ducks his head and smiles as he picks his latte back up,
humming into another swallow. He grins all the way to his computer.

Sirius eventually comes back out, and James' eyebrows fly up yet again
when he sees how Sirius looks.

He's clearly put in the effort. He generally puts in the effort, really, but
James can always tell when he's not really trying versus when he is. It's
clear that he's trying now. His hair is very shiny, and he's wearing a lot of
rings, dressed in his corset and his leather jacket; that's not even counting
the fact that he's put on eyeliner. Oh, he's trying very hard.

When Sirius stops and holds his arms out, eyebrows raised, clearly waiting
for a review, James dutifully says, "Yeah, mate, brilliant."

"Brilliant," Sirius repeats flatly. "Brilliant? Prongs, where's the fucking

enthusiasm? Am I shaggable or not?!"

"Oh." James immediately switches gears and shoves his laptop aside to give
Sirius his full attention. "Why yes, you are so shaggable. Moony is going to
struggle not to rip your clothes off and ravish you immediately."

Sirius glances down at himself, turning a little to check himself over at a

different angle. "Yeah?"

"Absolutely," James assures him.

"Right. Obviously," Sirius says, nodding casually and lazily stuffing his
hands in his jacket pockets as if he didn't just have a mild crisis about
whether he looked shag-worthy or not.

James fights a smile. "Heading off?"

"Yeah. If all goes well, I won't be home tonight," Sirius declares, heading
for the door. "Wish me luck."

"Luck," James calls after him, shaking his head when the door shuts. "You
fool. As if you need luck. Remus is going to fucking die when he sees you,
the poor bastard."

Sighing, James finishes up his essay (really morbid topic about childhood
trauma, which is very on the nose, honestly) and tries to stop glancing at his
phone obsessively. In the end, he gives up and goes off to have a shower,
but he brings his phone with him in case it rings. It never does, and
eventually, James is just standing with his hands braced on the basin,
staring at his cell and willing it to light up.

It does not, so James huffs and dives for it. Honestly, if he wants something
done, he always has to do it himself. Under his breath, he grumbles as he
types and sends just one word. One simple message that says, Latte?

Regulus responds only minutes later with: Just how you like it <3

"No. Nope. No," James says out loud, sitting his phone down again, bracing
his hands on the counter and staring at it with his lips pressed into a thin
line. He stares at that heart so hard that he doesn't even blink, just looking at
it for so long that the screen eventually goes black. Exhaling shakily, James
squeezes his eyes shut and doesn't move for a while. When he finally does,
he nods firmly as he sits his cell aside without responding and announces,
to no one, "Not this time. It can't be you this time. Don't do anything
stupid."

Because, honestly, he needs Regulus to try. It's always James who's trying.
And maybe he doesn't always do his best, maybe he makes mistakes, maybe
he does too much and pushes too hard, but at least he fucking tries. It's him
who does the chasing; it's him who gets on one knee with a ring that will
never slide onto a finger; it's him that shows up at doors that slam in his
face; it's him that begs, and pleads, and cries, and loves and loves and loves.
He keeps giving, giving, giving—but, for once, he wants to be the one who
gets to have.

Regulus isn't that person, though. He doesn't come running. He won't chase
James into the rain and dramatically shout his love to the sky. They'll never
get married, because James knows without even asking that marriage is off
the table for Regulus, with good reason, considering everything that
happened with his mother and the forced (brief) engagement. They're not a
love made for movie screens; they were never going to be. James has made
his peace with that. He'd liked the secret of them, the quiet corner of their
clandestine love that no one else got to witness, the soft whispers of touch
that felt only more cherished because it belonged only to them.

James will wait forever for Regulus, and he'll damn well wait for what he
deserves, too. What they both deserve. If Regulus wants him, he'll just have
to come get him.

Out of the shower, James shuffles into the kitchen. He's rubbing his
knuckles into one eye under his glasses with one hand and scratching his
wet hair with the other as he goes in.
"Sirius, what the hell are you doing? I thought you left," James rumbles,
smacking his lips and dropping his hand so his glasses will settle onto his
face, and then he's suddenly coming to a screeching halt, blinking at
Regulus, who moves around his kitchen as if he owns it.

"Well, that's the first time you've ever mistaken me for Sirius," Regulus
mumbles, shooting him a frown over his shoulder before focusing on the
stove again. "How disheartening."

Oh, there he is. He's here.

Every single cell in James' body seems to sing it at him in a symphony that
etches into his very bones. There he is, there he is, there he is. He's here,
he's here, he's here. And it's not fair how beautiful he is. So very beautiful,
so lovely, just downright breathtaking. The gentle swoop of his hair over his
forehead, the soft default frown of his lips, the high arc of his cheeks and
the piercing weight of his eyes.

James blinks, caught off-guard. Christ, he wasn't prepared for this, which
leads him to blurt out stupid things again, like, "What are you doing here?"

"Making breakfast," Regulus tells him simply, once again peeking at him
before looking away immediately after. He clears his throat. "Hungry?"

"Is it safe?" James asks before he can stop himself.

Regulus heaves a sigh. "I'm never living that down, am I?"

"You pretended to poison him, Regulus. No, you're absolutely not ever
living that down," James says incredulously.

"That's fair," Regulus allows with a grimace. "Not my best moment,

admittedly. He still eats whatever I cook him, you know, the fucking
lunatic."

"You really shouldn't be allowed to cook ever again," James muses, raising
his eyebrows when Regulus frowns. "Don't pout. You did it. Your integrity
as a chef would be in tatters if people knew. Imagine what Chef Sprout
would say."

"Are you lecturing me, James?" Regulus asks, swiveling his head to meet
his gaze. "Is that what this is? Because if it is, you need to get it out of the
way now."

"Well, someone has to. I sincerely doubt Remus did."

"He didn't, really, but I know. Everything you're saying, I'm already very
aware of. I know I was wrong, but if you'll feel better for it, go on lecturing
me about it."
James huffs and looks away, then says, "The worst part is that I know you're
better than that. You chose to be cruel, and it's so awful. That's such an
awful thing to be cruel about, especially. Allergies, Regulus? You have
allergies; you know how terrifying it is to think you're going to die like that.
He had a fucking panic attack. It's—it's not okay. That's not okay. I know
you know that wasn't okay, but you still did it."

"I know," Regulus says softly. He tilts his head back and closes his eyes,
exhaling slowly, and then he rolls his head forward and gazes at the pan
with pinched eyebrows. "I thought my guilt was bad, but it pales in
comparison to your disappointment. That's a dangerous thing, James."

"Is it?"

"You can't be my moral compass. Mine should be good enough. It's not,
though. Not really."

"I mean, if it'll keep you from pretending to poison people, you're more than
welcome to borrow mine," James mumbles, his face getting hot as soon as
he realizes how that sounds.

Regulus hums, glancing at him out of the corner of his eye, face softening.
"I'd honestly take anything you would give me. You want me to be a good
person, James? For you, I would be."

"I don't think you're a bad person," James counters instantly, because he
doesn't. "I think you're already a good person; you just don't know that. I
wish you did."

"I'm learning. Or trying to." Regulus takes a deep breath and leans forward
to cut off the stove, sliding the pan to the side as he turns and focuses on
James. "Sirius insists on it. Apparently we're—well, it turns out that a lot of
things from our mother stuck with us more than we ever acknowledged.
You'd think we wouldn't listen to her, as much as we despise her, but she
really did get through to us. Sirius, especially."

"I told Sirius earlier, and I'll tell you the same," James murmurs. "That's not
your fault."

"I'm learning that, too," Regulus admits.

James hums and looks at the pan. "What'd you make?"

"It's just porridge," Regulus tells him, and James blinks, because that's the
most normal thing Regulus has ever cooked, that James knows of. "Just
plain porridge, James."

"Well, don't spoil me or anything," James mutters, but his words lack heat.
He doesn't doubt that even Regulus' porridge would be fucking amazing...if
James ate porridge. He doesn't.
"It's just porridge for a reason," Regulus says, swinging his hand out to
gesture to it, his throat bobbing. "Because, really, that's about all I have to
offer you. I'm that porridge. That's how I see myself, but you're a gourmet
four-course meal, and we shouldn't even be at the same table, and yet
somehow, we ended up there anyway. And I don't—I don't have some grand
speech to give you—"

"I rather think you're giving a grand speech now, actually, and using food
metaphors to do it, which is oddly working for me, romantically speaking,"
James cuts in. "Carry on."

"The thing is," Regulus mumbles, "I find you to be everything good and
warm in this world, and you were right to say I was wrong to put you up on
a pedestal. Because, at the end of the day, my feelings for you fuel my
admiration, but you are more than that. You're the sun, but you're also
human, and you can be both. I admire both."

"You're doing so well," James says breathlessly, his heart racing in his
chest.

"James," Regulus whispers, "we were never a bad idea. Loving you is the
best thing I've ever done, and I'm going to keep doing it. Being loved by
you is the best thing that's ever happened to me, and I want you to never
stop."

James is fucking vibrating. There's some internal distant screeching going

on somewhere in the back of his mind, and he feels like someone just
flipped on his lightswitch. He's good with words for romance, usually, but
there are no words for this, really, because he feels like he's going to
explode into a million shards of fractured light if he doesn't get his hands on
Regulus right this instant.

His breath punches out of him, and then he bursts forward to catch Regulus'
face in his hands, pressing a firm kiss to his mouth that he almost
immediately snatches right back out of. Regulus sways forward with a quiet
sound of protest that quickly turns into a startled yelp the moment James
ducks in and fully hauls him up into his arms, lifting him from the thighs
and carting him right out of the kitchen without a break in his stride as
Regulus scrambles to hold onto his shoulders, rocking back to stare at him
in disbelief.

"I hate porridge," James informs him, grinning so hard that his face aches,
"but I love you. And you're not porridge, by the way."

"Right, and what am I?" Regulus mumbles, leaning in so close that their
noses almost bump.

James has to slow to a stop because he can't see anything else, and he
doesn't want to knock Regulus into something. "You're water. That's what
you are."

"Water?" Regulus asks, audibly offended.

"Yes. Water. Because you're versatile; you're a storm, you're the rain, you're
the ocean and all the undiscovered mysteries within it. You're terrifying,
and soothing. You drown, and you cleanse, and I've never felt more
refreshed than when I've had any bit of you I can get. And there's nothing
worse than dehydration, love. I've been fucking parched without you,"
James tells him.

Regulus stares at him, and James can feel his racing heart thumping right up
against his own. Swallowing, Regulus whispers, "I think frostbite holds up
against dehydration. I've been so cold without you. I miss being warm."

"Oh, I'll make you warm," James teases, raising his eyebrows as he starts
walking again, glancing over Regulus' shoulder to make sure he's actually
making it to the general vicinity of his door. "I can make you warm. Did
you know I have full permission from your brother to shag you?"

"Is that so?" Regulus asks, releasing a quiet chuckle as his back bumps into
the door. He fumbles for the handle without having to be asked. "Would it
matter if you didn't?"

"No," James admits, "but we'll keep that between us, yeah?"

"Our secret," Regulus murmurs, lips twitching as the door swings open,
letting them in.

James hums and blindly heads for his bed, already lost in the bend of
Regulus' throat. "God, I've missed you. You're so lovely. Hi. Hello. Never
leave again."
"I won't," Regulus breathes out, releasing a soft sigh as James gently lowers
him to the bed. "I won't."

"I've stolen you, and I'm never giving you back. I'm keeping you. I'm
keeping you," James vows, pressing kisses along his jaw.

"You can," Regulus agrees, reaching up with shaking hands to gently slip
James' glasses off his face and carefully sit them aside with a reverence that
makes James melt. He closes his eyes when the tips of Regulus' fingers
brush over the line of his eyebrow, the outside curve of his eye, drifting
along his cheek and then tracing softly across his lips. Instantly, James parts
his mouth, feeling absolutely drugged on the heady presence of Regulus
Black. He's forgotten that words can even exist here, at least until Regulus
reminds him by quietly saying, "You can keep me. I'm all yours, really."

"Yeah?" James whispers, ducking his head to press a gentle kiss to the
inside of Regulus' palm.

"You said it once, that the heart knows—and James, my heart never doubted
you," Regulus says softly.

"I'll be so good to it. I'll be so good to you, Regulus. Let me. Please just let
me love you." James opens his eyes and swoops down until the blurry form
of Regulus comes into focus, and he's absolutely, pathetically bewitched by
him. Trapped in the storm of him, not even looking for a way out. "Can I,
love?"
"Yes," Regulus agrees immediately, instantly, automatically with full,
inarguable acceptance that makes James fold forward with an eager, earnest
whine of pure fucking delight.

There's not really much talking after that.

James has only known forever as a foreign, alien concept. Even with Lily,
as wholeheartedly as he loved her, forever wasn't something he grasped.
She was the duration of a life he thought he'd live, a life he hunted down
and held close until he had to let it go, but it was always a life that came
with a beginning and an end, long before he had to accept the end he never
thought they'd have. They were always a closed circuit.

James didn't find forever in Lily Evans; he discovered it in Regulus Black.

Because this—the way this feels—exists even when they don't. He won't
live to see forever, but this love will. When he's dead and gone, the sun will
shine and storms will crawl through the sky, and their love will pour out
over the earth. People will bask in it; turn their faces up into the light with a
smile and find James' devotion in the warmth; inhale the smell of rain as
storm clouds form in the distance and settle peacefully into Regulus'
reverence in the calm.

Forever is the rush in James' veins from Regulus' gossamer kiss, the heat
that radiates off Regulus' skin from James' sunshine touch; forever is a
feeling, above all, and it captures them both in a promise they won't break.
Later—much later—James finds himself being clung to, like maybe he's
grown attachments. Regulus is wrapped around him like he's trying to crawl
into him, literally every portion of his body touching James somewhere, and
he's refusing to let even a centimeter of space between them. He's
practically lying on top of him, honestly, and he keeps sliding his hand over
James' bare arm, shoulder, and neck as if making sure he's real. This is not a
problem. James is not complaining.

"You're staying?" James checks.

"James, I'll bloody well move in if you want," Regulus tells him, tilting his
head up to slow-blink at him. "Well, you'd have to kick my brother out first,
but otherwise…"

"Ooh, he's into commitment now," James teases, reaching up to gently run
his finger down the length of Regulus' nose, chuckling in a pleased fashion
when Regulus scrunches it.

"Whatever you want," Regulus mumbles.

James taps the end of his nose. "A dangerous thing, that. I want a lot of
things."

"You can have literally all of them."

"You don't even know what any of them are."

Regulus considers him, curious. "So, tell me."

"Children," James says slowly. "That's—honestly, that's a pretty big one. It's
sort of the big one. Not—I mean, not tomorrow, obviously, but I want a
family one day."

"I won't have children," Regulus tells him.

"Oh."

"No, not—that's not what I meant. I realize how that sounds, but I mean I
won't carry a child. I'm not opposed to being a father, James. That's not
what I was saying."

James blinks. "Oh. Oh, shit, I forgot that you—"

"Don't freak out," Regulus cuts in quickly. "I can't get pregnant. Well, I can,
but I mean I've taken all the proper precautions so I won't. And James, I
never will."
"No, yeah, that's fine," James assures him. "I didn't even think of that, to be
honest. We could adopt. Or surrogacy."

"One day," Regulus muses, and James breaks out into a grin immediately,
which makes Regulus smile gently. "If we ever do find a surrogate, I want it
to be yours. Well, it'll be ours, but I mean I want the baby to have your
biological influence and not mine. I would prefer not to dump that on some
poor child."

"Oh my god," James chokes out, shaking with wheezing laughter as

Regulus' eyes dance with amusement. "That's ridiculous. You're
ridiculous."

"No, I'm practical. I would much prefer my child not to be subject to the
Black family madness or any relation to my useless bitch of mother. Really,
I'd be doing the baby a favor by saving them from that."

"You have to tell Sirius this. He's going to laugh so fucking hard. I swear to
god you two are so alike sometimes."

Regulus lazily swats his chest. "Don't insult me."

"I didn't," James says, still laughing.

"Agree to disagree." Regulus flicks his fingers, then lays his hand down on
James' arm to start tracing meaningless shapes into his skin. "What else?"

"Hm?"

"You said you want a lot of things. Children are out of the way. What else is
there other than that?"

"I usually spend the holidays with my parents, and Sirius. I want you there,
too."

"Alright."

"Yeah?" James asks, startled by his easy acceptance.

"Yes," Regulus confirms. "I like your parents, James. I can play nice with
Sirius a few days out of the year, at the very least."

"Oh. Brilliant. So...this year, then?"

"Whatever you want."

James bites his lip, struggling not to squirm in delight. "That's still very
dangerous. I suppose I do want to live with you, if I'm honest. Again, not
necessarily tomorrow, just...whenever it's the right time. Though, secretly, I
suspect I'll be moving in with you, and Remus will be moving in here."

"Mm, most likely," Regulus agrees, amused. "Remus would likely move in
just for the chance at more space for a bigger bookshelf. If Sirius is smart,
that's how he'll pitch it to him."

"You think Remus will resist?"

"Remus is a creature of pride. His flat is small and cheap, so leaving it to

come here would hurt his pride a bit."

"Sirius would move in with him, you know. He's stubborn like that," James
says fondly, knowing it down to his bones.

Regulus hums. "Yes, I know. I suppose we'll see how that goes when the
time comes. Anything else?"

"What I want, you mean."

"Mhm."
"Will you meet my friends?"

"Whatever you want. Will you meet mine?"

James' eyebrows furrow. "I know your friends. Remus and Pandora. I mean,
I'll happily spend time with them, of course."

"I have more friends, James."

"Really? Who?"

"There's Aiko. I'm in classes with her. We've gotten closer after the catering
event, which is why you haven't met her yet," Regulus explains. "There's
Barty and Evan as well. I know you've met them, technically, but not
properly."

"Barty?" James blurts out, his mind latching onto that name almost
immediately. "Your ex, Barty? That Barty?"

Regulus arches an eyebrow at him. "Yes, that one. Problem?"

"I don't like him," James mutters.

"I don't like Lily," Regulus replies simply.

James huffs and rolls his eyes. "Shut up, you do."

"Alright, I do. But I also hate her, and will always hate her, even if I like
her. So, you'll have to tolerate Barty much the same. He's not as bad…"
Regulus trails off, then purses his lips and clears his throat. "Well, actually,
he's as bad as he seems, but there's not much to be done about that."

"I'm worried I'll punch him," James admits, mildly distressed because it's a
legitimate concern. One wrong word, one wrong move, and James will
probably lose it. He has a bit of an unchecked jealousy issue he's never
quite sorted out.

"Do it," Regulus says blithely. "I don't care. Just, you know, don't damage
him irreparably."

"You said he was your friend."

"I am. That doesn't make me his keeper. If he wants to goad my boyfriend
into a brawl, that's his business. You punch him enough, he'll eventually
learn."
"And if he punches me?" James asks, squinting.

Regulus cuts him a sharp look. "He won't, because he knows I'll make him
regret it."

"Well, that's just an unfair advantage."

"Too honorable to hit someone who won't hit back?"

"Depends on how angry he makes me."

"Can I confess something to you?" Regulus asks.

James hums. "Of course, love."

"I'm aware that this is not particularly healthy, and it's a bit baffling
considering my trauma surrounding angry people, as my therapist would
say, but you are truly attractive when you're furious," Regulus informs him.
"It's so rare, you know, but genuinely—I mean, genuinely, James, it's
fucking maddening. Like, I don't want you to be angry, obviously, but
fucking hell, when you are…"
"I'm not sure what to do with this information," James admits, lips
twitching. "Thank you, though. I think?"

"The next time you're peeved off about something, you just come find me
and blow off some steam, that's what you do with that information, James,"
Regulus says.

"Noted," James wheezes, laughing so hard that he curls up a bit, turning his
face into Regulus' hair.

"Anything else?" Regulus prompts.

"You." James presses a kiss to his forehead. "Just you, really."

Regulus looks up with a smile. "Whatever you want."

Remus has a very strange morning, and this is how it goes:

He pulls himself from bed and prepares to spend his day off relaxing in
between a few chores that he honestly can't keep ignoring. Laundry, mostly.
It's the sort of quiet day one spends inside, playing music in the background
and reading in between folding laundry, or washing dishes, or rearranging
the bookshelves, he thinks, so that's what he plans to do.

He gets as far as a shower (literally the first on the list) and ends up derailed
by a knock at his door. Sighing, he shuffles over and opens up to the
unexpected but not unwelcome sight of his best friend, who's never here
this early unless he stayed over the night before.

"Morning. Everything alright?" Remus greets, mildly alarmed.

"Yeah. Budge over," Regulus replies, nudging him out of the way and
letting himself inside.

"Sure, come on in," Remus says dryly, rolling his eyes as he shuts the door
and swivels around, not at all surprised that Regulus goes right to his
kitchen. "Any reason you're showing up this early in the morning?"

"What, can't I come visit my best friend at any hour? I wasn't aware that
there were parameters for these sorts of things."

"You've come to make me suffer."

"Of course. Coffee or tea?"

"Tea. I'm tired of coffee. It's my day off."

Regulus hums in amusement, filling the kitchen with the sounds of clanking
kettle and ceramic. It's soothing. "You must miss me terribly while
working."

"Won't you come back?" Remus asks hopefully, and it's not the first time
he's asked. As much as Regulus has been buttering him up, he hasn't given
into this request yet.

"I've already told you, as tempted as I am, I don't have it in me to leave

Mrs. Delby high and dry." Regulus turns to face him as he waits for the
water to boil for the tea. "I'm quite sure that I'd break her heart by leaving,
at this point."

"It just feels like...an end of an era, I suppose."

"It sort of is, isn't it? But also...not really. Our friendship exists outside of
the shop."

Remus nods, appeased. "That will just have to do. Gid's not so bad to work
with, really."

"I don't like him, you know," Regulus mumbles.

"Yes, I know. You're a jealous, territorial prick, so that makes sense,"
Remus replies, helplessly amused. "You don't know him, though, not really.
He's kind."

Regulus scoffs. "Kind. As if that's an admirable quality."

"It literally is?"

"Whatever. You don't even like kind people."

Remus rolls his eyes. "Yes, I do."

"I'm not kind."

"Not always, but sometimes you are."

"Oh, shut up, Lupin," Regulus grumbles, swiveling around as the kettle
whistles at them. He goes about making them tea, and Remus watches in
fond amusement. Grumpy bastard.
Chuckling, Remus stays quiet until Regulus brings over the tea for each of
them, following along as Remus heads for the sofa. He really should be
doing laundry, but he's fine with...not, since Regulus is giving him the
excuse. Besides, a good cuppa before a relaxing day? Doesn't get much
more comforting than that, honestly. Remus has been all about his own
personal comforts as of late. A lot of self-soothing techniques have
reemerged into his life since Sirius has been gone.

He just misses him, really. The persistent, soul-deep ache of wanting

someone who isn't there. It's anxiety-inducing, too, the way it never really
lets up, the way he can feel it settling into his weary bones deeper than
loneliness ever did. This leads to things like purchasing weighted blankets
and more threadbare sweaters from thrift shops. He does ridiculous things
like cradle his guitar in his lap without ever playing it, only lazily plucking
at strings while staring off into space. He picks up the small, sculpted wolf
Sirius made for him that's been sitting on his nightstand literally since he
got it and turns it over and over between careful fingers. He smokes at his
window, and gazes at the moon late at night, and feels his heart jump when
thunder rolls in and promises a lightning strike—his eyes will burn with
how desperately he refuses to blink, not tolerating any chance that he'll miss
that flash across the sky that makes him ache evermore.

Remus thinks if his life was a book, he'd want to skim this part. Of all the
things he's gone through so far, this is a quiet kind of solemnity that makes
him wish he could reach the resolution much faster. It's the promise of
resolution that makes everything seem so slow.

Really, Regulus said it best. He's always saying it, and he'll likely say it
again. Remus really is a miserable sod, isn't he?
"Mm, cheers," Remus murmurs after his first sip of tea, and Regulus hums
in acknowledgement. "So, how'd it go last night? Did Pandora get on with
Evan and Barty?"

"You know, she did, actually," Regulus muses, shaking his head like it's a
strange thought. "Got on best with Aiko, though. Makes sense. Aiko's the
sort you want to put in your pocket, do you know what I mean?"

"Yeah," Remus confirms, because he does. It's sort of how he feels about
Lily, honestly.

"I wish you would have come," Regulus says. "Barty and Evan think you're
a god. They worship you now."

Remus blinks. "Sorry? Um, why?"

"Because you had the stones to shag my brother. On purpose."

"Ah. Let that slip, did you?"

"I explained a bit about James, so it came up. You're their hero," Regulus
informs him wryly. "Pandora missed you as well, in any case. Aiko is
excited to meet you."
"I'll be there next time," Remus promises, and he doesn't say that he only
missed it because he and James already had plans. Regulus probably
already suspects, honestly, but Remus is fully capable of tact when the
situation calls for it.

Regulus sips his tea, nodding. "I'll hold you to it."

"Mm. What are your plans for the day, Reg?"

"I have a few. First, there's tea with you."

"Check."

"Then there's a horrible, emotionally taxing conversation I plan to have with

you."

Remus stops, his cup of tea hovering in front of his mouth as he glances
warily at Regulus, who looks a little resigned. Well, this is concerning.
Slowly, Remus lowers his tea and takes a moment to appreciate the silence
before the 'horrible, emotionally taxing' conversation they're apparently
about to have. If he's honest, Remus sort of hates these.

One of Remus' favorite things about Regulus is and has always been the
fact that they don't often have very deep, emotional discussions. They've
never really needed to, because they can convey a lot of things between
them with just a few words and an exchanged look. Remus, who associates
vulnerability of any kind—physical, emotional, or otherwise—with
weakness, has always appreciated that he never really has to be vulnerable
with Regulus to have a deep, meaningful connection between them. They're
both equally reluctant to open up and reveal the soft underbelly they've
been curled around, hard as a shell, for so long that straightening out only
aches at this point.

It's just how they work with very few deviations. Honestly, it's probably
why they can bounce back from insane things like Regulus pretending to
poison him. A lot of people out there in the world wouldn't ever be able to
come back from that, forgive it, and trust again. And honestly, if Remus
really allows himself to think about it long enough and deeply enough, he'll
sort of just end up stunned again by it, by how fucked up it was. It's almost
so much of a caricature of itself that it doesn't feel real. One of those things
that happens that he doesn't really think about, and then he thinks it offhand,
oh yeah, my best mate pretended to poison me after I fucked his brother, and
then he's a bit dazed from it, like huh, that's absolutely mental.

It's stuck somewhere between I can't believe that was actually a real thing
that happened to me and the less mature this will be a fun story to tell at
parties. Remus just really isn't the type of person to actually face the things
that could bother him and weigh on him; most of the time, he just ignores it
until he forgets why it would be a problem in the first place. This is not
limited to the poisoning incident, as he's done this with a lot of things in his
life. His father, for example. He simply doesn't think about Lyall Lupin that
often anymore, but he knows if he saw him out and about again, all that he's
forgotten and ignored would surge up and assault him. Upon reflection,
Remus thinks he's quite repressed, actually.

In any case, the way they work—with few exceptions—is that Regulus
rarely, if ever, tries to take a pickaxe to his repression and chip away at it
until it cracks open and falls away layer by layer. They coexist in their
unhealthy coping mechanisms, only surfacing from them on rare occasions
of genuine concern. It's just that Remus doesn't want Regulus to be
genuinely concerned about him right now.

"I'm fine," Remus says almost instantly, alarmed.

"Calm down, Lupin, I'm not about to strap you to a chair and drag all your
secrets from you," Regulus replies, briefly looking amused at his mounting
wariness. He shakes his head, then stares down at his tea. "Actually, I rather
thought that I'd sit here and—and dump some of my secrets on you."

Remus blinks. A lot. "What?"

"I have a crustacean-based shellfish allergy, which means things like

shrimp, crab, and lobster," Regulus tells him, looking up to meet his eyes,
and Remus freezes. "I was fourteen the first time I actually formed the full
thought that I wasn't a girl, and sixteen when I finally gave in and allowed
myself to admit in my head that I was a boy. I knew, of course, but I didn't
really let myself think it, and when I did, I cried. I immediately wanted to
tell Sirius, but he was already gone."

"Regulus, why are you telling me this?"

"I didn't shag the first time because I wanted to shag; I did it because I
didn't want to be a virgin when my mother married me off. I like snakes as a
design, but I fear them in reality. I saw one once and shrieked like a—well,
like a girl, honestly. I was homeless for nearly two weeks when I first ran
away, and I genuinely thought I was going to die. I almost went home."

"Shit, Reg," Remus breathes out, eyes wide.

"I've never told anyone that before. That I almost went back. Ashamed of it,
I suppose," Regulus murmurs with a frown. He clears his throat. "I never
loved my parents, and I'm quite sure that's because Sirius was more of the
nurturer in my childhood than they ever were, but I—" He swallows harshly
and closes his eyes. "Sometimes, I miss them. Sometimes, I miss my
mother the most. And it appalls me, you know, because I'm not quite sure
what I'm even missing. There's really nothing to miss, and yet I do. More
than just missing what I wished they had been; I genuinely miss them. Even
at their worst, and they were never anything else. Things like the smell of
my father's cologne and the silver pin that held the intricate knot of my
mother's hair in place so firmly that no strand ever fell."

Remus stares at the side of Regulus' face, aching. He feels like an unwilling
witness to Regulus slicing himself open and peeling layers of himself back,
one secret at a time. It's brutal and harrowing, and Remus can't look away.
Remus can't stop listening. Remus can't refrain from wanting to know more,
to know everything, to tuck away all this new knowledge like if he takes it,
there's space left behind for him to belong.

"Sirius has never hit me, but I've hit him, just once," Regulus continues. "It
wasn't very long after that he left. I'll never forgive myself for it. Nor will I
ever forgive myself for what I did to you. When I am on my deathbed and
listing out my regrets, hurting you as I did will be at the very top."
"Regulus," Remus says quietly.

Shaking his head, Regulus just keeps going. "When I was a child, I cried
very often. I was really emotional, actually. I had a brief obsession with
butterflies, and if I'm honest, I still get a little excited every time I see one. I
have to sing the alphabet in my head to remember what comes after f, and I
miss getting to play the piano. I'm scared of the ocean—really any large
bodies of water—and I secretly want a cat."

Like a dragon hoarding treasure, Remus files all of this away, focused
entirely on everything Regulus is saying. Things he's never said before.
Secrets Remus never knew, some of them that most people wouldn't even
be ashamed of.

"I wish I had befriended Pandora in school, but I was scared. I regret
leaving Evan and Barty without an explanation, even though I wouldn't do
it differently if I could," Regulus tells him calmly. "I miss Sirius as if he left
only yesterday, and I don't know how to cope sometimes with the relief of
knowing he's never going to leave again."

"Oh," Remus whispers, the breath punching out of him. He's always moved,
helplessly and emotionally, by Sirius' influence in Regulus' life. There's
something so very tenderly tragic about it, yet there's a glowing pinpoint of
hope that draws him in every time. It softens him.

"I'm hopelessly, pathetically in love with James Potter. I want to spend the
rest of my life with him. I want to marry him; I would marry him tomorrow
if he asked, and I've been running from marriage my whole life," Regulus
murmurs, and his entire face erupts into a bloom of red.

"Oh," Remus repeats, stuck somewhere between stunned and utterly

delighted by this.

"You're my best friend; the best friend I've ever had or will ever have,"
Regulus continues quickly, his blush slowly fading, and he swivels his head
to look right at Remus, holding his gaze steadily. "I've not treated you fairly
in...many different ways, but possibly one of the worst is that I know you're
a miserable sod, and I did things to stand in the way of that changing into
you being happier. For all that I'm meant to make you suffer, the truth is that
I'd really much rather you get everything you want and be at peace. Trust is
a choice, and I should have made it with you long ago. I'm sorry that I
didn't; I'm sorry that I wasn't sure how. You don't have to prove anything to
me, Remus. Not one thing."

Remus strangles the cup of tea and rasps, "Reg…"

"I likely won't ever understand why you're so ridiculously in love with my
idiot brother, but I don't really need to. You're a fool for it, but you will be a
happy one, so that's…" Regulus' lips twitch. "That's really all that matters.
He doesn't have allergies of any kind, but if he were to hurt you, I would
find a way to make him wish he hadn't. Just the same, I'm going to have to
ask you to not hurt him either, because I'm trying my hand at being a better
person, you see, and it would be really inconvenient if my efforts were
wasted."
"You're so fucking dramatic," Remus whispers, dangerously close to just—
crying, honestly. He feels like he's being ushered along to the resolution,
like he can reach out and touch it now, so close and in reach, all of it finally
coming together. It's the more he's looking for, rolling gently into his palm.

"Genetics." Regulus smiles at him, and it's sweet and soft in a way Remus
isn't sure he's ever seen before. "Now, here's the really emotional,
vulnerable part. I'm counting on you to immediately ruin it and change the
mood after."

"I can do that," Remus mumbles.

Regulus hums and softly says, "Love is a currency of which I'm in a short
supply, and I don't have many people I could ever claim to love in any
capacity, but you are one of them."

"Oh, fuck off, what the hell am I supposed to do with that?" Remus chokes
out, turning his head away so he can scrub at both eyes in peace with the
mere illusion of privacy.

"That's most of my secrets, I think," Regulus muses, taking a delicate sip of

tea with a thoughtful sound of contemplation before he swallows and clicks
his tongue. "More than anyone else has ever known, at least."

"Aren't you going to threaten to kill me for knowing too much?" Remus
asks in a croak, flashing him a wobbly smile.
"I'm not sure there would be a point. I'd miss you if you were gone, and
honestly, I'm quite sure you'll end up knowing even more," Regulus replies.

"Regulus, you know I—"

"Don't."

Remus releases a shaky breath. "What do you mean?"

"I didn't tell you all of that for you to tell me something similar in return. I
told you to tell you, Remus. That's what trust is, isn't it? Giving parts of
yourself to someone else with no ulterior motives and no ultimatum, and
being sure that nothing wrong will come from doing so. If you want to tell
me, then tell me tomorrow. Today, for now, let it be just this."

"Yeah. Yeah, alright."

Ducking his head, Remus looks down and drinks his tea in silence. It's quiet
between them now, but the comfortable kind that makes his insides feel like
fleece. The sort of quiet where nothing is out of place, or out of order,
where it all feels calm and right. Remus basks in it. He knows how big of a
deal this is, what Regulus has done, and he basks in that, too.
They finish their tea, and Remus is the one who drags himself up to take
their cups to the sink. He ruffles Regulus' hair as he goes by, just a little bit,
some sort of punctuation on the shared vulnerability, a finality in the form
of affection that promises they're past all the emotionally taxing bits.
Regulus allows it with a lazy swat of his fingers, low effort, and that's pretty
much that.

Regulus stands up and heaves a deep sigh, his eyebrows furrowing as he

asks, "What would you say is the least exciting breakfast to have, Remus?
Like, it's alright, it's just there, but it's really not anything amazing."

"Porridge," Remus says immediately. "Why?"

"Porridge!" Regulus snaps his fingers and points at him, nodding sharply.
"Yes, exactly."

"Why?" Remus repeats.

"I'm going to go make James porridge for breakfast," Regulus informs him
without an ounce of teasing in his tone.

Remus blinks. "You're going to make him...porridge?"

"Yes."
"Reg, no offense, but in these situations, one tends to put their best foot
forward. Do you know what I mean? I'm assuming you're going to...get
back with him," Remus says slowly, carefully, trying not to offend. "If
you're angling for romance, porridge is about as far from it as you can get."

"I know. There's a method to my madness, Lupin, trust me."

"Well...sure, mate, if you say so. Good luck?"

Regulus swallows. "Thank you."

"I hope you see a butterfly today," Remus tells him as he heads towards the
door, and Regulus sends him a sharp look over his shoulder that makes
Remus grin in response.

"Piss off," Regulus grumbles, his cheeks stained pink as he snatches open
the door and stomps out.

When the door shuts, Remus chuckles quietly to himself and turns away,
bustling around to gather his laundry as he planned to do from the very
beginning. Really, it's a necessity at this point, and Regulus' interruption
won't derail his day.
It's a little sad that it genuinely takes the better part of an hour for him to
consider what this means for him.

He thinks again of Virginia Woolf, of that quote: To want and not to have,
sent all up her body a hardness, a hollowness, a strain. And then to want
and not to have - to want and want - how that wrung the heart, and wrung it
again and again!

At some point, he's found, all the wants that wrung his heart started to feel
like a heartbeat. Natural. Normal. The status quo, so to speak. The hardness,
the hollowness, the strain—it has become the usual state of himself. Much
the same as being lonely became his comfort zone, wanting and not having
has stolen that position. He hasn't dared to look past it, not really.

But, suddenly and all at once, like a lightning strike, Remus is hit with the
thought that what he wants—all of it, everything, the more he's desperate
for—is something he can have. It's within reach. It's his for the taking, if
only he'll try just once more to have it, and this time, he can manage to hold
onto it.

It's an overwhelming thought, honestly. So much so that he has to sit down

on his sofa and breathe for a bit, laughing quietly and breathlessly with no
one there to see him be a raging lunatic about this. He ends up smiling, a
little dazed, fisting his hands in his lap as they shake, tremble, and twitch
from the pure elation that runs through him. Oh, he has somewhere to be,
doesn't he? Someone to come back to.
Remus launches to his feet approximately four seconds before there's a
sharp, demanding knock on his door. His heart practically trips over itself in
his chest, and his feet nearly do the same in his haste to get to the door and
snatch it open. As soon as he has, he nearly swallows his fucking tongue.

See, this is how one puts their best foot forward in these situations. Sirius
has most certainly put his best foot forward; really, he's put his best
everything forward. He looks like he's stepped right out of one of those
magazines where the model is put together both to be art and also unfairly
beautiful in that untouchable, unknowable way that can't be explained.
From the rings on his fingers, to the kohl on his eyes, the open leather
jacket revealing a corset vest underneath, the way his hair falls shiny and
soft—literally all of him from head-to-toe and beyond, even just the
presence of him, is so gorgeous that it should be a damn crime. It's a murder
attempt, at the very least, because Remus can't catch his breath, and he's
probably about to just fucking die.

Remus hears himself make some sort of unintelligible noise in the back of
his throat, a little garbled, and Sirius breaks out into that lovely, dangerous
grin of his. It's like being struck by lightning, seeing that smile again. The
wonders of a darkened sky flashing brilliance, a secret unto the world, a
promise of something that can't be altered but will alter you.

"Oh, just look at you," Sirius says breathlessly, then he's moving forward
without another word to hook his hand around the back of Remus' neck and
snatch him down into a kiss, carelessly kicking the door shut behind him.

It's ground-breaking immediately. Remus literally needs no time to catch

up; he kisses him back like he'll never have another chance, already
snatching at Sirius' jacket, pushing it frantically off his shoulders and down
his arms. Oh, he loves that jacket, he really does, but he can't be arsed at the
moment. He launches it away like it offends him, and then they're both a
wild trajectory crashing towards his bed.

And, really, Remus is very aware that they should be talking. They
absolutely need to talk. It's very important that they talk. Just—just not yet.
This first. Them first. Because it's been so long, and god, god, Remus has
missed him so much, and he's here. He's right here.

They make it to the bed, but they don't fall into it from the start. Remus sits
down before his legs give out, and Sirius rests one knee on the bed beside
Remus' thigh, hunched over him, cupping his neck and kissing him like it's
more important than breathing. It is. It's so much more important; Sirius is
more necessary than oxygen.

Admittedly a little focused, Remus fumbles at the back of the corset,

finding that he's honestly no match for it. He thinks he could genuinely find
the strength to just fucking rip it off at this point, but Sirius pulls away to
laugh breathlessly against his neck, sounding exhilarated, being remarkably
pliant as Remus huffs and fights with the corset.

"Sirius, it's lovely, but why the fuck would you wear this?" Remus hisses,
rearing back to glare at him.

"Patience, Remus. Good things come to those who wait." Sirius winks at
him and pulls away, doing what Remus couldn't with only a bit more
practiced hands. He takes it slow, though, raising his eyebrows at Remus
with a teasing light in his eyes. Putting a show on. Of course he is.
"You're the most infuriating man I've ever known," Remus declares as soon
Sirius is done, his tattoos on display. He reaches out to grasp his hips and
drag him in, pressing a kiss to the tattoo that winds its way up from his hip,
and then he tilts his head back, chin on Sirius' stomach, gazing at him
helplessly. "I'm infatuated with you."

"Mm, are you?" Sirius grins again, swaying forward to ease down into his
lap, resting their foreheads together. He nudges their noses together, letting
out a soft sigh.

"Constantly," Remus whispers.

"Moony, Moony, Moony. My lovely Moony," Sirius mumbles, sliding his

hands up into Remus' hair, the lines of their noses brushing together. "You
captivate me, Moony. I'm fascinated by everything you do, everything you
say, every single part of you. I can't get enough of you, Remus Lupin. I
never will, not in this life or any other, and that's why we'll just keep finding
each other over and over. We're eternity, you and me."

"Sop," Remus says, and Sirius hums in acknowledgement, not even trying
to deny it.

"Marry me," Sirius declares, dragging his hands forward to cup Remus'
cheeks, squishing them in so his lips pucker like a fish. "Let's get married,
buy a house, and adopt eighteen children right now."
Remus can't quite laugh with how Sirius is holding his face, so it comes out
oddly, and his voice is distorted as he says, or tries to say, "S'rus."

"When you find the person you want to spend the rest of your life with,
you're eager to get started living it," Sirius tells him, not even blinking. "I'm
going to be so good to you, sweetheart. I'm going to shag you every day and
kiss you every day and tell you I love you every day and—and—and—" He
huffs out a vague noise of frustration. "Yes, that. And. Because there's more.
There's always going to be more. I'm going to be the more you've been
looking for; look no further, Moony, I'm going to give you everything. I'm
going to—"

"Sh'uh'," Remus tries, and a spark of amusement enters Sirius' eyes, so

Remus wrenches his head back to free himself, and then he drags Sirius in
to kiss him until he moans.

They remember this. Their bodies remember this. It's been too long, but
Remus is quite sure they couldn't forget this if they tried. They couldn't
forget each other if they forgot everything else, Remus is sure. He can feel
it, the way something in them reaches out for the other, eternally.

Remus has never really known satisfaction before Sirius, in more ways than
one. Even just a sense of fulfillment in life, he never really knew the shape
of such a thing, not until he held the shape of Sirius Black in his arms. And
there it was. There it is, that deep exhale in his soul that belays peace. It
feels like enlightenment in a way, just knowing what it is to be truly
satisfied with everything in his life when he never was before. He wasn't
sure that even existed, and now he knows.
He knows. He has it.

The intensity of it, of them, feels like it shakes the earth. Remus' bones
rattle with it, leaving him sprawled out and trying to capture his breath in
the aftermath, shaking like someone plugged him in and turned on all his
lights at once. He's buzzing. Sirius does this to him every time.

As for Sirius, though, he curls right up next to Remus and proceeds to break
down and cry. It's swift and unexpected, making Remus freeze, eyes
bulging. He's alarmed instantly and startled by the way Sirius just—gives
into it, like it's a release, like it's not ripping him apart but forming him
anew. He doesn't seem upset, just...very emotional at the moment?
Hesitantly, Remus curls his arm around Sirius' back and gently brushes his
hand down Sirius' hair while Sirius shoves his face into Remus' neck and
fucking weeps.

"Sirius?" Remus asks quietly, cautiously, genuinely at a loss. He's not

entirely sure what to do in this situation, because it doesn't seem like—bad
crying? Is there anything else? Remus never thought there could be such a
thing as good crying, but trust Sirius to introduce it to him.

"I'm very happy," Sirius chokes out, and Remus feels his heart clench. "I—
I'm really very happy, Remus."

"That's good," Remus murmurs, delving his fingers into Sirius' hair and
carefully massaging his scalp.
Sirius sort of just...slumps. His breathing stutters for a little bit, then evens
out, and he whispers, "I love you so much. I just really, really love you. It's
—it's in me, and I can't—I don't know. I feel so full sometimes. Overfull,
and then I overflow, and sometimes it's good, but sometimes it's not. But
this? Loving you as I do is my best. Never too much of that."

"I love you, too," Remus assures him, turning his head to press a firm kiss
to the corner of his eye. His skin tastes of salty tears that are slowly drying.
"I was coming back to you, you know. Just as soon as I knew you were
ready, I was coming."

"I was faster."

"This time. I'll come back to you for the rest of my life. I intend to
repeatedly pop up like a bad habit."

"I love bad habits," Sirius says. "I'm never letting you go again, Remus.
Never, not for anything. I've gotten my shit together. I mean, I'm still a
mess, I think, but a more manageable one. A mess I can sort through. I have
a lot of sorting left to do, if I'm to be frank, but—but that's alright, isn't it?
Do you mind?"

Remus chuckles and slowly cards his fingers through Sirius' hair, gently
unraveling the tangles he put there. "I intensely do not mind. It's more than
alright. Honestly, Sirius, I'm a bit of a mess myself."
"A bit?" Sirius teases, lifting his head to smile at him. His eyeliner is
smudged, his hair is a fucking wreck, and he's covered in marks Remus left
behind on him. He looks debauched. Christ, he's gloriously beautiful.

"More than a bit, yeah," Remus admits. "I want you to know that no matter
your mess, in any state, I would still have you. Do you understand what I'm
saying, Sirius? Of course I want you to be happy and healthy and at peace,
but even if you weren't, I would still come back to you. I would still want
you. I wouldn't know how to leave you alone in any state for either of us,
even if I do wish the best for us both."

"Who's the sop now?" Sirius says, even though his face flushes as his eyes
sparkle with delight. He ducks in and kisses him, quick and firm, then takes
to kissing him all over his face until Remus is laughing and gently pushing
him away. Sirius groans and presses into him. "Fuck, I've missed your
laugh."

"Have you?"

"Mhm. You have no idea how much. I've been obsessively watching that
video I have of you—the one I filmed the first day I came here. I fall asleep
to it sometimes."

"Well, that's devastating."

"Isn't it?"
"I told you to delete it," Remus points out.

Sirius rears back in visible offense. He says, "I would literally rather die
than lose any bit of you I get to have," and then shuffles down to—oh, he's
just biting Remus' bare arm. Not even in a sensual fashion. Just...biting.

"Why are you biting me?" Remus asks, exasperated, staring in disbelief as
Sirius bites down a little harder before detaching with a ridiculous suction-
sounding pop. The indentation of his teeth are left behind, though they don't
hurt.

"I don't know, really. Sometimes I look at you and get the urge to bite. I just
want to fucking sink my teeth into you. Moony, you make me insane,"
Sirius informs him.

Remus laughs helplessly and shakes his head. "You were a biter when you
were a child, weren't you?"

"How did you guess? Not for very long, though. I had to suppress the urge
because Walburga didn't approve. Oh, but you know who else was?
Regulus. He used to gnaw on the rails on the stairs when he was still
toddling about."

"You're joking. Sirius, did he actually—"

"All the time. He bit me a lot, too. He'd just clamp down and then take off
running, the little shit. But, you know, he had a very tough time with his
teeth. It was awful for him when they were coming in. He used to cry about
it, and I'd freeze a flannel for him to chew on. It was cute in a sad way,
honestly, how he'd cry and chew on it at the same time. Can't really blame
him for putting his teeth to use when they finally came in after all of that,"
Sirius muses, looking thoughtful.

"Christ," Remus murmurs, "you really did raise him, didn't you?"

"For the most part," Sirius replies simply. "As much as an older brother ever
does, and maybe a bit more. He turned out alright, didn't he?"

"He did," Remus says. "You both did."

Sirius sighs and tilts his head down, resting his chin on Remus' chest. "He's
with James now, I suspect. That was the plan, technically."

"There was a plan?"

"Don't you start, Moony."

"Alright, alright," Remus teases, lips twitching. "Does it bother you, then?
That your best mate is with your little brother right now, most likely sha—"

"No," Sirius cuts in with a slight grimace. "No, it doesn't bother me, but I
don't really want to talk about it either. In my head, they're indulging in
some innocent cuddling."

"You're really going to have to get over this thing you have against Regulus
being a sexual person."

"I take no issue with Regulus being a sexual person. In fact, I encourage it.
Me and him, being whores? It's exactly what our mother deserves, honestly.
I'm so proud of Reggie for being a whore; good for him. The issue is,
something in my brain goes absolutely ballistic at the thought of him being
disrespected, and it's hard sometimes, you know, to not see him as that child
who was so innocent, so easily taken advantage of, and he used to be
terrified of the idea of—of marriage, of being forced to be with someone; he
dreaded it so much, and I still…"

Remus nods when Sirius trails off and shrugs as if he can't really find the
words. That's alright. Remus thinks he gets it. "I suppose that makes sense.
I can see why you'd feel as you do."

"I'm working on it," Sirius mutters. "I don't think normal brothers have
these sorts of issues."

"Probably not," Remus admits, and Sirius snorts.

"Prick."

"Well, I'm not going to lie to you."

Sirius slowly props himself up, eyebrows raised, and he starts grinning as
soon as Remus' face gets hot. "Is that so?"

"Those were extenuating circumstances, for one thing. I'm not going to lie
to you...anymore," Remus mumbles.

Sirius leans down to kiss him, then whispers, "Here's a secret, Moony. I'd
love you even if you did. I did love you even when you had."

"So, we're going to love each other at our worst, are we?"

"My worst was hitting James."

Remus blinks, then regards him pensively. He takes a moment to think

about it, and then he nods. "Yeah. I'd say so."
"I don't think I'll ever be able to stop hating myself fully because I'll always
hate myself for that," Sirius confesses, his gaze dropping with shame.

"James would be so upset to hear that," Remus whispers.

Sirius glances back up and smiles sadly. "Why do you think I didn't tell
him? He's the best person I know."

"I think he's the best person everyone knows," Remus replies with a wry
smile, and it makes Sirius grin more sincerely.

"Knowing that we love each other at our worst doesn't stop me from
wanting us to do it at our best," Sirius says softly, gazing at him as he
hovers closer. "Or just...better."

"Better," Remus echoes warmly. "Let's go with better."

Sirius beams at him, grinning broadly as he presses in close to kiss him

again, and they're both smiling too much to really do much, but they keep
doing it anyway until, eventually, they're so much better at it.

Chapter End Notes

they're all so fucking cute im gonna DIE

 Chapter 26
Chapter Notes

only warnings for this chapter is the brief references to child abuse
(Walburga and Orion Black please choke challenge). otherwise, yet
another lighthearted, happy chapter. shocking, i know.

enjoy :)
See the end of the chapter for more notes

"—didn't see anything, I swear, Prongs. He's the mean barista, then? That's
him?"

"Yes, Pete, obviously. Just—Christ, mate, keep it down, would you? If you
wake him—"

"Sorry, sorry. It's just...he does look a bit like Sirius, doesn't he? Lily said so
that one time, but—"

Regulus doesn't open his eyes, and his voice is frozen gravel, thick with
sleep and fury when he says, "James, if you don't take your friend and let
me sleep, I'm going to kill you both."

There's a beat of silence, then James clears his throat, and Regulus feels lips
press into his forehead, followed by the soft murmur of, "Sorry, love."
There's the distant rustle of sheets, and Regulus is drifting back out by the
time he hears James hissing in low tones to whoever else is here. There's the
gentle click of the door, and Regulus sags into the quiet and the warmth
James left behind.

Honestly, though, he can't get back to sleep. He's close, but then he reaches
out for James, befuddled enough to forget that he's gone. When he finds no
sign of him within reach, he grunts and peels his eyes open with a scowl. It
takes him a few more minutes to remember what just occurred, and by then,
he's mostly awake enough that he may as well get up. This also may have
something to do with wanting to be wherever James is, but no one has to
know that but him.

Sighing, Regulus drags himself from James' bed, going over to his chest of
drawers to find a shirt and joggers, the latter of which are so long on him
that he has to roll them up at the waist a few times, and they still keep
slipping down, because he's slimmer than James is. It's fine, though,
because James' shirt hangs down past his waist anyway. He's sort of
swimming in the clothes, and his hair is a bit messier than he'd usually
allow it, but he doesn't really care at the moment.

He makes James' bed, seeing as James obviously has no plans to, and he
takes a little time alone to go snooping. Why not? He's never been in James'
bedroom before, so he may as well. Just like with James, it's both exactly
what he's expecting and wholly a surprise.

He has artwork on his walls that Regulus doesn't doubt was gifted to him by
Sirius. There are a lot of photos; some of him and his friends, some of him
and his parents. On the back of the door, there's a full-length mirror hanging
off it, and there's a bar bolted in his closet doorway so he can, presumably,
do random pull-ups whenever the mood strikes, because of course James
has that. He has a couple of books, but more textbooks for school than
anything, by the looks of it. Also, rather adorably, he has a red lava lamp
that had tinted the room in a brunt blaze throughout the night. He has
various trophies lined up, and there are three stands holding three different
rugby balls in different colors. They're well taken care of, the ellipsoid
shape of them still firm and inflated.

Yet, the real surprises are the things that aren't immediately noticeable. The
stack of hair bobbles he keeps, likely for Sirius in case he ever runs out. The
post-its on his mirror with little reminders (there's an old one that has get
the keys from dad to get to the zipline for the second date with a lot of
exclamation points and a tiny heart that makes Regulus press his fingers to
his lips as soon as he realizes he's smiling), as well hastily scribbled dates
that are or were important (one of them is, notably, the date of the catering
event at the art gallery, and Regulus wonders if it was for him or Sirius).
The tiny plush deer that sits on his desk, made sure to be propped up like
letting it fall over would be a crime. The mug of pencils and pens that faces
outwards to show a frowny face (which Regulus reaches out to delicately
turn in the other direction, so that a smiley face will show instead). The
creamy red colored chair that has signatures and little notes all over it in
black marker (Sirius' signature is the largest and spans across the cushion
one would sit on, because of course it is).

Regulus does eventually end up slipping out, stopping by the loo on the
way to the kitchen. He uses the first toothbrush he grabs, knowing it's
James' because he knows the other one is Sirius'. When they were younger,
Sirius used to brush his teeth so vigorously that the bristles curled visibly
outwards, and that's still the case now, it seems.

He hears voices before he makes it into the kitchen, and because it's James'
voice saying his name, talking about him, he comes to a silent halt to listen.
It's sort of amusing, because James is telling whoever he's talking to the
whole story about how he ended up fucking his best friend's brother. It takes
a few minutes, but Regulus eventually works out that the other person's
name is Peter—James has mentioned him before.

Finally, after James has mostly explained (he'd left out the trans bit,
Regulus notes), the bloke—Peter—can be heard letting out a deep breath
before saying, "You are so brave. Anyone else, and they'd be dead for not
only shagging Sirius' brother, but also choosing to? Your courage, James…
And Remus—I mean, Christ, I can't even imagine…"

"Well, there for a moment, it was quite close," James admits with a weak
chuckle. "I'm still not sure how I escaped mostly unscathed. Sirius and I are
fine now, but before…"

"Mm, I wasn't entirely sure what had happened, but I never doubted that
you two would be alright. Sounds like Remus had it pretty bad as well.
Pretending to poison him? Regulus is more terrifying than Sirius, it seems
like."

"He can be a bit… Well."

"You always fancy the mean ones," Peter muses.

James sighs and sounds fond as he replies, "I do, don't I? Why am I like
this? I should have just warned him at the start, should have told him—if
you keep being mean to me, I'm going to fall in love with you. Because I
did. I did, Wormtail. Fucking hell, he's so mean. He's so lovely. I'm so glad I
didn't warn him away. I'm keeping him."

"Well," Peter says delicately, "the heart wants what the heart wants, James.
Not much we can do about that, really."

"Still sad about your neighbor?" James asks softly, now sounding upset for
his friend.

Peter sighs as well, a wistful quality to his tone. "A bit, if I'm honest. She
was so kind. I think I miss talking to her most of all. That's an awful thing,
isn't it? Having to carry on without the things that made you happier."

"Yeah," James mumbles. "Yeah, it is."

"Trying to figure out how to fill that void of happiness, or find it in other
places since you can't have it where you had it to start with—that's the hard
part," Peter says.

"Oh, come on, Peter," James whines, sounding distressed, which is very like
him. It's so very like him to be upset that his friend is upset. "You're going
to be alright, mate, I promise. I'm sorry she was so rude about telling you
no, but...but maybe you could be friends?"

"Maybe," is the solemn response.

"I'm sorry, mate. Anything I can do?"

"Suppose not. I'm happy for you, though. Sirius, too. Couldn't miss how
smitten he was with Remus. Plus, I rather like having Moony around. He's a
sensible one."

"Isn't he? Well, most of the time."

"Right. Can I just ask? What sort of plan was that, Prongs? You're usually
so much better at coming up with plans, and that's what you went with?"

"Pete, I wish I could tell you. I was desperate."

"Well, thanks for not bringing me into it. Frankly, I would have been so
stressed. And, honestly, I would have ruined it by letting the secret slip."

James snorts. "Yeah, you're not a good secret-keeper."

"Not my strongest skill, no," Peter agrees. There's a long pause, then Peter
clears his throat. "I want to ask, because I can't really figure out this part,
but… I mean, James, I've known Sirius for years, and as hard as I'm
thinking, I can't recall him ever having a brother. A sister, yes. No mention
of a brother, though. Was that a secret I didn't know about, or…?"
There's an even longer beat of silence than before, and Regulus can
practically feel James trying to work out the proper way to answer this
question. It's sort of entertaining, honestly, but Regulus cuts it short by
rolling his eyes and sweeping into the kitchen. His entrance makes James
and Peter both look up and over at the same time. Instantly, James perks up,
his entire face lighting up, and he breaks out into a grin. Peter, in turn, looks
curious.

"I'm trans," Regulus says blithely in greeting, moving right over to James,
who turns his face up with such earnest delight in just seeing him that
Regulus can't stop himself from bending down to kiss him quickly.

James curls an arm around him, giving an experimental tug, and Regulus
lets himself be pulled in. Whatever James wants. When he said it, he meant
it. If James wants him to lean against him in the circle of his arms, then
Regulus will do so. He does so, in fact, and it's not exactly a hardship. He
likes it, even if he won't say it. There's some sort of quiet, comfortable
domesticity to leaning into James and slowly pushing his fingers through
his unruly, lovely hair. James, meanwhile, looks like he's in bliss, fucking
glowing.

"Oh god, you're really brave," Peter breathes out, drawing their attention.
He's staring at them with wide eyes. "You're Sirius' little Reggie! James,
you shagged—"

"Regulus," says Regulus, reaching out to offer his hand and arching an
eyebrow until Peter scrambles forward to shake it quickly. "I take that to
mean Sirius mentioned me?"
"He used to talk about you all the time when we were younger," Peter tells
him, and Regulus feels something warm and tender, as well as harsh and
aching, bloom tight in his chest. A tangle of emotions that he's learning how
to unravel and examine and work through, slowly but surely.

"Told you," James mumbles.

Regulus pulls lazily at his hair until he grins. "Sorry, I wish I could say the
same."

"Love, that's mean," James hisses, eyes bulging.

"Oh," Regulus says, then frowns. "Wait, no, I didn't mean that the way it
sounded. Sirius talked about his friends, but not by name. He couldn't,
really, because the less Mother knew, the better. I didn't mean he didn't talk
about you; I'm sure he did. I wouldn't be able to give you any details,
though, because I didn't really care to listen."

James sighs. "You know what? I'll take it. An improvement is an

improvement is an improvement. At least you tried."

"Goodness, Mary is going to adore him," Peter says, amused.

"Lily said that, too," James admits.

Peter hums and surveys Regulus for a bit longer, then cocks his head and
smiles. "James says you're a brilliant cook. Have you ever made onigiri?"

Regulus blinks. Slowly, his eyebrows pull together. "Onigiri, as in rice

balls? Japanese cuisine in origin, yeah?"

"Yeah!" Peter blurts out, surging forward in excitement, and even James
seems startled by this response. "It's probably the most interesting thing I
can cook, honestly. I—well, my neighbor taught me, but that's besides the
point. I didn't know I'd like it as much as I did. You should try it if you
haven't."

"I haven't done much dabbling in Japanese cuisine, admittedly. I've made
miso soup and takoyaki, and likely not as well as you'd find in Japan, but
that's all. I have a friend who's brilliant at it, especially sushi; she was born
in Japan but moved here when she was nine and visits home at least twice a
year. She makes it sound really lovely, actually," Regulus says, idly
thumbing at the frame of James' glasses where it tucks over his right ear.

Peter bobs his head. "Yeah, I've heard good things, too. Reckon you'll ever
visit?"

"Japan?" Regulus asks, surprised.

"Sure. Why not?"

"I suppose I've never thought about it."

"Not one for travel?" Peter asks.

Regulus shrugs one shoulder. "Haven't done much of that, really. Sirius and
I used to go to France a lot when we were younger; our parents have a
vacation home there. But, even there, we were under constant supervision,
so we didn't often get to do much. Sirius has been to more places than I
have, I think. I've never been to Scotland, for example."

"He's also been to Berlin," Peter adds.

"We all have," James explains when Regulus looks at him with a small
frown. "A friend of ours, Benjy, got married, so we all went for the
wedding. Took a bit of a vacation the whole week we were there. It was
lovely. You'd like the food."

Peter nods. "Yeah, truly. You should do it. No reason not to go see the world
if you've got the chance and the means."

"Don't really have the means," Regulus admits.

"Sure, but Sirius and James do. Take advantage of them. That's what
everyone else does," Peter says, and James busts out laughing as Peter
grins.

James picks up a balled up napkin from the table and flicks it at Peter's face.
"You're fucking awful, mate."

"You love me," Peter teases, twitching his nose in a way that makes
Regulus think of Tinkerbell, except it's not an angry twitch but a sweet one.

"I do, yeah," James confirms lightly, lazily curling his fingers up under
Regulus' shirt to stroke at the small strip of skin on the dip of his back.

Regulus shivers at the contact, and he briefly considers asking Peter rather
bluntly to go away, but his cell rings before he ever gets the chance. He
leans back to pull it out of his pocket and answers with a distracted,
"Hello?"

"I'm coming home, and I'm bringing Remus with me, and I'm telling you
this in advance so you and James can be perfectly decent when I get there,"
Sirius says in greeting.

"Don't get your prick in a twist, Sirius," Regulus says flatly, and Peter looks
absolutely delighted instantly, while James chokes out a muffled laugh and
presses his face into Regulus' side, his shoulders shaking. "We're up now in
any case. Your friend is over. Peter."
"Oh, excellent. Tell him to stay, would you? Remus would like to see him."

"Mhm. Hey, stop by my flat and get me some clothes."

"What happened to yours?" Sirius asks.

"Well, James took them off, you see," Regulus replies, and James' head
snaps up while Peter starts wheezing. Sirius just releases a heavy sigh. "I'm
drowning in his clothes at the moment and would much prefer my own."

"You could have borrowed mine, Regulus."

"All your trousers have rips in them."

"Not all of them."

"Sirius, will you bring me the damn clothes or not?"

Regulus can't see him, but Sirius makes a tch noise that tells him he's
rolling his eyes. "Yes, yes, alright. Anything in particular you'd like, or shall
I just grab whatever?"
"I don't care."

"Fine," Sirius says, then hangs up.

"Sirius asks that you'll stay," Regulus tells Peter as he slides his phone
away. "He's bringing Remus, who'd like to see you."

Peter chuckles. "Yeah, sure. Don't have much else to do with my day off, if
I'm honest. Oh, we should all go out for lunch."

"We should," James agrees, looking at Regulus meaningfully, to which

Regulus just shrugs in a way that hopefully conveys whatever you want. It
must, because James grins at him.

"Let me see if anyone else wants to go," Peter chirps, going right for his
cell, only to abruptly halt and glance up at Regulus. "I mean, if that's alright
with you. No pressure."

Regulus shoots James a dry look. "What exactly have you been telling your
friends about me in the endeavor to keep me a secret? Have you made me
out to be some anti-social recluse?"
"You… Listen, Regulus, I love you. I do. Wholeheartedly and truly.
Ceaselessly and fiercely. But you are an anti-social recluse, just a bit,"
James replies.

"I'm not—"

"Before you met me, you had one friend. One, love."

"And now I have...three and two-halves," Regulus says with a huff. "Four.
Barty and Evan make up one. So."

James presses his lips together like he's trying not to bust out laughing
again. "Yes, I'm a good influence, clearly. Look at all the ways in which I've
enriched your life."

"Shut up." Regulus pinches the lobe of his ear and flicks it, then looks at
Peter. "I don't care. Invite whoever you like."

Peter just bobs his head and starts typing away on his cell. James tugs on
Regulus some more, scooting his chair out a bit, and eventually Regulus
catches onto the fact that James wants him to sit down. On him. Which
feels like an overt display of affection until he gives in and does it, and then
it feels rather normal. James slides his arms all the way around him and
rests his chin on his shoulder, and Regulus leans back into him, relaxing as
he pulls out his own cell to scroll through, just to give his hands something
to do as Peter and James talk.
It's nice, honestly, because Regulus doesn't have to do much but sit there,
still involved but not forced to contribute to the conversation. He will,
occasionally, and he's always listening. This is how he likes it, though. He's
present, but he doesn't feel front and center. It's a safe in-between that
Regulus isn't really expecting to work. After all, James is very much bright
and loud, front and center, involved intrinsically because he throws himself
into nearly everything with his whole heart.

But Regulus can fade in and out as he likes. Not overshadowed and not
dragged into the limelight. Somehow, it just works. James will occasionally
chuckle and murmur to him about something he sees on Regulus' phone, or
Regulus will gently nudge James with his elbow to tip his screen up
specifically so James will see something. Regulus will take moments to
break into the conversation, especially if he has something to say, and he'll
even talk with Peter, who is a much more tolerable person than most,
Regulus quickly finds. Mostly, it's just James chatting with Peter, but
Regulus doesn't feel excluded or like a prop, and in the same breath, he
doesn't feel like he has to be included either. This is an ideal situation,
honestly.

The front door opens at some point, and they all fall silent, listening to the
sounds of Remus and Sirius coming in. Regulus doesn't really mean to, but
he instinctively tenses up, which makes James tense up against him, and no
one says anything as they watch Sirius breeze right past the kitchen without
even coming in. Remus pokes his head in, blinks, then immediately shuffles
inside.

"Sirius has your clothes," Remus tells Regulus, who nods and pulls away
from James. There's just a split second where James tightens his arms
around him, clinging, but then he lets go.
"Hi, Remus," Peter greets happily. "Good to see you again, mate. Heard I
almost didn't."

Remus snorts and drops down into the open chair next to Peter. "You heard
correctly. All caught up now, are you?"

"I know everything, and I'm so glad that I didn't while it was going on.
You're a brave man."

"That's a really positive outlook, Pete, thanks."

They continue to chat as Regulus slips out of the kitchen, following the
sounds of Sirius in the distance. His boots always announce him. Regulus
locates him easily, moving about in his room. When he looks up, Regulus
narrows his eyes, because it looks like he's been crying.

"You've been crying," Regulus states.

"Yeah, because of you," Sirius grumbles.

Regulus frowns. "What did I do?"

"What did I do?" Sirius mimics, making a face, and then he scoffs under his
breath and whirls around to snatch a pile of clothes off his bed. Instantly
recognizable is his old shirt that he gave to Regulus a long time ago now.
"You kept this."

When Regulus was thirteen, nearly fourteen (and Sirius was fifteen, having
just turned fifteen two months prior), Sirius came home for Christmas hols
with an entirely new wardrobe. He'd started a bit of a business in Hogwarts
where people would pay him to sneak out and get them things, knowing he
was foolish and brave enough to do it, as well as not rat on anyone if he got
caught. With his own money, he told Regulus, he started purchasing his
own clothes from Hogsmeade, wearing what he liked rather than what
Mother and Father bought for him. This, of course, did not go over well
with their parents, but Sirius was (and still is) nothing if not stubborn.

In any case, Regulus had broken Sirius out of the cubby their mother had
locked him in, and they'd scuttled off to his room where Regulus gave him
what he could sequester away at dinner. As he ate, he showed Regulus all
the clothes he'd gotten; it wasn't very much that he'd brought with him,
since he'd suspected that Walburga would burn them or bin them, and she'd
made it very clear she intended to do just that.

This is my favorite shirt, Sirius had said, holding it up. Black with an
outline of a woman sprawled backwards on a motorbike, the arch of her
back especially pronounced. He'd sounded so very disheartened by the fact
that Walburga would take it from him, beating himself up for being stupid
enough to bring his favorite of all, and Regulus—at that age—hadn't at all
liked how genuinely upset Sirius was about it. Secretly, he'd thought that
Sirius was brave for doing what he wanted and liked, no matter what their
parents thought of it. He'd felt the start of envy turning into bitter
resentment even then, but it had yet to fully turn him so cruel.
So, he'd offered to hide it for Sirius until he went back to Hogwarts,
because Walburga would surely never suspect that he had anything like that.
Sirius had been ecstatic; he'd nearly fucking cried. Regulus remembers the
tight hug Sirius had snatched him into, and he remembers how good it felt
to do something good, and he remembers the exhilaration of that moment—
for the first taste of rebellion had coated his teeth until he was smiling as
wide as Sirius was.

But, when Sirius was packing for Hogwarts, Regulus had tried to sneak the
shirt back to him, except Walburga had already gone through his things
twice by that point, so Sirius didn't want to risk it. Regulus then offered to
mail it to him, and Sirius had looked at him for a long time, just looked and
looked with something soft in his eyes. Keep it for me, Reggie, he'd said.
Don't let anything happen to it.

I won't, Regulus had promised, and then he didn't. He kept it. Even when he
thought he hated Sirius, he kept it. Even after Sirius left, he kept it. Even to
this damn day, Regulus has kept it. Tucked away in a drawer, hidden and
beloved and resented, it was kept. Much like the thought of Sirius, Regulus
reflects.

"I told you I would," is all Regulus can think to say. He blinks at Sirius.
"You can have it back if you want. It's your favorite."

"Reggie," Sirius rasps, and then he sits the clothes back down on his bed to
reach out and pull Regulus into a hug instead.
Regulus sighs, rolling his eyes up to the ceiling. "You're a very sentimental
idiot, do you know that?"

"I thought you would have thrown it out," Sirius murmurs.

"I didn't."

"I see that."

"Is that what you've brought for me to wear?" Regulus asks, not
complaining when Sirius gives him a brief squeeze before letting him go
and backing away.

Sirius picks up the pile again. "I did, yes. After I finished with the crying, I
thought it would be rather funny to see you in it."

"Of course you did," Regulus mutters, rolling his eyes again as he reaches
out to snatch the clothes, swiveling around to head for the loo so he can
change.

Overall, Regulus doesn't hate the shirt. It's soft and big; it was very big
when he was younger, almost a damn dress on him. Now that he's taller and
broader, it feels big like that's the style of it, on purpose. It goes alright with
the trousers Sirius brought him, so that's good enough.
When Regulus goes back out, everyone's in the kitchen still, and Sirius has
joined them. He's in the last chair next to James, and Regulus can see his
foot hooked around Remus' leg underneath the table. Remus is leaning over
to peer at something on Peter's cell that he's showing him, and James is
talking on his own phone, while Sirius types away on his.

There's a moment where Regulus doesn't know where he fits, doesn't know
how he can fit, and a part of him doesn't even want to. It was easier, in a
way, to keep all these parts away from each other, safe spaces to be with his
brother, best friend, and boyfriend separately. Together is uncharted
territory, and he's not at all looking forward to exploring it. Change—he
doesn't like it any more than Sirius does.

Nonetheless, his options are limited. This has to work. There's no way in
which any of them can be happy, completely happy, without this working.
So, grudgingly, he essentially shoves away his discomfort as forcefully as
he can and just—returns to the same spot he was in before. Just sweeps in,
plants his foot against the leg of James' chair to push it back, then plops
right back into his lap without a word.

"What?" James gasps, rearranging his arms so he can shift his phone against
his ear, one arm sliding around Regulus in a truly distracted and mindless
gesture. He's entirely and sincerely engrossed in his conversation. "Mum,
they can't do that! You can't let them do that!"

"He's talking about bunnies," Remus informs him.

Regulus' eyebrows furrow. "Bunnies?"

"They're getting into Monty's garden," Sirius explains. He shakes his head
with a sigh. "Monty loves his garden."

"Yes, he'd mentioned," Regulus muses. He twists slightly and plucks the
phone right out of James' hand, raising it to his ear. "Mrs. Potter? It's
Regulus."

"Oh. Oh! Oh, hello, dear," Effie greets, the surprise in her voice melting
into something warm. "How are you? It's lovely to hear from you. And call
me Effie, please."

"I'm fine, thank you, Effie. I just wanted to tell you that you might have
some luck with putting down coffee grounds as a natural repellent for the
garden. There's a chance it will keep the rabbits away, as well as some other
pests," Regulus says.

Effie makes a sound of approval. "Oh, that's helpful, thank you. Monty's out
now building barriers and such. He has been, but they're so crafty, you
know. Doesn't want to hurt them either, of course."

"If you have any, chili powder and chives are good to keep them turned
away, too," Regulus adds.
"I just so happen to have both. One moment, let me grab a pen and write
this down. Chives, you said?"

"Mhm. There's Irish Spring soap shavings in a closed sack if you'd prefer
that smell as well, or just try whatever works. You can also put plastic forks
in the dirt around the plants with the prongs facing up to keep them out."

"Brilliant, dear. Monty will be pleased," Effie chirps.

"It's not a problem. Here's James," Regulus replies, then immediately passes
the phone back.

James takes it and says, "Yes, Mum, it's me. Mhm. I know. I'll ask them and
get back to you on that. Sure, sure. Tell Dad I love him. Alright. Yeah, love
you, too."

"How the fuck," Sirius blurts out, "did you know all of that?"

Regulus rolls his eyes, because Sirius is staring at him in disbelief. Even
Remus is watching him with raised eyebrows, visibly intrigued and mildly
impressed. "The first flat I ever stayed in, my neighbor had a small garden
out back. She complained about the rabbits literally every time we saw each
other, and I got annoyed with hearing about it, so I looked up the solutions
for her. She never used them, the batty old woman. Just liked to fuss, I
think."
"You would become more knowledgeable about something purely out of
spite," Remus says, amused.

"And to get people to leave me alone." Regulus clicks his tongue and
slumps back against James with a frown. "She didn't, though."

"What is it with old women liking you so much?" Sirius asks, shaking his
head.

"They think I'm a very sweet boy," Regulus says, lips twitching, and Sirius
snorts.

"Oh, please." Sirius flaps his hand. "You've fooled them, is all. Deceiving
little old ladies."

"I think he's very sweet," James offers.

Sirius glances at him, then sighs. "There's no hope for you, mate. You're lost
to us all."

"I also think he's very mean," James adds.

"There may be hope for you yet," Sirius amends.

Peter shoots out a hand, waving it a bit. "Alright, Mary's just gotten back to
me. She can do lunch, but it has to be within the hour. Dorcas and Lily are
also coming."

Regulus groans and drops his head back against James' shoulder, which
makes Sirius cackle and James gently pat the side of his head.

"This might be a bad time for me to mention that I absolutely adore Lily,"
Remus says, and Regulus' head snaps up so fast that he nearly breaks his
neck.

"You what?" Regulus hisses, shoving forward to prop against the table as
James quickly clamps down on his hips so he won't go careening out of his
lap. "Absolutely not, you fucking traitor. I refuse. I don't accept this."

"Reg, stop being dramatic. She's really—"

"Don't call me dramatic. You're not allowed."

Remus just fixes him with a flat look. "Do you remember all the lovely
things you're working on? Hm?"
"I've changed my mind. I've immediately changed my mind. I will be awful
and selfish to the day I die. Not this. Anything but this, Lupin. Literally
anything. I've even given in and let you get away with shagging my brother,
for fuck's sake!"

"This is the most entertaining moment of my life," Sirius breathes out,

undoubtedly talking to James.

"I'm so stressed," James replies, strained. He tugs on Regulus' waist a bit.

"Listen, love, maybe—"

"Don't listen, love me," Regulus snaps. "Remus—"

"You know what you need?" Remus asks.

"More therapy?" Sirius suggests, clearly enjoying himself.

Regulus cuts him a sharp look. "Says you. You're a walking sack of trauma,
so really—"

"Well, which one of us is hitting the roof out of jealousy, hm?"

"Oh, shall we invite that Gideon fellow? The one who desperately wants to
shag Remus? Doesn't that sound fun, Sirius? I think that'd be a fun thing to
do."

Sirius' face falls flat. "Absolutely not."

"What? We like Gid," Peter mumbles, frowning.

"Away from Remus, yes, we do," Sirius declares.

Remus heaves a sigh and tosses his hands up. "Christ, there's not enough
therapy in the world for either of you."

"You're one to talk. You don't even go to therapy, and we both know you
damn well should," Regulus grumbles.

"We're not talking about me," Remus says quickly. "In any case, you're just
being dramatic, that's all. Lily will charm you, because that's Lily, and
you'll feel very guilty for ever reacting like this in the first place. So, relax,
yeah?"

"You do like her," James points out.

"Oh, whatever," Regulus mutters, settling back down with a scowl, and
Sirius is back to being delighted again.

Peter clears his throat. "Well, you know, this isn't a closed event, really. You
can invite people, too. You said you had friends, right? See if they'll come.
Might cheer you up!"

"I don't dislike you, Peter," Regulus tells him, and Peter's face turns red as
he smiles.

"I'll check with Pandora," Remus offers.

Regulus hums. "I'll handle the rest."

"And so, two worlds collide," James teases, leaning forward to smack a kiss
to Regulus' cheek, which Regulus allows without complaint, because James
can have whatever he wants.

Sirius makes vomiting noises.

Two worlds colliding is a phenomenon that Sirius is not at all accustomed

to. For literally all of his life, his brother has been kept separate from every
other avenue Sirius has ever found himself on. Regulus has always existed
in Sirius' head and their childhood home only, and he's only just adjusted to
that no longer being the case. Adding Regulus into this part of his life—his
friends—is very, very new.

He's going into it with an open mind, at least. Trying not to lean too far into
the thought that it's so strange it can only be wrong. Newness and change
doesn't always equate to bad, Ms. Pomfrey says, so Sirius is trying not to
see it as such.

It's honestly not as awful as Sirius is expecting, specifically James and

Regulus. He'd been prepared to absolutely despise every second and every
part of it, but he's surprised to find that he mostly...doesn't. It's not as if he's
never seen James in love before, though never quite like this, which is
oddly reassuring. He's never seen Regulus actively in love at all, which
makes Sirius watchful and curious, and he ends up feeling rather pleased
about it. Regulus looks more—open around James. More expressive.
Warmer.

They're not doing anything ridiculous and over-the-top, which helps. James
has always been a very affectionate person, and Regulus very much is not,
so they seem to meet in the middle. Sirius is sort of relieved that he doesn't
feel like he needs to watch them like a hawk, that he doesn't feel like he
needs to worry and be prepared to step in; he finds that he doesn't have to,
because there's no need. It's James. What could he do, really? If Sirius can't
trust him, then he can't trust anyone.

Sirius thinks he can handle it in small bitten-off pieces like this until it all
feels so normal that he doesn't even blink twice at anything. Because James
deserves someone who will soften for him, and Regulus deserves someone
who can soften him.

Having Remus helps, too. He never strays too far. Sirius has tangled their
fingers together, swinging them between their bodies like a tether that keeps
him from bounding too far away in his random bursts of excitement when
talking to Peter and James. Regulus, from up under James' arm, mostly just
talks to Remus or frequently reaches out to clamp down on James' side
when he starts to wander towards the street because he's distracted chatting
with Sirius and Peter.

It's actually comfortable, and Sirius is so easily distractible anyway, so it's

easy for him to get caught up in his friends as he always has. Randomly,
though, he'll squeeze Remus' hand and seek out a glimpse of him as if to
make sure he's there. He is. He always is. It puts Sirius in a very good
mood.

When they make it to the restaurant they've all agreed on, Lily and Mary are
already there, and Dorcas has informed them in the group chat that she's on
her way. Sirius also catches sight of Pandora, Barty, and Evan lingering by
the front, chatting easily. Sirius does admittedly feel a bit betrayed that she
gets on with them; he'd liked her best. Still does, he reckons.

Mary and Lily are immediately intrigued by the addition of Regulus, though
Lily looks quite smug. She greets him like they've been friends their entire
lives, and despite his earlier dramatics, Regulus speaks to her with
familiarity. He isn't rude, but Sirius gets the feeling he'd like to be.
And then, of course, just as Sirius has thought this, Regulus ruins it by
rather bluntly saying, "Excuse me. I'd rather talk to my friends. Remus?"

"Hello, Lily. Lovely to meet you officially, Mary. Just a moment, Sirius,"
Remus lists off, rolling his eyes.

"What? Where are you going?" Sirius complains instantly, clamping down
on his hand, frowning.

"I promised I'd meet Evan and Barty properly," Remus tells him, lips
twitching as he untangles his fingers from Sirius.

"You're pouting. It's pathetic," Regulus informs Sirius, then reaches out to
grab Remus' arm and drag him over to where Pandora, Evan, and Barty are
a little ways away.

"I like him!" Mary announces brightly.

James stares over at where Regulus and Remus are talking to the others.
Pandora forces hugs on both of them, which they allow with a wry look of
amusement shared between them. Evan and Barty are introduced to Remus,
and they both instantly raise their arms and start bowing at him, lifting up
and down like they're worshiping him. Pandora seems to find this hilarious,
Regulus doesn't, and Remus is bright red.
"Regulus' friends?" Lily asks.

James grunts. "Yeah."

"Don't sound so upset about it, James," Mary says, amused.

"Oh, which one of them shagged him?" Lily muses with interest, craning
her head to peer at them curiously.

"That'd be Barty," James mutters sourly, scowling now. "The one with the
dark hair. Wait, how'd you know—"

"I'd know James Potter's brand of jealousy anywhere," Lily replies, looking
close to laughing.

Peter stifles a laugh of his own. "Oh, play nice, would you? All of you. I'm
talking to you as well, Padfoot."

"I didn't even say anything," Sirius grumbles.

"Why would Sirius have a problem?" Mary glances around at everyone in

confusion. "What am I missing?"
"Oh my god," Peter breathes out, eyes lighting up, and then he proceeds to
immediately spill all secrets involved in the entire situation, excluding the
fact that Regulus is trans.

It surprisingly doesn't take long. ("Regulus is Sirius' little brother, and

James accidentally fell in love with him, then kept it from Sirius for a bit
because they were estranged. Remus is Regulus' best friend and
accidentally fell in love with Sirius, and he also kept it from Regulus. But
Sirius and Regulus met again, found out the truth, and immediately went
mental. That's why Sirius and James fought. Oh, and Regulus pretended to
poison Remus; absolutely do not tell him if you have allergies," is the
explanation that Peter gives in literally one breath, which is rather
impressive, actually.) Mary blinks rather violently in response, taking a
moment to process.

Then, after a beat, Mary's eyebrows furrow as she looks right at Sirius and
says, "Wait, you have a brother?"

"Yes, obviously. He's literally right there," Sirius tells her, gesturing lazily
towards the brother in question.

"I thought you had a sister," Mary admits.

Lily claps her hands. "See! That's what I said!"

"Must be one of those Mandela Effects," Sirius declares blithely with a
lazily flap of his hand, and James ducks his head with a smile as Peter
coughs and looks away.

"I can't believe we got that wrong for so long," Lily murmurs, shaking her
head.

"There's no possible way." Mary squints, crossing her arms, and then her
face clears just as Sirius opens his mouth to interrupt whatever quick
thinking she will undoubtedly do. But she's Mary, so she chuckles and says,
"Oh, I see. Well, yes, in that case Sirius is right."

Sirius doesn't doubt that she knows. She's Mary Macdonald. Of course she
knows. She's never wrong.

"Mandela Effect?" Lily mumbles. "I didn't know that was a real thing
before this. Absolutely mental, that is."

Mary's lips twitch. "Isn't it?"

They're all rather distracted by Dorcas running up to meet them,

complaining about traffic. After the initial hugs and hellos, Dorcas asks
what they were talking about, which prompts Peter, Mary, and Lily to catch
her up on the rather convoluted yet simple situation involving Remus,
Regulus, Sirius, and James. She also looks very startled by the new
information, but then she busts out laughing and announces that Marlene is
going to love this.
Sirius mostly tunes them out—this is old information to him, after all—and
joins James in watching the other group. Evan and Barty seem to be getting
on with Remus well enough, but the true issue introduces itself the moment
Barty reaches out to throw his arm around Regulus' shoulders. Sirius hears
James' sharp inhale and feels the way he stiffens.

"I'm going to punch him," James announces harshly.

"I'll hold him down for you," Sirius says supportively, as all best mates
should.

Peter makes a vague sound of alarm, but before anyone can do anything,
Regulus has Barty's hand off him and his arm twisted back, making him
yelp loud enough that everyone pauses to stare. Evan is grinning, Regulus
watches Barty like he's a bug on his back squirming about because he can't
get back up, and Pandora looks amused. Remus just watches in mild
interest, but there's a quirk of mischief at the corner of his mouth that makes
Sirius think his knees will buckle. Oh, bloody hell. Sirius is dangerously
close to swooning.

"Ow! Ow, Reggie, fuck!" Barty can be heard yelling. Whatever Regulus
says in response is too low to hear, but it makes Barty frantically nod his
head.

"No offense, mate, but your brother is terrifying," Peter mumbles, watching
with a wince.
Sirius finds himself quite proud of Regulus at the moment, so he only
chuckles and says, "Yeah."

"He's amazing," Mary hisses in delight.

"Yeah," James agrees dreamily.

Lily snorts and pats James on the arm before swiveling on the spot. "Well,
what are we waiting for? Let's go meet with them and go inside, yeah? No
use in standing about."

No one can really argue with her, so they follow along as she leads the
charge over like a woman on a mission. By the time they make it there,
Barty has been set free, but he's rubbing his arm and looking to Evan for
sympathy, only to find none. Pandora almost instantly comes over to greet
Sirius and James, hugging them both, which they take with more grace than
Remus and Regulus did—this is objectively hilarious, seeing as they're
closer to her than Sirius and James are.

Like he can't help himself, James pretty much immediately goes to Regulus
and very pointedly puts his arm around him, throwing Barty a challenging
look that makes him grin like he's just discovered a new toy. Regulus allows
it, and he's very quickly swept up in a conversation with Mary and Dorcas
that he can't be saved from, because they're two forces of nature that no one
is immune to. Lily ends up talking to Evan and Remus, while Sirius,
Pandora, and Peter chat for a bit.
At some point, Regulus announces, "We're just waiting on one more, but
she's on the way. She'll find her own way in."

With that, the strangest collision of two worlds wander their way into the
restaurant to ask for a table large enough to sit twelve—eleven already
present and one sure to show.

It's an odd mix, and finding their places is a bit of a mess. James takes the
chair across the table from Sirius as if it's automatic, and it is. Since he's
still holding onto Regulus, the chair beside James goes to him. Sirius
readily grabs Remus and drags him into the open chair next to him, which
puts him across from Regulus, leaving the two brothers angled across from
each other within eyesight. Everyone else is left to find their places
otherwise, which is a bit fun to watch.

Sirius takes note of the fact that he has Peter on one side, Remus on the
other, and James across from him—and that's about all that matters, really.
Regulus is within kicking distance as well, so he's content.

It's mostly just ordering drinks and getting situated while waiting on
Regulus' friend, so nothing really happens for a bit. Sirius reaches out and
cups the back of Remus' neck, rubbing it idly and distractedly as Remus
talks to Lily and Regulus about some book or something. Sirius chats with
Peter and James, the latter of which is sprawled back in his chair with his
arm lazily, casually thrown across the back of Regulus' chair, fingers
rubbing circles into his arm.
Things are fine, and then Peter abruptly coughs into his glass of water,
immediately hacking and curling forward as his eyes bulge and water
dribbles down his chin. Sirius springs away from Remus to frantically pat
him on the back, and James nearly comes out of his seat from how alarmed
he is.

"Alright, Pete?" Sirius asks warily as Peter continues to choke.

"Neigh...bor…" Peter wheezes out hoarsely, scrubbing at his chin and

coughing still, gaze fixed towards the door.

"Neighbor? Did you say—do you mean your neighbor?" James says,
leaning forward with a frown.

"Oh, Aiko," Regulus greets suddenly, shifting in his seat, and Sirius follows
his gaze to Aiko, who he's actually met. He likes her as well; she's funny. "I
didn't know what you would like to drink, so I just ordered you water."

"That's fine!" Aiko chirps cheerfully, ushering to the last open chair on the
other side of James, right across from Peter. She flashes a smile at Regulus
as she drops down in her chair and turns. "Sorry I'm late. I was just—oh."
She blinks, seeming startled as she finally looks at Peter, who clears his
throat a little loudly in the sudden silence. "Peter. I—hello. Hi."

"Hello," Peter replies.

"You two know each other?" Regulus asks, eyes narrowing.

Aiko darts her gaze around and mumbles, "Yes. He's my neighbor. I—
haven't ever seen him out of our building. Haven't much seen him in it
lately either."

"Been busy," Peter replies, clipped. "I rather thought you'd prefer that,
though."

"Is it just me, or is this awkward?" Barty mutters from down the table, and
then he yelps like someone just kicked him. It would have to be either
Mary, Pandora, or Evan—they're the only ones in reach. Likely Evan, but
Sirius doesn't put it past Mary at all. Nor Pandora, upon reflection; she's a
wildcard.

"When did I say I'd prefer that?" Aiko asks shortly. "Though, if I'm honest,
maybe it's for the best."

Peter snorts derisively and says, "Looks like."

"Er," James murmurs, darting a helpless glance towards Regulus, who

shrugs in equal uncertainty.

Sirius reaches over and rubs Peter's back instead, trying to press some of the
tension out of his shoulders. It eases him a bit, and he shoots Sirius a brief,
grateful smile.

So, as it turns out, a lot of worlds are colliding today, and it's startling how
it ends up being Sirius, Regulus, James, and Remus who have the smoothest
transition of all. Maybe it makes sense, as close as they all are in all their
various ways, but Sirius genuinely thought it would be a lot more grueling
than it actually turns out to be.

Peter and Aiko are the worst. Throughout the beginning of the meal, they
continue to snip back and forth at each other like they can't help it, forcing
Sirius and James to repeatedly cut in over and over before things get too
heated. Sirius feels a bit bad, honestly, because he now knows that Aiko
rather rudely and harshly rejected Peter, which had hurt him. And, while it's
ultimately fair for her to have refused him, she'd apparently done it with a
distracted no like he didn't matter, like she didn't care if it hurt his feelings
at all. But it did, so he's been licking his wounds in private and making sure
not to bother her out of respect for her very blatant disregard for him.

Well, that's Peter's story anyway. Sirius suddenly isn't so sure, because
'disregard' isn't really the word he would use for what Aiko feels for Peter.
If she didn't care, she wouldn't keep on bickering with him, as
uncomfortable as it is. In fact, she seems rather annoyed by his distance, as
if he's the one in the wrong for no longer bothering her. Sirius has no idea
what's going on, and clearly neither does James, but they're Peter's mates,
so they do their best to keep him out of trouble and make sure he's as
relaxed as he can be, given the situation.

Meanwhile, Remus is carrying on with Lily and—shockingly enough—

Evan down the table. Remus has taken to stroking Sirius' thigh under the
table, which is bloody well distracting, is what it is. Sirius misses him, and
he's right there, so he keeps glancing over so they can share lingering looks
and warm smiles. At one point, he can't resist leaning over to kiss him, only
to be shoved away by Lily telling him, "Down, boy. I was talking to him,
you know. Leave us be, would you?" Remus laughs. Sirius pouts.

Mary is very blatantly having a blast bullying Barty, who seems to actually
enjoy being bullied, and Pandora appears to be the one who stops it from
being problematic. Sirius checks in a few times with them as well, and
every time, Mary looks positively gleeful while Pandora repeatedly drops
increasingly disturbing facts one right after another. Barty looks intrigued
and disgusted both, laughing whenever Mary makes fun of him for his
'delicate sensibilities'.

As for Regulus, he's swiftly and wholeheartedly claimed by Dorcas, which

doesn't seem to upset him at all. They get into a discussion so deep that
Regulus looks more animated than Sirius has ever seen him, not even for
Remus or James. His eyes are glittering, and he's waving his hands around,
which is apparently very distracting for James, who can be found often
gazing at Regulus with such a dumb, lovestruck expression that Sirius
doesn't whether to laugh or pity him.

If Dorcas (and Regulus) weren't quite gay and also spoken for, Sirius would
suspect that they're falling in love on the spot. It's obvious how they click
instantly, and if Sirius were asked, he would say it's about the same way
Remus and Lily get on. Dorcas hardly rips herself away from Regulus for
the entire meal, going on and on about gender norms in the fashion industry
and also just in general (Regulus apparently has opinions that align with her
own), talking about modeling and various statements that fashion can make
(Sirius is stunned to hear Dorcas ask Regulus if he'd consider modeling for
her, but fully blown away by the fact that Regulus tells her that he will
consider it in a tone that suggests he will be saying yes), and just repeatedly
finding themselves agreeing about the same things over and over (music,
films, hobbies).

Of course, they all mingle a bit with each other. Dorcas and Barty get on for
the most part; Peter and Pandora get so comfortable with one another that
they swap food from each other's plates to try; Remus and Aiko get to know
each other a bit; Sirius catches up with Mary; James actually ends up
chatting rather cordially with Evan; and, despite what he'd fumed about
earlier, Regulus does get rather charmed by Lily, because that's Lily for
you, so even if he hates her, it's clear that he can't help but like her—which
is hilarious because James is vigorously pretending that Barty doesn't even
exist.

Sirius and Regulus also get into a kicking war beneath the table. As always,
Regulus' poker face is infuriatingly good, and the toes of his shoes bloody
well hurt. In the end, Sirius flicks a balled up napkin at him, and Regulus
spears his fork through Sirius' last meatball, smirking when he yelps and
launches into dramatic complaining about how that was his, and he wanted
it, and he was going to eat it. He doesn't shut up until James dutifully gives
him a bite off his plate, holding up the fork to feed it to him while Regulus
watches in horror.

"Oh, yeah," Remus says, laughing. "They're awful."

"We're not like that, are we?" Regulus asks, looking like he's sick at the
thought.

"No, definitely not," Remus assures him.

Regulus nods in visible relief. "Good. Better them than us."

"If you think about it, we need them to have each other. We'd have
headaches otherwise."

"Always a few moves ahead, you are, Remus."

"Aren't I?" Remus muses, eyes sparkling with humor. He and Regulus share
a look that Sirius can't interpret or translate at all, but whatever it is makes
them both laugh.

Sirius clicks his tongue, looking at James. "They don't understand us,
mate."

"That's alright," James says warmly. "We understand us. That's all we need,
isn't it?"

"Always," Sirius tells him, grinning when James lays his hand over his
chest and nods along solemnly.

Things do ease up at their end of the table when, seemingly by accident,

Peter and Aiko agree on something almost at the same exact time. It's
instantaneous the way they both light up and launch into discussion just
from how it excites them, visibly forgetting that they're on outs at the
moment. They do catch themselves eventually, both of them turning red and
looking away from each other at the same time, but they tentatively talk
after that. Sirius shares a look with James that amounts to are you seeing
what I'm seeing? James tucks his lips in to hide his grin, eyes sparkling with
oh, yeah, I see it.

All-in-all, it goes startlingly well. Mary has to dash off first, and she bustles
around the table dropping kisses on cheeks as she says goodbye—Lily,
Dorcas, Sirius, Peter, James as she usually would, but Pandora ends up in
the mix as well, which makes her beam in delight at the inclusion. Evan and
Barty, who left work for lunch, also have to leave shortly after. They both
bend down beside Regulus' chair, murmuring low to him about something
that seems unexpectedly serious. Regulus nods along with a small frown,
listening, and James watches Barty with narrowed eyes; in his defense,
Evan and Barty are on either side of Regulus, their faces right next to his as
they talk quietly in his ears. How he manages both of them at the same
time, Sirius doesn't know. Sirius never knew, honestly.

When Evan and Barty pull back, they regard Regulus for a long moment,
and Regulus tilts his head back to nod at them with his lips pressed into a
thin line. With that, Evan and Barty say their goodbyes to Remus (bravest
man they know, they're sure to announce) and Pandora (who they shove
each other aside to accept a hug from first, a war that Barty ends up
winning), as well as Aiko (who they seem to treat like a little sister, ruffling
her hair and telling her not to do anything they wouldn't do, to which she
responds by dryly informing them that it leaves her a lot of room to get into
trouble, which they find hilarious). They even nod at Sirius in parting. Evan
smiles at everyone. Barty, on the other hand, sidles up next to James.

"You know, Jim," Barty starts, while Evan stifles a laugh.

"James," Regulus corrects, heaving a sigh.

"What's that, Bart?" James retorts.

Lily rolls her eyes so hard that it's a miracle they don't roll right out of her
head. "Oh, Christ, here we go."

"I hate that Mary is missing this," Dorcas says mournfully.

Barty claps James on the shoulder, seeming utterly oblivious to the tension
in his frame, except for the gleam of amusement in his eye. "Listen, there's
something I need to say to you, mate."

"Barty," Regulus warns, an edge to his tone.

"No, go on, please," James grits out, visibly bristling. Sirius sits up
straighter in his chair, and he's pleased to note that Peter and Remus do as
well, as if it's instinctive.

"James, don't," Lily tells him with a huff. "There's literally nothing
attractive about jealousy."
"Speak for yourself," Sirius and Regulus mutter in perfect unison, looking
at their respective boyfriends, then they both go silent and eye each other
awkwardly.

"You are both so unwell," Pandora informs them, seeming stuck somewhere
between amused and exasperated by this.

"I'm going to have to ask you to treat Regulus very well, Jim, because if
you don't…" Barty trails off and clicks his teeth, shaking his head. "Well,
you may have him now, but I had him first, so if you fuck up too badly, I
imagine I'll have him again."

James almost instantly starts to come out of his seat, but Evan quickly
reaches out to clamp on Barty's arm and drag him back as he cheerfully
declares, "Yes, well, that's enough of that. Lovely to meet you, Jim. Be
good to Reggie, or they'll never find your body. Bye now!"

"Bye! Have a good day!" Pandora calls after them.

"You're ridiculous," Regulus says as James lowers himself back into his seat
with a huff, grumbling under his breath. Regulus sounds fond, but James
doesn't lose his scowl at all.

"Fucking prick," James mumbles, jaw set.

Regulus' lips twitch as he stands up, and he braces his hand on top of James'
head to tilt it back and press a kiss to his temple, which works a treat to
make him relax. Even still, Regulus draws away and pushes his chair in,
looking right at Sirius with his tiny smile fading. "Come outside for a
moment."

"Oh, lovely," Sirius says with a sigh, grimacing, already knowing that this
isn't going to be fun. Clearly, Evan and Barty told Regulus something, and
he doesn't doubt it has to do with their parents. "Moony, give me your
smokes."

"Yeah, alright," Remus murmurs, glancing between Sirius and Regulus with
a frown as he passes his pack over.

James sits forward warily. "Should I…?"

"Finish up with everyone. We'll be waiting outside," Regulus tells him,

briefly squeezing his shoulder, and James settles back down, though his
concern lingers.

Sirius tries to ignore the knots in his stomach, ducking down to kiss Remus
quickly before following Regulus through the restaurant and out the door.
They don't go very far, just up the street where they can find a spot that
Sirius will be able to smoke without people being bothered by it. Sirius
leans up against a signpost and lights a smoke, glancing over at Regulus
with his eyebrows raised.
Regulus crosses his arms over his chest, his jaw tight. He looks ridiculously
casual, more so than Sirius has ever seen him, just wearing the old shirt
with a print on the front that doesn't at all seem like something he'd ever put
on and simple jeans (Sirius was stunned to find that he owned some). He
could be any boy in the world strolling through the streets with places to go
and people to see, but he's not; he's Sirius' little brother, who's here with
him. It causes a tight band to flex and soften in his chest. He lets it. He finds
himself warmed by it.

"Well?" Sirius prompts, dreading this already.

"Father has been hospitalized," Regulus says. "Has been for days, but Evan
and Barty only just found out. They're going to get us the information of
where he's at for...I don't really know why, to be honest. Just for us to know,
just in case, I suppose. Anyway, he's dying. Genuinely this time. Apparently
his chances of making it through the week are—nonexistent."

Sirius sits on that for a second, inhaling slowly, his cheeks caving in. He
tries to examine how he feels about it, but it's hard when he doesn't really
feel—anything. Maybe that's fucked up; maybe it's not. He isn't sure. While
he knows that's his father, he can't really connect to the man who never
really played an active role as one. Orion was always Walburga's husband
first. It doesn't help that Orion has been dying literally for years, at this
point. Sirius is quite sure he's distanced himself from it as much as anyone
can, given the circumstances. He exhales and gazes at Regulus curiously.

"How do you feel about it, then?" Sirius asks quietly.

Regulus looks away, lips tipping down. "I don't know, really. It's supposed
to be upsetting, isn't it? Family dying."

"Reckon that depends on the family, Reggie."

"Suppose so. It'd be upsetting if you died, I think."

Sirius snorts. "Oh, would it? Christ, you sound so bland about it. Surely it'd
ruin at least one day for you, yeah?"

"Maybe two," Regulus replies, lips curling up a bit.

"I'm quite sure it'd ruin my life if you died," Sirius muses casually, flicking
ash.

Regulus rolls his eyes. "Sentimental git."

"Not about Father, though," Sirius admits. "Don't have much to be

sentimental about, really. He wasn't as bad as Mother, but the bar was low,
and he was still playing limbo down in Hell with the devil. May he rest in
eternal distress."

"Do you want to visit him?" Regulus murmurs.

Sirius doesn't care either way. "Do you?"

"I don't know," Regulus says, and Sirius knows what that means. He just
stares until Regulus' face twitches slightly as he looks away. Again, quieter,
he repeats, "I don't know."

"I'd go with you," Sirius offers, the if you need me to left unsaid but
lingering in the air anyway. He has no true desire to see his father again
before he dies, but for Regulus, he would go.

Regulus stares at him, then whispers, "Will you?"

"Yeah."

"Alright."

They don't say anything else. Sirius stands there and continues smoking,
head tilted back as he looks up at the sky. It's not quite evening yet, but it
will be soon. The air is turning, gaining a slow chill. It puts goosebumps on
Regulus' bare arms, but he doesn't complain about it. He seems rather
adjusted to the cold. Sirius thinks about berating him for not wearing a coat,
even if he just stole one from James, but then he bites the words back with
conscious effort. It'd likely only start a fight. Regulus is grown; he can
make his own decisions.
In the ensuing silence, Sirius ruffles through his mind trying to find one
memory of his father that would make his passing even the least bit painful.
There isn't one, really. Orion barely acknowledged his children outside of
being a walking mouthpiece for everything Walburga had already said.

It takes a few minutes, but then Sirius recalls something. A small moment
overshadowed by the lack of any others like it. Once, when Sirius was nine
and Regulus was eight, Orion had to take a trip to France and Walburga
needed to be in Brazil for some important meeting. They'd argued about
what to do with Sirius and Regulus for the weekend, shutting Sirius down
when he suggested they go stay with Andromeda (they didn't approve of
her) or Uncle Alphard (or him) or just leave them alone at the house (or
them). In the end, it was Orion who got stuck with his own children.
Walburga had refused.

Despite his annoyance with this, Orion had been startlingly normal over the
weekend in France. He wasn't really different, exactly, but he was more
relaxed without Walburga there. He let Sirius and Regulus play on their
own, made sure they had food, and didn't really care what they did as long
as they weren't bothering him. Sort of how someone treats their pets, not
their children. The sad part is, that was an improvement to how Sirius and
Regulus were usually treated.

That's it. That's the only thing about Orion that sticks out. It baffles Sirius a
bit how a father can be so unimportant to his children, and how he never
once cared about such a thing. Knowing Monty has certainly changed
Sirius' views of what a father is, because Orion? He doesn't even qualify.
It makes Sirius wonder why Regulus wants to go see him. He desperately
wants to ask, but he's quite sure that it's not a question anyone should pose.
Their father is dying. Does Regulus really need a reason? Is Sirius required
to have one? Maybe, Sirius thinks, the answer to both is no.

The door to the restaurant opens, and James spills out with his arms around
Peter and Dorcas. Lily, Pandora, and Aiko are all talking as they follow.
Remus is the last to come out, head swiveling until he locates Sirius and
Regulus.

"Reckon we should see everyone off," Sirius mumbles, dropping the smoke
and stubbing it out with his boot.

Regulus hums in vague agreement, and they leave to do just that. It's a
round of goodbyes, everyone splitting off. Lily hugs everyone (Regulus,
too, who allows it with a sigh), and so does Pandora. Aiko doesn't, but she
smiles cautiously at Peter, who turns red and smiles back. They share
mumbled goodbyes, and Dorcas actually takes the time to get Regulus'
number before she leaves (which he gives to her downright eagerly).

In the end, all that's left is Sirius, Regulus, James, and Remus. James
bounds over and sweeps in between Sirius and Regulus to throw an arm
around both of their necks, drawing them in and smacking loud, over-
exaggerated kisses to the sides of their heads. Remus watches in
amusement.

"That was nice, wasn't it?" James chirps, shaking them a bit.
"Torture," Regulus replies flatly, and James clicks his tongue.

Remus shakes his head and turns away, starting up the street, and Sirius
nearly trips over himself to follow him. He runs directly into Remus' back,
humming against his shoulder as he throws his arms around him. There's a
small scuffle where Remus tries to shove him away, and Sirius just winds
his leg around both of Remus', barking a laugh as it nearly throws them
both to the ground. Remus curses under his breath as he stumbles, but he's
laughing as well; he gives in and lets Sirius cozy up to his side, both arms
hooked around him, head over on his shoulder as they try to walk without
letting go.

"Are you alright?" Remus asks him softly as they get further up the street,
leaving James and Regulus following in the distance. Probably. Sirius isn't
really sure, too distracted by the feeling of Remus pressed up against him.

"Yeah," Sirius murmurs. "Yeah, I suppose I am."

Remus hums. "Is he?"

"I think he's more alright than he's ever been, probably. And, if he's not, he
will be," Sirius admits.

"That's all we can ask for."

"Come now, sweetheart, surely you know there's always more."

"Is that right?" Remus says, chuckling.

Sirius nods against him, peering up to grin at him, delighted by the way his
face softens. "Of course. I'll spend the rest of my life and every single one
after finding you more, Moony."

"What if I have everything already?" Remus murmurs, watching him with

this light in his eyes that steals Sirius' breath, reminding him of the gleam of
the moon on those special nights where it seems to glow gold.

"Oh, Moony. My lovely, beautiful Moony," Sirius croons, reaching up with

one hand to pat his cheek as they stroll along. "I'm going to be so stupid
about you for eternity."

Remus busts out laughing, and Sirius nearly fucking wriggles because he's
so delighted by the sound. He's grinning in victory as Remus squeezes him
closer and kisses the side of his head rather fiercely, breathing out, "Oh, I
love you."

"For which I'm very grateful, otherwise my eternal stupidity would be much
more tragic," Sirius tells him, and Remus laughs again. Sirius beams up at
him. "I love you too, you know. So very much. Really and truly."
"Oi!" James calls from behind them, making them both pause and swivel
around, watching as James and Regulus catch up with them. "Was just
asking Regulus, but Mum wants us all to go see her and Dad tomorrow.
Everyone alright with that?"

"Don't you have to work?" Sirius asks Regulus.

Regulus nods. "Yeah, but I'm free after. Remus will be off by then as well."

"Me?" Remus blurts out, startled immediately, which swiftly turns into
vague alarm. "Wait, I don't—"

"Oh, you're absolutely going," Regulus cuts in, arching an eyebrow, and
then he and Remus proceed to have an entire conversation with their faces
and not their mouths, except Sirius has no idea what they're saying. By the
looks of James' confusion, he doesn't either.

"That's not fair," Remus complains in response to...something Regulus has

apparently conveyed to him.

"Life rarely is, as we've established," Regulus replies.

James clears his throat when Remus scowls. "Well, the invitation was
extended to you as well, Moony. If you're free, we most definitely want you
there."
"Please?" Sirius says, looking at him hopefully.

"This," Remus declares, lifting his free hand to flick it between all three of
them, "the way you're all turning against me at one time—it's shit, just so
you're all aware. Sure. Fine."

"And we're the dramatic ones," Regulus mutters, glancing at Sirius, who
shares a brief look of understanding with him.

"Oh, there's no competition in that department, love. You and Sirius win
every time. We couldn't be more dramatic than either of you, let alone both
of you, if we actually tried," James informs him, and Regulus lazily swats
his chest. It makes James grin before pulling him back into moving. "Now,
come on, you lot. We're all going back to our flat to get pissed."

"I have to work in the morning," Remus and Regulus announce in perfect
sync, to which James and Sirius instantly begin trying to convince them to
get pissed anyway.

They spend the entire trip back to the flat doing just that, while Remus and
Regulus share exasperated looks and refuse, but then they're the first two
get drunk when they all make it back. Regulus, as always, gets very sweet
when he's pissed, so he pretty much stays curled up against James at all
times. Remus, in turn, gets fussy in words and clingy in actions, assuring
Sirius over and over that he would let him go if he tried to leave, then
refusing to do so whenever Sirius attempts to stand and go do absolutely
anything.
In the end, James and Sirius do not get pissed, a bit too busy handling
Regulus and Remus. Multiple times, they share looks across from each
other where they're all sprawled out on the floor, Remus and Regulus
having a slurred conversation that makes no sense whatsoever, even if they
seem to make perfect sense of it themselves. James looks so content, so
pleased, so happy with everything, and Sirius feels his heart squeeze almost
violently from the way he feels the exact same way. He thinks maybe their
hearts have that same clench-and-release, because they both look at each
other and smile.

When Regulus starts sneaking his hand up James' shirt, James clears his
throat loudly and quickly pulls his hand down, sitting up as he mumbles,
"Alright, love, let's get you to bed."

"Oh. Oh, yes, let's do that," Regulus agrees, barking a laugh that makes
Sirius give a violent twitch because—well, it sounds like him, actually.
Regulus leans forward until he nearly tips over, squinting at Sirius and
giggling. "I'm going to shag your best friend. That's so fucking funny."

Remus buries his face into Sirius' shoulder and cracks up until he's
wheezing, and Sirius sighs. "Sure, Reggie. Hilarious."

"I wouldn't," James whispers to Sirius, tipping his head significantly at

Regulus, who can't even sit up straight.

"I know, mate," Sirius murmurs warmly. "I know."

"Reg," Remus says, dragging himself away from Sirius' shoulder once
Regulus is on his feet and listing dangerously to the side. James is
shepherding Regulus along, making sure he doesn't fall, but he dutifully
pauses to let Regulus tip over and reach out his hand. Remus immediately
fumbles to take it, humming. They nod at each other for a bit, then Remus
breaks out into a grin. "Yeah. Yeah, exactly."

"I know," Regulus replies, even though neither of them have said anything
at all.

"I'm going to get you a cat," Remus mumbles.

Regulus makes a small sound, hiccuping. "You're the best. Just the best
friend, you know. Absolutely the most best."

"Two cats," Remus slurs. "G'night, Reg."

"Mhm, mhm, yes," Regulus says, bobbing his head as he straightens up. He
laughs again as he topples over into James, then he grins right at Sirius.
"Goodnight, You-Know-Who."

Sirius blinks. "No? Who?"

Remus and Regulus immediately start giggling like fools, but neither of
them elaborate. Regulus does lean over to poke Sirius right in the middle of
the forehead, ignoring his face scrunching as he whispers, "He-Who-Must-
Not-Be-Named," which seems to set him and Remus off again.

"Go to sleep, Regulus," Sirius mutters, amused despite himself, and James
escorts his wobbly limbs all the way to his room.

"Hi," Remus breathes out, swaying into him and immediately trying to stuff
his hand down Sirius' trousers literally the moment they're alone.

"Well, hello," Sirius teases, but he gently pulls Remus' hand away and starts
the arduous journey to his bed, too.

In the aftermath of two worlds colliding, things are quiet and calm. Peaceful
like the soothing flash of lighting and the gentle pounding of rain.
Reassuring like the consistency of the sun and the moon in a steady circuit.
As Sirius drifts off, he thinks it's something he's willing to become
accustomed to.

Chapter End Notes

bfb peter pettigrew my beloved <3

dorcas and regulus being bffs my beloved <3
jealous james and regulus my beloveds <3
lily, mary, aiko, pandora my beloveds <3
sirius and regulus being good brothers my beloved <3
evan and barty being good mates my beloved <3

happiest moment of james' life: having both Black Brothers in his arms
to those of you who suspected aiko and peter being neighbors who
fancy each other, you were right! that's literally been planned since
aiko was introduced, just something cute i liked!

as always, thank you all so much for the comments and support. i can't
believe there's only 4 chapters left.
 Chapter 27
Chapter Notes

James Potter Fans, come get your food!!! He has a special place in my
heart in this chapter! Also Effie and Monty! Oh, and Sirius and
Regulus being good brothers AND best friends. I'm spoiling all of you
<3

brief warning for: references to mentions of suicide, but it's mostly a

talk about being grateful to be alive.

enjoy everyone!
See the end of the chapter for more notes

James thinks it's unfair, frankly, that he has to spend any time away from
Regulus ever. It's just not something he likes. If he could, he'd literally be
right next to Regulus always.

He and Sirius are similarly mopey for the day while Regulus and Remus are
at work. They lay about in their flat together like layabouts, equally
displeased by the absence of the person they're in love with. Of course, they
find comfort in each other, as well as their friends. The group chat is
absolutely buzzing today, likely because it's no longer a secret what all
happened. Marlene, Frank, and Alice have all been caught up from various
sources (mostly Peter), so James and Sirius aren't in short supply of reasons
to talk about their love situation.

In fact, James finds himself and Sirius doing just that. At some point,
they're sprawled out with empty takeaway containers around them as they
go into details about the things the other has missed in all of this. James is
relieved, honestly. He's so very grateful that he can talk about it now. No
part of him was ever truly comfortable with keeping anything from Sirius,
so getting to tell him everything is genuinely comforting.

James tells Sirius all about the conversation he and Remus had in the
aftermath of finding out that they were dating their best friend's brother.
Tells him about the decision to stop and have a clean break, about how they
couldn't even last longer than a week, about how they'd formed a plan out
of desperation and unearned hope. Tells him about the fact that they helped
one another get their boyfriend back, about the way they worked together to
keep the secret, about the bond they'd formed in doing so. Tells him how
stressed they were when Sirius and Regulus both decided to find one
another, as well as the awful time they both had in the aftermath of Sirius
and Regulus finding out the truth, and even admits to the comfort they
found in each other when they'd lost everything.

In turn, Sirius opens up about how he'd felt when he saw Regulus for the
first time in eight years, and how he'd felt in the midst of his breakdown
afterwards. Opens up about the sting of betrayal, his immediate response of
anger, and how it scares him that he could have been so cruel. Opens up
about how he and Regulus bonded, and struggled, and decided to try
anyway. Opens up about therapy a bit, and the fact that he'd gotten advice
from McGonagall that had him going to find James, as well as the hard
discussion he had with Effie.

It feels really fucking good, honestly. Cathartic, in a way. James thinks the
last strand of strain finally just—snaps between them, and it all falls away.
Everything falls away until it's just the two of them, existing at the same
time in syzygy.
"We really needed the time, you know," Sirius murmurs at some point, his
head dumped in James' lap, hair splayed out over his thighs like spilled ink
as James lazily plays with a few of the silky strands. "Regulus and me, I
mean. It's not—we didn't do it out of spite. It wasn't cruel. I just—I need
you to know that. I need you to know that I wasn't taking the time just so
you'd be unhappy, nor was Regulus with Remus."

"I know, Pads," James assures him. "There's nothing wrong with needing
the time. We're all better for it."

Sirius swallows and looks up at him sadly. "I wish we weren't so fucked up
that it took us so long to work out that we didn't want to be miserable. And I
don't—I mean it more than just how it affected you and Remus. I also mean
it as… I think we needed to learn that we could be happy as us, because we
forgot that, James. I wish we hadn't. I wish that house and our parents hadn't
been powerful enough to make us forget."

"You were only children," James whispers.

"I know," Sirius says softly, then—inexplicably—he quirks a small smile.

"We're not children anymore, but that's not a bad thing, it turns out. Might
be the best thing for us. There's the warped perception of childhood through
trauma, and Ms. Pomfrey carries on about second chances and the way they
can clear a lot of things up. Apparently, facing the past we had isn't nearly
as important as letting it go and focusing on the future we can have,
especially because we were only children. We have to hold ourselves
accountable now. At this point, there's only so much we can blame on our
parents."
James hums quietly. "It's a mature way to approach it, I think. Not always
simple, but always worth it, I imagine. You love him. I can tell."

"He's my brother. Of course I do."

"But it's more than that, isn't it? It goes beyond that, mate, I know it does.
It's not just family, because when family treats you as yours has, they're not
really family at all. Love isn't a requirement, family or not. But you've
always loved him. Even before all of this, you did. And it's not—it isn't just
that he's your brother. Sure, that makes it harder for you to let go and more
willing to suffer and struggle in a way you wouldn't necessarily do for most,
but it's also just...him."

"How do you mean?" Sirius asks, eyebrows furrowed.

"He's good," James tells him. "I know you know that. He may not always
have been, and he may not always do good things, but he's just—he's good.
Deep down, you know that."

Sirius' lips twitch. "I think you're biased, Romeo."

"Oh, I'm absolutely Romeo, which makes Regulus Juliet, but we can never
tell him."

"Might be best."
"I'm not biased, though," James says, then rolls his eyes. "Well, alright, I am
biased. But I'm also not. You know I'm right."

"Maybe you just see the best in people."

"Yeah, maybe, but he's not… I mean, yes, he can choose to be cruel, but he
isn't irredeemable, Padfoot."

"Always did love a project, didn't you, James? Is that it, then? You looked
at him and thought I can fix him?" Sirius teases.

"I never thought he was broken," James replies earnestly, not one ounce of
dishonesty in him at the moment. "I just… I suppose I did want his life to
get—better, and for him to be happy, and well, he makes me happy. My
point is, he makes you happy, too. And Remus. That's good. He's good."

"Are you trying to convince me?" Sirius asks, amused.

James shrugs weakly. "Dunno. Maybe. I just want to tell someone, honestly.
I know you know, and I know it's not as simple for you, but I'm in love with
him. I love him so much, and you're my best friend, so I…"
"I get it," Sirius says, and James sags in relief. "You can, Prongs. You can
always talk to me about anything—the things that make you happy
and...and the things that don't. You're not obligated to be my safe haven all
the time, mate. When you need it, I'm here to be yours, too."

"I mean, I know that."

"Not so sure that you do. I don't know if you've noticed, but you have a bit
of a habit of avoiding your own issues by trying to solve everyone else's.
Lily said something to me, you know, and I've thought about it a lot since.
She said that you'd give your heart if it meant everyone you loved could be
happy, but why should you have to? And she also said that you're not here
to fix things and sacrifice your own needs for everyone else's, and it can be
easy to forget that, because sometimes it's like you'd like us to forget that. I
don't know what's worse; the fact that it's true, or the fact that anyone
forgets at all."

"Oh," James rasps, blink hard and fast as a lump forms in his throat,
because when it's put like that…

If James is honest, he's always secretly harbored the idea that he's just the
happiest, most well-rounded person out of his friends. He's never really
felt...justified in having issues, seeing as he has a life so many deserve.
Being sad, having bad days, struggling in general—those are things for
people that aren't him. He's never even considered the possibility that
maybe, just maybe, he forgot along with everyone else.
But he did. He did forget. Somehow, he's forgotten that it's just human to
not be alright all the time. To struggle. To have bad days. To just be fucking
sad sometimes, as much as he hates it. And that's okay. It's okay for
everyone else, so why wouldn't it be okay for him?

It's painful to suddenly be smacked in the face with this, with the
knowledge that he does maybe have a bit of a problem prioritizing everyone
else over himself. He was a little selfish all of one time, and it had left him
rattled with guilt and stress until he nearly just—fell apart because of it.
He'd even lost it a bit, trying to find some way to cope with it all, because
he's never really allowed himself that space to just...be.

"Oh, don't cry, James," Sirius whispers, reaching back to fumble for his
wrist, squeezing it gently.

"I don't—I'm not sure why I am. I—I'm so—I'm genuinely, really happy, so
I don't know why—I don't—" James gives up from his stuttered sobbing
and squeezes his eyes shut, ducking his head as a harsh pressure seems to
bubble up in his chest in a swelling ache that hurts and feels good at the
same time.

"I take it back. Cry, James. Absolutely cry as much as you can, as much as
you need to," Sirius murmurs, his other hand reaching up to grab his arm as
he shudders and cries even harder. "I don't know if you've ever cried for
yourself, mate. I think you've gone long enough not crying for yourself."

Maybe Sirius is right, or maybe James just trusts him to be, because he does
sit right there and cry for himself. He never has before, not like this. The
closest he ever came was when he and Lily split, but that's not quite the
same as this. He's not crying because something or someone has hurt him,
or broken his heart; he's crying like he's grieving himself, grieving all the
moments he never allowed himself to cry before, grieving the loss of
comfort he never allowed himself to ask for, because he never even knew
he needed it.

Sirius is his safe haven now, much the same way James must be for him,
and it's a very intimate and vulnerable thing to be on the other side of,
James finds. He's struck by Sirius' bravery to do it, because it's hard to crack
yourself open and pluck out the scarred, rotted pieces you can't expect
someone else not to flinch from, especially when that's all you do. But
Sirius does not flinch no more than James ever has when Sirius opens up to
him. Instead, he's steady and comforting.

"Sorry," James croaks when he finally finds himself calming down,

naturally and not forced. He feels scraped out and left hollow, but in
a...good way? Like maybe he's expanded a bit on the inside. He sniffles and
scrubs at his face as Sirius rubs his arm patiently. "Didn't—didn't expect
that, if I'm honest, but on the bright side, I think I needed it."

Sirius chuckles. "Yeah, I'd say so. Feel better?"

"Loads," James admits. "Thanks."

"Anytime. Every time," Sirius says firmly, holding his gaze. "And don't
apologize. You don't have anything to apologize for, yeah? I'm sorry I
never…"
"Don't do that. Please. It's hardly your fault, or anyone else's. It's not like I
really, um, make it easy to…" James grimaces slightly and waves a hand at
himself. "I think I enable it. Or encourage it. Or both, maybe. I do think I'd
like everyone to forget, because I like forgetting, but that's not really…"

"Healthy?" Sirius suggests.

James smiles weakly. "Suppose not. I don't mean to. I didn't actually realize
what was happening."

"I still need to…" Sirius takes a deep breath, then slowly lets it out. "We've
been best friends—we've been us, you and me—for over a fucking decade,
James, and I have… Christ knows I have a lot of issues, some earned and
some that I've simply let form and used like a shield, but you're not a pillar,
you know? You aren't this steady pillar I get to prop up against for the rest
of my life. You're human, mate, and so am I, which means we get to lean on
each other. You make mistakes just like everyone else, and that's okay. You
can tell lies, and get angry, and have days where you're upset. And then I'm
here. I'm here, yeah? I don't know if I've ever told you before; maybe I just
thought it went without saying, but it shouldn't. I'm sorry I never said it. I'm
sorry I ever forgot. I'm sorry I've ever let my issues overshadow yours. If
you're miserable, then we'll just be miserable shits together, and that's—
that's fine, too."

"Sometimes I'm scared I won't have meaning if I'm not doing everything I
can for everyone else," James confesses in a whisper, his eyes stinging
again.
"Oh, James, no," Sirius rasps, sounding heartbroken instantly.

"I'm sorry. I'm—"

"Stop, no, don't do that. Don't apologize. Fuck, I'm sorry that we've gone on
letting you feel that way. I know none of us feel that way. Listen to me, I
promise you everyone in your life doesn't feel that way, alright? Even if
we're all shit at showing it, or just—just didn't know, I can promise you
that. You have meaning just breathing; you mean so much to me, to so
many people, and you don't have to do anything for that."

"I'm not angry with anyone for it," James croaks. "I don't think it's anyone's
fault. Or—or maybe it's mostly just mine."

"I'm not a therapist, so I can't get to the source, but I'm quite sure I've at
least perpetuated the problem," Sirius murmurs, his eyebrows furrowed.
"I'm sorry."

"It's alright. I forgive you," James replies softly, and Sirius swallows
thickly. "I feel loads better now, so it's fine."

"Ah, sorry to say that's...not really how it works, sadly."

"Sorry?"

"Prongs, I hope you don't take this as an insult, because I absolutely don't
mean it as one, but maybe you'd benefit talking to someone. Like, you
know, a professional. I mean, I do, and it's definitely helped me," Sirius
says, then pauses and looks thoughtful. "I think? Yeah, probably."

"Me, in therapy?" James asks, startled. "That just seems a bit ridiculous,
doesn't it? What could I possibly need therapy for? Shall I go in and tell
them I have a problem being too happy?"

Sirius snorts, giving him a little shove. "The problem isn't that you're too
happy, mate. I think your problem is that you don't know how to let yourself
be sad."

"Is that a problem?"

"I think we just established that it was."

"All the crying, you mean."

"Yes, that. Seems like it was built up for a while."

"Felt that way," James admits, because it did. He already feels like he can
breathe easier.

"Right," Sirius muses. "I'll talk to Ms. Pomfrey and see if she has anyone to
recommend. I trust her opinion."

"Don't—don't tell Regulus," James mumbles, and Sirius regards him

curiously, but with no judgment. "It's just… I'd rather explain myself, and I
don't want him to think it has anything to do with him. It doesn't have
anything to do with him—or anyone, really. I'm very happy to be with him,
Sirius."

"I know you are. He's happy as well, you know. I've never seen him the way
he is about you," Sirius says.

James feels his chest pulse with warmth, and it's so lovely how it only feels
so much better in the aftermath of his earlier release of emotion, as if he can
feel it even more. "I can't begin to explain how happy that makes me. Not
even with Barty?"

"No, not with Barty," Sirius assures him, chuckling.

James hums in satisfaction, and they fall quiet for a bit, then go right back
to talking. It's casual and light from that point on, and they end up going to
do a puzzle together, which makes James very fucking happy, actually.
Sirius eventually drags himself up to go get ready. He's leaving early to go
pick Remus up from the shop. Regulus will be coming here. The plan is for
them all to meet at the Potter residence, which James is fucking ecstatic
about.

Sirius leaves with the promise of seeing him shortly, and the last two hours
before Regulus shows up drag on. James spends them trying to find things
to do to pass the time, huffing every time he looks at the clock, irritated that
it's only been minutes when it feels as if it's been ages. He eventually gives
in and tries to get some work done, then has a shower and starts getting
dressed, waiting for the distant sound of a knock.

It never comes, but James is in the middle of padding around his room,
looking for a specific shirt, when he catches the twitch of movement out of
the corner of his eye. His head whips around to see Regulus leaning in his
doorway, arms crossed, a tiny smile on his face as he simply watches him
like he's studying him, taking a course on James Potter in his natural
habitat. James is strangely flustered by this.

"Christ, love, I didn't hear you knock," James blurts out.

"That's because I didn't knock," Regulus tells him, lifting his hand and
wriggling his fingers, a mischievous glimmer in his eyes that's going to
make James pass out here in a second.

"You picked the lock."

"I did. I do that sometimes, yes."

James hums, moving over to Regulus with a smile. "Of course you do. How
long have you been standing there?"

"Long enough to come to the conclusion that I hope you never find
whatever shirt you're looking for," Regulus tells him, amused, and he
reaches out the second James comes within reach, trailing his fingers over
James' chest.

"We have to leave in less than an hour," James mumbles, gaze fixed on
where Regulus' hand slides down his chest.

"Suppose we'll have to be quick, then," Regulus replies simply, hooking his
fingers in the front of James' jeans and dragging him off to bed. James goes
happily.

They do try to be quick, to be fair, only to be interrupted without any

warning whatsoever. On the bed, they're practically breathing each other in,
and maybe James doesn't notice the distant sound of the door opening, and
maybe James doesn't notice the quiet murmurs approaching, and maybe
James doesn't notice anything other than the feeling of Regulus' skin under
his hands.

Then, without preamble, "Oi, Prongs, Moony got off a little early, so we
came back here first. Is Reggie here yet?"
Sirius' voice is like a bucket of ice water, and it's too close for James to do
anything other than immediately panic. He flails a little bit and proceeds to
frantically dump Regulus right over the side of the bed. Regulus goes down
with a solid thump and a quiet huff of shock, gaping at James in disbelief as
James scrambles to stare down at him over the side of the bed in horror,
because he can't believe he just did that.

As soon as the door swings open, framing Sirius in it, James is blurting out,
"This isn't what it looks like," as Sirius flings a hand up and chokes out,
"Oh, fucking hell," covering his eyes like he might see something because
Regulus is still visible, even though there's nothing to really see. They
hadn't quite succeeded in getting out of their clothes; James is the only one
in a state of undress, but that's only because he didn't have a shirt on to start
with, really.

"No, this is exactly what it looks like," James corrects almost instantly,
whipping around to swing himself off the side of the bed and stare at
Regulus in dismay. "Oh my god, are you alright? I didn't—I swear I didn't
mean to do that."

"You're bloody strong," Regulus says, blinking at him as sits up. "You
fucking tossed me, James."

"Did you throw my brother out of bed?" Sirius asks incredulously, still
shielding his eyes.

"Bugger. It was an accident," James mumbles, his voice strained. He

reaches out to carefully touch Regulus' arm, relieved when Regulus doesn't
pull away. "Love, I'm not even joking, that was just—it was pure reflex. I'm
so sorry."

"What's happened?" Remus asks, appearing in the doorway behind Sirius,

his eyebrows shooting up when he sees Regulus on the floor and James
kneeling shirtless next to him.

"James was doing things you can't repeat in polite company with my
brother, only to launch him off the side of the bed when he heard me
coming, that's what happened," Sirius announces, and then he proceeds to
crack up and laugh so hard that he has to drop his hand as he bends over to
clutch his knees. He wheezes, "Like they're both teenagers, and I'm the
parent about to catch them being naughty. Ha! Moony, he fucking threw
him off the bed!"

Sirius absolutely loses it, and Remus ducks his head like he's trying so very
hard not to laugh along with him. Regulus, on the other hand, has never
looked so unimpressed in his life. Despite himself, James smiles sheepishly
at him.

"Sorry," James says again. "I have no idea why I did that, or what came
over me. I sort of just—panicked."

"Oh, Christ," Sirius chokes out, making a weak sound as he reaches out to
clamp down on the door, slowly lowering himself to the floor as he
genuinely laughs himself to tears.
"It's not that funny, Sirius," Regulus grumbles.

"I mean," Remus tells him, "it sort of is, though."

Regulus sighs and pins a flat look on James. "Make this up to me

immediately."

"Yes, love. I'll get right on that, love. Anything for you, love," James
murmurs teasingly. "What would you like?"

"Sit here and look pretty," Regulus replies, reaching out to pat his cheek
before launching to his feet and snatching a pillow off the bed. James beams
after him, delighted by the pretty comment, sitting there very happily.

Regulus, in turn, marches over to Sirius and begins pelting him with the
pillow repeatedly, making his laughter fade into a startled yelp. He tries to
cover the top of his head, so Regulus ruthlessly whacks him in the face,
making him sputter, and Remus takes a quick step back out of range with a
chuckle.

"Hey!" Sirius bellows, trying to reach out and catch the pillow, but Regulus
has deadly aim, as it turns out. "You little—"

"Out! Out, out, out. Get out," Regulus chants, punctuating each word with a
smack of the pillow. Sirius is still laughing, even if he's trying to pretend he
isn't. "Go away, Sirius, and take Remus with you; leave before us. We'll be
following soon. I just have to suck your best mate's cock first."

"Oh, piss off," Sirius bursts out, scooting out of the range of the pillow until
he can actually get to his feet. "You can't traumatize me with that. I refuse
to be traumatized!"

"You're going to be traumatized here in a moment if you hang about any

longer," Regulus threatens, holding up the pillow like he's not scared to use
it—again.

"Alright, alright." Sirius holds his hands up in surrender, but he looks at

James with a broad grin, eyes sparkling. "Be sure not to throw him off the
bed this time, eh, Prongs?"

James groans and drops his face against the side of the bed, and Sirius busts
out laughing as Regulus starts hitting him with the pillow again. There's the
sound of thwaps and laughter, then the door shutting, and Sirius heckling
them until his voice fades away. James raises his head and watches Regulus
turn around with a huff, but for all his posturing, his eyes are bright with
humor. James lays his head over on the side of the bed and gazes at him,
sighing softly. Oh, he's so helplessly in love. Utterly smitten. Completely
devoted.

"He is just the worst brother," Regulus says, but it's a lie. James knows it is,
and by the look on Regulus' face, so does he. In the next moment, Regulus
moves over to drop the pillow back onto the bed and climb on it, lying on
his front with his chin resting on his folded hands. James turns his head to
stare at him from up close, their faces right across from each other, hovering
so near that their noses almost touch.

"Hello," James breathes out.

"Hi," Regulus replies, lips twitching.

"Sorry I threw you off the bed."

"You know, if I'm honest, I was into it."

James hangs his head back, letting out a helpless laugh, because oh, this
man. This ridiculous, lovely man. He rolls his head forward to find Regulus
watching him fondly; it makes him wonder if Regulus is thinking the same
thing about him.

"Tell me something I don't know about you yet," James demands, hitching
his arms up to fold them across from Regulus on the bed.

Regulus seems to consider that for a long moment, and then he says, "When
I was really small, I had a lisp for a while. I couldn't say Sirius' name
properly, so for about eight months, I called him Sir-us."
"Oh my god," James breathes out. "What the fuck? That's adorable,
Regulus. Okay, okay, again."

"Mm, remember my ex-fiance?"

"Yes."

"Right, well, I told you I didn't meet him until I was being told we were to
be married, and that's mostly true. I hadn't met him properly until then,
never even talked to him, but I did know of him. Most people did, if they
were all in the same circles as my family was. He was… Well, you know, I
was exposed to a lot of bad people, and I'm certainly not the best, but
Mulciber? He was definitely one of the worst."

"If it hadn't been him, do you think you would have gone through with it?"

"I…" Regulus blinks, seeming to think about that for a long moment, his
eyebrows tugging together. "I mean, no, I don't think so. I was always very
resistant to the idea of marrying. That was all I was good for in my mother's
eyes, and maybe it was Sirius' influence, but I didn't want that to be my
only fucking purpose in life. I dreaded it. I practically swore off marriage
by the time I was fourteen, even if I knew that couldn't be my reality."

"But it is your reality," James says softly. "You made it your reality, love.
That's incredibly brave."
"Maybe," Regulus allows, slow about it like he's forcing himself to accept
it. "I just—I think part of it is that I didn't want a man to own me, and I also
didn't want to be someone's wife. I suppose I… Honestly, I think the only
person I would have even considered tolerating was Barty, but even then,
I'd be living a lie. Mother wouldn't have gone for it; her political opinions
didn't align with Barty's father's." He pauses, then chuckles. "Well, there's
also Evan. I would have considered it for him, too. He was actually an
option, and probably the best one. It would have been a sexless marriage, as
well as loveless, but we would have been good partners, I think. If it was
him, maybe I would have considered it, but I still doubt that I would have
gone through with it. At that point in my life, it was either get out or—"

James swallows. "Or?"

"It was a bad time, James," Regulus whispers.

"Did you—" James takes a deep, shaky breath and tries not to start shaking
from the mere thought. "Did you consider…?"

"Dying?" Regulus fills in.

"Yeah," James croaks.

Regulus regards him for a long moment, then says, very bluntly, "I did."
"Fuck." James' eyes sink shut. "I'm so sorry. I'm so fucking sorry that you
ever—that you felt—"

"I don't," Regulus cuts in, and James' eyes fly open. "Anymore. I don't feel
that way anymore. I haven't for a long time. If I know nothing else, I know
no one deserves to feel like that, and I know now that it would have been a
loss. Not just for everyone around me now, but for myself. I'm glad I'm
alive, James. I'm so very glad to be alive. There is so much beauty and hope
in simply being alive."

"I would have missed you so much," James says thickly.

"You didn't know me then."

"It doesn't matter. I would have anyway."

"Alright," Regulus murmurs, his eyes soft. "Would you like to know
something else that's nicer?"

"Please."

"My very first haircut when I left home was absolutely awful. A fucking
disgrace, James, I'm not joking. I did it myself and went very, very short in
the efforts to be more masculine, as if that can even be defined by hair. It
looked like I had a stumpy bowl around the very top of my head."
James chokes out a laugh. "Oh god, really? No curls?"

"Chopped them all off."

"Oh, love, no."

"I know," Regulus says with a grimace. "I learned my lesson, though. I've
never gone that short again."

"I would have loved you anyway," James tells him, and he knows it's true.
"I do like your hair as it is, though. Very soft."

"Thank you. Also, if you ever tell Sirius that, I will never suck your cock
again. I mean that, James. He can never know."

"Noted. Our secret. Tell me another."

Regulus hums thoughtfully. "I failed my driving test four times before I
passed. In my defense, Sirius wasn't there to teach me, so I never really
learned. Mother and Father always had drivers, the pretentious shits. They
thought I should, too, so I had to teach myself. Not an easy thing to do, as it
turns out."
"Is that why you don't have a car?"

"I don't like driving, honestly. I can in an emergency, I'm sure, but I'd prefer
not to. I'm so bad at it, James."

"Fortunate we live where not having a car is the usual."

"Very fortunate. Can you drive?"

"Really well, yeah."

"Well, that solves all my problems, doesn't it?"

"Oh, does it?"

"That's what I'll keep you around for. My own personal chauffeur," Regulus
teases, lips twitching.

"I'd be anything for you, love."

"Careful with that. Most of the ideas that just popped into my head were of
the naughty variety."

James sways forward and mumbles, "What am I going to do with you,

hm?"

"Well, if I'm lucky, you'll throw me around some more, but preferably not
away," Regulus teases, apparently in a playful mood now, and James is
absolutely enamored by it.

"Regulus Arcturus Black, are you flirting with me?"

"I don't flirt."

"Mm, I think you do. I think that's exactly what you're doing," James tells
him with a grin. "I also think it's working."

"No, I genuinely do not flirt. I never have."

"Well, that's what this is."

"Is it? If you say so, James."

"I feel special."

Regulus leans in and whispers, "You are."

He kisses James afterwards, like a promise, reaching out to grasp the back
of James' head with one hand and grip his chin with the other, completely
locking him in place. James' eyebrows sail up as his head is forcefully
tipped back, and then it's a bit like he's being devoured, actually. Oh, he
thinks, oh, okay, and then there's not much thinking after that.

Remus thinks maybe one of his favorite places to be is on the back of Sirius
Black's motorbike. Sometimes, it's even better when the bike isn't even
moving, and they're just sitting there quietly. Sirius leaning back into him,
keeping the bike steady, his feet planted. Remus holding onto him, arms
wrapped around him, his face buried into Sirius' hair.

"Nervous?" Sirius murmurs, reaching back to fumble with Remus' helmet

after already removing his own.

"Dreadfully," Remus admits, lifting his face just enough to hook his chin on
Sirius' shoulder and gaze at the house looming before them. Well, 'looming'
is a bit of a strong word. The house is very normal; Remus is just anxious.
Sirius hangs the helmet up, then swivels his head to press a quick kiss to
Remus' cheek. "You don't need to be. Effie and Monty are wonderful. Just
think about it, yeah? They created James. Could anyone be awful if they've
made him?"

"It's entirely possible, actually. I mean, your parents made you and Regulus,
and they're awful."

"Well, Regulus and I aren't—"

"Don't," Remus cuts in, and Sirius shuts up. "You really need to ease up on
yourself and Regulus a bit."

"Sorry. Habit. I'm trying," Sirius mutters. "Right, no, you're right. We really
did turn out shockingly well, considering who our parents are. But, as for
James, his parents are fucking wonderful. You'll love them."

"I don't doubt that," Remus says. "The question is if they'll love me."

"Oh, is that what you're worried about?" Sirius snorts and taps his hands to
get him to let go, swinging forward and off the bike, looking amused. "No
need, sweetheart. They're going to love you, I promise."

Remus remains on the bike a bit longer, sliding forward and gripping the
handles tight. "They're essentially your adopted parents, Padfoot."
"Yes, and?"

"And that's—I mean, I'm under a bit of pressure to at least impress them a
little, but I'm just...me."

"You say that as if you're not the eighth wonder of the world, Remus,"
Sirius murmurs, looking sincerely confused.

"I—"

"No, genuinely, what are you on about? You're impressive when you
fucking breathe. This is not up for discussion."

"I think you're just in love," Remus says fondly, a yawning of delight
shivering through his frame. He can feel his face getting warm, but he
doesn't really mind in this case.

Sirius clicks his tongue. "I am, yes, but that doesn't deny me credibility. I'm
a very reliable source."

"Oh, are you?"

"Mhm. Of course."

Remus rolls his eyes, but he's smiling helplessly. "I'm just… I suppose I'm
anxious because I know they're important to you. Besides, I'll be seeing a
lot of them over the years, I imagine, so I'd like to start off on the right
foot."

"Oh. Oh, Moony. Oh, oh, oh," Sirius breathes out, stumbling forward to kiss
him rather fiercely and unexpectedly.

Remus has to plant his feet more firmly on the ground as Sirius leans into
him. He winds his arms all the way around Remus' shoulders and—well, it's
a rather inappropriate thing to do, snogging as deeply as this in front of the
home containing one's adopted parents. That doesn't seem to perturb Sirius
in the least. He just kisses him with a deep groan, licking right into Remus'
mouth as if he's desperate for a taste. Remus holds his sides, humming in
approval, giving in and dragging him even closer.

He's not entirely sure what he's done to earn this, honestly, but he wishes he
knew so he could do it again. Goodness, Sirius is really going for it,
snogging him so thoroughly that his lips are swollen and slick when Sirius
draws away to let them catch their breath. Remus licks them, admittedly
dazzled.

"More," he breathes out, not even meaning to, but meaning it with every
cell in his body.
Sirius doesn't make him wait, immediately moving back in to kiss him
more, give him more, and Remus really thinks he's going to need this for
the rest of his life. He'll be insatiable and satisfied, even though he's never
known that to be something anyone could achieve, but then again, no one
has Sirius the way he does.

That thought sends a violent shudder through Remus' body, and he clenches
his hand in Sirius' hair—it has somehow found its way there,
unsurprisingly. He uses the grip to leverage Sirius' head back farther, giving
himself a better angle to kiss him like he's trying to drink him in. Sirius
collapses forward with a small, muffled sound and clutches at the front of
Remus' jumper, clinging like he might fall if he doesn't.

"Fuck," Sirius says, his voice hoarse when they finally break apart again
after, frankly, a long time. He sounds breathless, and he can't be still,
continuously flexing his fingers in Remus' jumper and shifting against him.
He presses his face into Remus' neck, then draws back to do a strange sniff-
kiss of some sort against the side of Remus' face like he wants to just
fucking inhale him. "You. Oh, you, Moony. You, you, you."

"Me?" Remus mumbles, eyes drifting shut as Sirius drops delicate kisses
along his jaw. He's like a fucking drug. The rush of it almost stings; it's
addicting, calling Remus back over and over. Sirius gets his blood pumping.
Twists him into knots. Crooks a finger without ever lifting his hand, casting
out a hook only meant to catch the corner of his mouth, but Remus
swallowed it whole. Remus has a hook buried in his heart and fishing line
caught in between his teeth.

"God, you," Sirius groans, rearing back to stare at him, and Remus feels the
rustle and rumble of awareness blaze within him like lightning striking the
earth, just from meeting Sirius' eyes. It's a flash of danger vibrating in his
very bones. The caveat of life. His body is awake. His heart twists, a
startled hare diving for underbrush at the first sign of movement.

"I don't know what that means," Remus admits.

Sirius' mouth is bitten-red and lush, his eyes dark, but he's almost startlingly
sincere when he whispers, "I've known from the moment I saw you that I
was going to be a fool for you, Remus Lupin. I think you search for more
because you're the grandest thing this world has to offer. All the places
you've looked, and it never crossed your mind to search a mirror?"

"Not even once," Remus murmurs, dragging his hand back to cup the side
of Sirius' head, his thumb gently smoothing the skin at his temple.

"You're the more you're looking for, Moony," Sirius tells him, "and I'll
spend the rest of my life helping you find it."

"Oh, please do."

"Mhm. I'm going to. Can we get married now? Get started raising all
twenty-four of our children?"

"Twenty-four? I thought it was eighteen?" Remus asks, fond and amused

now.
"I've added six more, obviously. There's never enough of anything with
you," Sirius says, breaking out into a grin.

Remus chuckles and tugs Sirius in, cupping the side of his head and
pressing a firm kiss to his forehead. Sirius makes a little noise of delight in
response. "Why don't we start with one and work our way up, yeah?"

"Acceptable," Sirius allows. There's a curious light in his eyes as he sways

back. "Do you mean that? I mean, do you actually want children, Remus?"

"Do you?" Remus asks.

Sirius hesitates, then mumbles, "The thought absolutely terrifies me, if I'm
honest. I want to, but I never thought I could, or would. With you, though, I
think it'd be alright. As long as I had you, we could do anything."

"Funny," Remus says softly, his heart clenching. "I was going to say the
same exact thing."

"And marriage?"

"Shockingly, I have no issues surrounding marriage. I could do without it,

but I'd also be happy to do it as well."
"Tomorrow, then?" Sirius asks innocently.

Remus snorts and gently shoves his face away, pushing him back so he can
stand and swing himself off the back. "Have some patience, Padfoot. We
get there when we get there."

"So...next week?" Sirius tries, smiling sweetly at him.

"How would we even plan a wedding in a week, Sirius?"

"Do not underestimate the power of friendship, Moony. My friends will

throw us the grandest wedding the likes of which the world has never seen,
and they wouldn't need a week. They could do it in hours. I can prove it if
you like."

"I'm quite sure none of your friends would approve or encourage something
so reckless."

"Categorically untrue, actually. They've been supporting me through all my

reckless decisions for years, and what's so reckless about love anyway?"

"You're relentless," Remus says, but he's smiling.

Sirius hums and wraps an arm around him, slowly easing him into a stroll
towards the house. "Well, it's all a bit of tosh, isn't it? Not living your life to
the fullest while you're alive, I mean. Why shouldn't I marry you tomorrow
if I want? The worst that happens is that we divorce. That's the worst-case
scenario, and I'd rather live with the regret of marrying you than the regret
of not getting to when I had the chance, should there ever be a reason that I
can't. Does that make sense?"

"You know, it does," Remus muses, eyebrows furrowed. He glances at

Sirius with a mild frown. "It's a bit worrying that you can do that."

"Do what?"

"Make insane things sound sensible."

"Is it insane to marry me, Remus?"

"Oh, absolutely. The equivalent to signing my life away. A prison sentence,

really."

"Sweetheart, I have you in shackles already, marriage or no."

"Would you believe it? I'm happy to be here."

"Yeah, you are," Sirius coos, barking a laugh. He gives Remus a little shake
and hums happily. "There's no rush, though, not really. Whenever you want
more, Moony, it's yours."

Remus' lips twitch. "So, not next week, then? Damn, and I was so close to
agreeing, too."

"I'll wear you down yet," Sirius chirps, winking at him.

"Why don't we try actual cohabitation before we run off and take the
plunge? That's perfectly sensible, too," Remus says.

Sirius gasps dramatically and puts his hand against his chest as he leans
away, eyes bright. "Why, Moony, are you asking to move in with me?
Because yes. It's absolutely a yes already. Come stay with me forever."

"Why am I moving in with you? Why not the reverse?" Remus asks with a
legitimate frown this time.

"Well, that could work, too," Sirius muses. "I suppose I sort of just thought
I'd carry on living with James forever, but that's… That's not going to be the
case, is it?"
Remus feels his face soften, because it's clear that Sirius is only just now
realizing this, and he's visibly glum about it. In the end, Remus suspects it'll
be him that has to give Sirius time to adjust to some things. "No, I sincerely
doubt it. I mean, it will probably be a bit before either of you will think
about that more genuinely, but… Well, I imagine James will end up living
with Regulus."

"Right," Sirius murmurs, subdued.

"On the bright side," Remus tries, "you'll at least have two of your favorite
people in the same place. Isn't that nice?"

"It sort of is. Right?" Sirius frowns and pauses to look at him, and Remus
feels his heart clench again. "Can you tell I'm trying to be mature about
this?"

"I can tell. You're doing so well. I'm very proud of you."

"Well, that made me feel better. You're going to be a brilliant teacher, you
know. Your students are going to love you."

"You think?" Remus asks, a pleasant jolt of surprise hitting him directly in
the chest.
"I know," Sirius assures him, his face softening. "If—when James abandons
me for my brother—"

"He won't be abandoning—"

"No, no, I know. I'm just—I'm coping with humor, you see. Desensitizing
myself to it, if you will, so I'll be less of a wreck when it actually happens.
Precautionary measures, Moony."

"Oh, is that what it is?" Remus says, amused again by how truly dramatic
Sirius can be.

Sirius hums sagely. "Indeed." He pauses again, then looks at Remus for a
long moment, his expression blooming into sincere hope. Whatever he's
about to say, he won't be joking at all, Remus can already tell. "You'll come,
won't you? If we don't beat them to it, you'll come stay with me, right?"

"Yes," Remus promises instantly, not even knowing where he'll be in life or
what will be going on for him, or any of them, but knowing deep in his
bones that he means it.

"Oh, I love you. I love, love, love you so much," Sirius declares, beaming at
him. "All the time, everywhere, even nowhere."

Remus' lips curl up. "Nowhere? Where is nowhere?"

"Sometimes, I think it's in me," Sirius murmurs, pressing his hand to his
chest, "but it's also a place out there no one can get to. I love you there,
too."

"You fucking sop," Remus breathes out, a strange mixture of emotional and
content. "I'm going to shag you thoroughly later, you have absolutely no
idea."

Sirius grins immediately and waggles his eyebrows as he starts pulling

Remus towards the house again. "Promises, promises."

It's not long before they reach the door, and Sirius doesn't even knock. He
just lets himself in, holding the door open so Remus can slip inside behind
him. Sirius is visibly comfortable here, moving through the small hall at the
entrance and calling out for Effie and Monty. Remus follows warily,
cautious, and Sirius distractedly reaches back to tangle their fingers together
and tug him along.

A woman comes bustling out of what Remus can see is the kitchen, and he's
startled by how much she looks like James. Or, well, how much James
looks like her, he supposes. Not the hair, though. James clearly inherited
that from the man that follows behind the woman. They both wear warm
smiles, and it eases some of Remus' nerves, just a bit.

"Oh, hello, darling," Effie greets, opening her arms to immediately offer a
hug that Sirius accepts, letting Remus' hand go to do it.
"Hello, I'm Monty. Remus, isn't it?" Monty says, offering his hand to
Remus. "It's nice to finally meet you, lad. We've heard a great deal about
you from Sirius and James."

"Well, that's ominous," Remus murmurs with a weak smile as he reaches

out to shake Monty's hand. He's expecting the grip to be firm, but it's not,
really. He's not expecting Monty to chuckle and pat the back of his hand
with his free one, but that's exactly what Monty does.

"Oh, I wouldn't worry too much. They've had nothing but praise for you,"
Monty tells him, dropping his hand and pulling away as Sirius breaks from
the hug, which prompts Effie to sweep over to him.

"How do you feel about hugs, Moonbeam?" Effie asks, and Sirius stifles a
laugh.

Remus blinks, caught off-guard. "Um. Yes?"

"Lovely," Effie says, then moves forward to hug him, too. She's quite tall,
but Remus is taller than most people, even her. He hugs her back mostly to
be polite, then keeps hugging her to continue being polite, and she's just—
not letting go. So, he doesn't let go either. Maybe she needs it?

"Drive safe?" Monty asks Sirius.

"Of course," Sirius replies with a grin.

Monty hums skeptically. "I worry for you on that bike of yours, you know."

"Yes, you've been saying so for years. And I've been saying for years that
you'd love it if you tried it, being the thrill-seeker that you are," Sirius says.

"It's not that I have a problem with you driving it. I just have a problem
with everyone else driving around you. Some people barely even pay
attention. What if—"

"Monty, we've been over this—"

"Oh, leave him be, Fleamont," Effie speaks up, turning her head against
Remus' shoulder with a small chuckle.

Sirius grins in triumph. "See? Effie approves. You should get one, Monty.
She might find it sexy."

"I will have you know, she finds me plenty sexy on my own, bike or no
bike," Monty mutters, hands on his hips.
"Of course I do, honey," Effie agrees supportively. She's still hugging
Remus, and it has gone from polite to awkward to oddly comforting back to
awkward again, at this point.

"Remus," Sirius says, laughing softly, "she's not going to let you go first,
sweetheart. It's sort of a rule she has. She'll literally stand there and hug you
forever."

"Oh," Remus mumbles, his face growing hot as he slowly pulls away, and
Sirius laughs at him again, the prick. Remus glances sheepishly at Effie. "I
—sorry. I just thought maybe you needed it or something."

"I'm going to die," Sirius states with a soft sigh. Monty chuckles and claps
him on the shoulder.

"Well, aren't you a good one?" Effie muses pleasantly, clearly approving.
She reaches out to pat Remus' arm. "That's alright. That's why I never let go
first, too."

"Great minds," Remus offers, tapping his temple.

Effie hums. "Exactly. But yes, we've heard a lot about you, so we're glad
you're here. I've a funny story, if you'd believe it. See, when you and Sirius
started dating, he only really called you 'Moony', and I thought he said
'Moonbeam', so that's how I thought of you in my head at the start."
"You thought that was my actual name?" Remus asks, laughing quietly.
"That's alright. At this point, I answer to 'Moony' just as much as I do my
own name. This family seems to have a proclivity for nicknames and terms
of endearments."

"Mm, Moonbeam shall be yours, I've decided," Effie tells him with a glint
of humor in her eyes.

"Where's James?" Monty asks.

Sirius snorts. "Shagging my little brother."

There's a beat of silence, then Effie delicately says, "Well, good for them.
As long as they're not late for supper."

"You're not going to believe what your son did," Sirius announces,
brightening up before launching into a slightly exaggerated retelling of the
events earlier.

It's easy after that. They all make their way into the kitchen where Effie is
cooking. Monty settles at the table with Sirius and Remus, listening to
Sirius chatter away. At multiple different points, Effie and Monty bust out
laughing at James' expense, but never without the steady undercurrent of
love.
Remus finds that he likes it here, that he likes Effie and Monty. They make
this place homely. It's warm, and there's a soft haze that blankets
everything, like there's no possible way anything could ever go wrong here.
The sight of Effie chopping vegetables at the counter reminds him of his
own mother, but that's genuinely where the similarities stop. Effie and
Monty pay attention. They're inclusive and focused on the people in the
room with every part of them, not distracted and distant, not even doing it
out of indulgence. It's clear that they sincerely enjoy Sirius' presence—as
well as Remus', which he's not sure he's ever felt before in a setting like
this.

It makes Remus think he could tell Effie and Monty absolutely anything,
and they'd listen. They'd hear him. They'd stop and focus and let him in.
Remus doesn't really know what to do with that, but he does like it, so he
ends up just relaxing into it.

After Sirius finishes his dramatic re-telling of James throwing Regulus off
his bed, Monty and Effie go out of their way to get to know Remus. They
ask questions, and not in the way one does when they don't actually care
about the answer; they're curious, and they don't run out of things to talk
about. Remus finds himself equally curious about them, always wanting to
know more about everyone, and they seem absolutely delighted to answer
his questions and carry on about the things they're passionate about. It's an
exchange back and forth with Sirius' running commentary in the
background.

Eventually, James and Regulus do show up (before supper, so Effie seems

pleased), and Remus watches curiously to see how Regulus interacts with
them. He seems, at first, a bit tense while Effie and Monty greet James, then
he relaxes the moment Effie hugs him (he seems to know about her rule,
because he's the one who breaks the hug first, after touching her so very
carefully like she's delicate) and Monty drops his arm around his shoulders
as he cheerfully declares he knew he would be seeing him again (which
makes Regulus actually smile, small and sweet, his cheeks turning red).
Remus turns to find out how Sirius is handling seeing all of it.

He's right to check. It's a curious thing, the way so many emotions seem to
flicker over Sirius' face, through his eyes. Some of it is indecipherable, but
Remus can make some of it out. There's a little bit of that possessive
jealousy of his, which isn't a surprise, honestly. What really gets Remus,
though, is the sadness. That tender desolation that comes with the
realization that he's never seen his brother have a positive interaction with
any parental figures in the world. Especially their own. That is a sad thing,
isn't it?

Remus reaches out to grab his hand, catching his gaze, and Sirius blinks
rapidly, swallows harshly, and gives a tiny, weak smile of thanks in
response.

Effie ends up claiming Regulus to help her in the kitchen, which he seems
more than happy to do. James throws himself down in the chair by his dad
and immediately launches into a funny story about a man in a top hat.

And so it goes.

Supper ends up being absolutely delightful. Effie drags up a chair between

Sirius and Remus shamelessly, more than happy to talk with them. Regulus,
like her, practically shoves James aside to get in between him and Monty,
then spends most of the meal ignoring his boyfriend for his boyfriend's dad.
It's actually sort of hilarious, as well as cute, because Regulus' admiration
for Monty reads loud and clear. It's different but just as intense as Sirius'
admiration for Effie. Monty seems rather oblivious to Regulus' favoritism;
Effie, on the other hand, seems as if she's aware of literally everything.

After the meal, Sirius and James are given the task of washing the dishes by
Effie, which they agree to with no complaints. That leaves Regulus and
Remus with Effie and Monty, which Remus suspects was a premeditated
choice. They're escorted outside under the guise of Monty showing them his
garden, but then they get possibly the nicest shovel-talk in history. It mostly
amounts to this:

"You know, Sirius has been through a lot," Effie tells Remus, strolling along
with her arm threaded through his. "I love him as if he's my own, Remus.
It's all a mother wants for her child, really, to see them happy and loved."

"Not all Mothers," Regulus mutters.

Effie glances back at him with a sad smile. "No, not all, unfortunately. I'm
among those that do. You've given me a gift with James, as you have with
Sirius, Remus. No one knows the future, but I'll tell you both as I've told
Sirius and James; love is a choice. Even when times are hard, sometimes all
you can do is keep making it. They will. I'd ask you both to do the same, for
as long as that's what's best for all of you."

"And," Monty adds, "not every mistake is an ending. This is life and love,
lads, and those come with problems no matter how hard you try to avoid
them. The problems that will arise only have the power that you give
them."
"How long have you two been married?" Remus asks.

"Coming up on thirty-two years now," Monty says warmly while Effie

swivels her head to smile at him.

Christ, I haven't even been alive for thirty-two years, Remus thinks in a
daze, sharing a brief look with Regulus, who also seems a bit amazed by
that number.

"We married young," Effie explains. "I was twenty-one, and Monty was
twenty-three."

"We are still twenty-one and twenty-three," Monty informs them with a
wink.

Regulus clears his throat. "Do you—I mean, I don't want to overstep, but do
you suppose that's why James asked Lily so young? Not that there's
anything wrong with it, but…"

"No, you're onto something," Monty muses thoughtfully, seeming to think

about it. "James has always loved the way Effie and I love each other, I
think. It's—it's a very steady foundation of love, you understand. But, back
then, times were so very different. We were at different places in our lives
at those ages. I was building my business, and it was going quite well. It
was much easier to afford houses and such. Effie had all plans to be a stay-
at-home mother. We'd been together for two years by the time we got
married, and we were already building a life together. But the young people
of that time aren't the same as young people of this one, such as yourselves.
The world is different, and that affects everything from careers to housing
all the way down to love."

"Of course, not all plans went smoothly back then either. Monty and I tried
for seven years before we were blessed with James," Effie says. "My plan
to be a stay-at-home mother just didn't happen for a long time, so I ended
up becoming a nurse for a few years. Stopped when we had James, then
went back to it when he went to Hogwarts, and did that for four more years
before learning rather simply that I didn't enjoy it at all. Sounds awful, not
enjoying healing people, but that wasn't the part I struggled with. There are
some unimaginable horrors in hospitals if you stay long enough to see
them."

"They drained her," Monty continues. "She came to me and said she
couldn't do it anymore, and so I told her to stop. She did just that and started
working with me whenever she wished to. Sirius came to us, of course, and
we thought—well, it's ironic how things work out sometimes, isn't it? We
always wanted more than one child when we were younger, but it never
quite worked out, until it suddenly...did."

Effie hums. "Life's funny like that sometimes. You may not get everything
you plan to go after, or maybe you just won't get it in the way you expect. I
don't regret any of it, looking back."

"Life would be very boring if it went exactly as you thought it would,"

Monty agrees, lips curling up.
"James, though…" Effie sighs fondly and twists around to gaze at Regulus
with warmth in her eyes. "When he was with Lily, he was living so fiercely
by his expectations that he couldn't quite see past them. He's not doing that
anymore, not with you. I think he's rather happy to see where life takes him,
so long as he has you there with him."

"And Sirius…" Monty clicks his tongue, looking at Remus with a lopsided
smile. "That poor boy has always put too many expectations on himself and
so few on anything else. Living with no plan isn't fruitful any more than its
counterpart in James, in living only in plans. He's not doing that anymore
either. Every time he looks at you, it's like he's found a part of his future,
because he knows you'll be in it."

And, really, that's pretty much it for getting a 'talking to' by the parents. Not
so bad, really. Remus is more emotional than anything, and Regulus seems
to be in the same predicament, so it's nice to have each other in a way.

Monty does end up showing them his garden, which Regulus immediately
gets swept up in. Remus mostly just strolls along with Effie, murmuring to
her in between listening to Regulus and Monty. He finds himself thinking
it's nice more than once, leaving him relieved, because he really doesn't
doubt that he'll be seeing a lot more of Effie and Monty over the years.

James and Sirius eventually do come barreling out of the house, a tumble of
noise and roaring laughter as James sprints at full-speed after Sirius, who
has a rugby ball tucked under his arm. He tosses it to Effie as he goes by,
who springs away from Remus to catch it, then immediately yelps in
laughter as she takes off running while James darts after her instead.
"She's startling spry for her age," Monty muses fondly, lips twitching as
Effie feints to one side to get out of James' range. She launches the ball
towards Sirius, who catches it while cackling. Monty suddenly sucks in a
sharp breath. "No! No, don't you dare, Sirius Black! Not my tomatoes!"

Just like that, Monty bursts into motion, diving into the chaos and leaving
Remus standing beside Regulus. They watch them in silence, simply on the
outskirts, observing the way they all laugh and chase each other around.

"Remus," Regulus says quietly.

"Yeah, Reg?"

"Can I ask you something personal? You might not wish to answer, and you
don't have to, but I…"

"Yeah, of course," Remus murmurs, glancing over at him.

"Do you think we'll ever be fully okay, even though we never had that?"
Regulus asks, nodding his head towards where a family is being a proper
family.
Remus inhales, then holds it, his chest pinching so hard that he can't figure
out how to exhale. But he swallows, and he does, and he says, "I think if
anyone can, it's you. I mean, you're already getting there, aren't you?"

"Seems that way sometimes," Regulus admits, turning to look right at him.
"I expect the same out of you."

"Sorry?" Remus blurts out, blinking.

Regulus doesn't look perturbed. "Remus, we've been doing this miserable
shit we call life together for three years. That doesn't change just because it
gets less miserable. The only thing is, we'll do that together, too."

"You mean—therapy," Remus mumbles.

"Respectfully, you need it," Regulus says bluntly. "Also disrespectfully, you
need it."

"If anyone—"

"You can't keep using that excuse. I'm in therapy, idiot."

"Doesn't mean I have to go. I'm perfectly fine. I've done well so far without
it, and when did you become such an advocate for it anyway?"

"When it started working," Regulus tells him flatly. "Remus, you have a
pride issue, which is the only reason you're resisting, because it wounds
your pride. You don't like to admit that things bother you, or that you might
need help. You don't want to be seen as weak. You're so passive in the
things that happen to you sometimes because you'd prefer not to
acknowledge that they can and do affect you. I pretended to fucking poison
you, and you just...let it go, but not really. And you don't have to. You
shouldn't. But you don't work through things, as if it can't hurt you if you
don't acknowledge it."

"Wow, Regulus, psychoanalyze me, why don't you?" Remus grits out,
hating that tiny voice in his head (which, absurdly enough, sounds like
Lily) that says he's right.

"Being with my brother isn't going to fix all the issues you have," Regulus
declares in that ruthless way of his, but it feels more like tough-love in this
situation, which is maybe what Remus genuinely needs right now. "I'm
going to talk to Ms. Pomfrey about recommendations, because I trust her,
and you're going to try. If I'm trying, you're trying with me."

"Am I?" Remus grumbles.

"Yes. I've decided," Regulus confirms, nodding. "If it makes you feel better,
you can blame me. And I won't—" He stops, his face softening as he looks
at Remus. "I won't say anything to anyone, Remus. No one has to know
until you're ready to tell them, if you ever are."

Remus stares at him for a long moment, and something in him tightens
before it slowly, oh slowly, eases. Tentatively, he gives a very careful nod.
"Fine. I'll—try."

"Good," is all Regulus says, though his lips curl up smugly for a moment,
and then he leans over and knocks their arms together. Remus gently
nudges him back.

They get maybe fifteen more seconds of peace and quiet before a rugby ball
hits Remus directly in the middle of the chest. His arms curl up to catch it
awkwardly before he even realizes it, and he looks up to see James and
Sirius racing towards him at full speed with genuinely feral grins. Remus is
flustered instantly, because he doesn't do sports of any kind. Really, any sort
of strenuous activity, if he's honest.

He frantically shoves the ball at Regulus, but it's too late. They're both still
gripping it when Sirius and James converge on them, fully just tackling
them both to the ground with uproarious laughter as all four of them go
down in a mess of tangled limbs and heavy thumps.

Things are pure chaos until Monty comes jogging by to snatch the ball,
going off to toss it back and forth with Effie. Remus wheezes as they all
work to separate, which is strenuous activity that he doesn't at all
appreciate. He's pretty sure he's lying directly on top of James, which is
honestly the last person he expected to be in a semi-compromising position
with. James seems to find the humor in it, too.

"Well, hello there, Remus," James says cheekily as Remus raises himself up
on one arm by his head. He grins and winks up at him, his hair a mess, eyes
bright. "Don't you look dashing from this angle? Sirius, mate, I think I get
it."

"Piss off," Sirius replies with a grunt, practically crawling out from under
Regulus.

"No, no, he has a point," Remus agrees, lips twitching as James waggles his
eyebrows at him. "Reg, is this your view? It's a rather nice one, isn't it?"

"Piss off," Regulus echoes with huff as he flops down on his back beside
James, swiping grass off his face.

James snorts as Remus rolls off to land on the ground beside him. "Oh,
they're too easy."

"Aren't they?" Remus agrees, watching Sirius settle down beside him, his
chest still heaving.

"You wouldn't have us any other way," Sirius declares.

"Wrong," Remus says. "I'd have you any way I could."

"Aw, Moony."

"James, I'm going to vomit. Make them stop."

"Sorry, love, I think it's best to leave them to it. Might as well get used to
it," James tells Regulus, chuckling.

"If I must," Regulus mutters grudgingly.

Sirius hums. "Come here, Moony, let's snog. I want to see if Reggie still
projectile-vomits or not."

"I was five."

"Did you really?" Remus asks, amused.

"He did," Sirius announces gleefully. "Just showed up at the end of my bed
in the middle of my night, said Sirius, I don't feel so good, and immediately
vomited."
"That's sort of cute," James says.

"It was disgusting," Sirius replies in defeat, as if James finding everything

Regulus cute in any capacity means there's no way to save him.

"Shall I mention the time you gave yourself a concussion because you were
—"

"Hey, hey, no. None of that. Truce, yeah?"

Regulus hums in satisfaction. "That's what I thought."

"You'll tell me later?" James can be heard whispering.

"Whatever you want," Regulus replies.

Remus interrupts them all to point up at the sky. "Look."

"Oh," Sirius mumbles, and they all fall silent.

"Why is that cloud shaped like a cock?" James asks.

"Maybe it's a sign," Remus replies.

Sirius chokes out a laugh and says, "Christ, Moony, for what? What could a
cloud being shaped like a cock possibly even be a sign for? What does that
even mean?"

"Not sure. I feel blessed, in any case," Remus declares, and that sets them
all off until they're all just lying there and laughing like four fools with
nothing else to do.

To be fair, Remus doubts there's anything that any of them would rather be
doing than this.

Chapter End Notes

James YEETED Regulus 😭😭😭 fully just panicked and TOSSED

him

Effie my beloved <3

Monty my beloved <3
James and Remus also getting therapy my beloved <3
Sirius and Regulus being happy my beloved <3

Again, thank you all so much for the comments!!! I'm trying make my
way through them, but I started a new job today, so it's taking a little
time! I will be getting to them, so for those of you getting responses to
comments on old chapters, I'm sorry I'm late. I'm behind, I know. Love
you all, though, and thank you all sooooo much <3
 Chapter 28
Chapter Notes

this chapter is a mixture of...humor and heavy. sort of? but ill go ahead
and warn now:

this chapter focuses a bit on death, specifically a parent dying that one
has a complex relationship with (no surprise, it's orion). it focuses on
regulus and sirius leaning on each other through it, mostly. there is a
brief visit with orion, who uses regulus' dead name only once, blatantly
says he doesn't accept that regulus is his son, states that he isn't proud
of sirius, and outright admits that he doesnt really care about his
children. there's no outright misgendering of regulus, and orion's
transphobia and homophobia is made clear without slurs or insults,
because i just don't have it in me to write that, nor do i feel it necessary
to depict it. also, orion is mocked for his bigotry by sirius and regulus,
and they're not upset about him being small-minded and wrong.

so, quick recap, warnings for: depictions of death, stated transphobia

and homophobia in the most watered-down way possible (because
that's all im willing to write, honestly), and grieving (but also bonding,
lots of bonding).

i just wanted to warn properly for orion being a shit. regulus and sirius
do some bonding, grieving, and drinking. james and remus are
Exasperated, and Concerned. and, despite it all, they're going to be
fine.

just trust the process with me on this one.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Regulus wouldn't say that there are very many places in the world that he
feels completely and wholly comfortable. His flat, of course. Remus' flat as
well. James and Sirius' flat—well, he's starting to be, slowly but surely.
Other than that, there's always a part of him that doesn't fully relax. Not
necessarily like he's paranoid, or on edge, or in a constant state of tension;
more just the difference between wearing a bra and not (and oh, he does not
miss those); there are so few places he gets to remove his metaphorical bra.
Or, maybe it'd be more accurate in saying the difference is in wearing
clothes in general and being naked. So at ease that he's bare, no guard
blocking any of him. In most places, in most cases, he's always at least a
little bit covered.

Poppy Pomfrey's office is a strong contender for a place he's stripped bare,
but he wouldn't say he's comfortable there either. He's more comfortable,
after consistent therapy sessions, but he knows he'll never feel entirely
relaxed here. He supposes that has more to do with the fact that the whole
stripping metaphor applies to his insides, too. The inner-workings of his
mind. The squirming, flinching nexus of his very soul, of which he'd prefer
never to see, let alone anyone else. Therapy doesn't care about that, though.

At least he and Sirius bond over the discomfort of it. They do their best
bonding in pain after all, so you could say therapy has brought them closer
in more ways than one. Regulus has found that he and Sirius love hating
things together (their mother, generally), which really highlights the
dramatic pricks they can genuinely be, but honestly, the other is the only
one who gets it and can match it perfectly. They're on the same wavelength
in that regard, at the very least.

But, well, sometimes therapy isn't painful at all. Sometimes it's just—
talking. Learning to talk to each other without instinctively walking old
paths of resentment and bitterness that leads them right back to one place—
regret. It's always regret, really, that sits at the heart of them both. Regret
for things they did, things they said, and things they didn't. Regret for lost
time and missed opportunities. Regret for the children they were, and regret
for the children they never got to be.

The more they talk, the more they have to talk about. The more they leave
the past where it is, the easier it gets to forgive the children they no longer
are, and move on. The more they try, the better they get at it.

Ms. Pomfrey—through various sessions—has learned about the whole

situation with Remus and James. She'd admittedly been a big part of them
getting their shit together in that situation. Without her, Regulus has the
sneaking suspicion that it would have taken a little longer. That's not to say
they don't have things to still work on, consistently and invariably, but with
her help, they were able to get here.

Here is a good place to be, Regulus feels. A comfortable place. He has his
best friend, his boyfriend, and his brother. Despite the fact that he never
thought it would work, they're doing it anyway. Possibly out of spite.
They're stubborn like that.

Today, therapy has been quiet and oddly solemn. It's very rare for him and
Sirius to make it all the way through without bickering at least. (It's
especially common for both of them to yell at each other until Ms. Pomfrey,
exasperated yet firm, walks them back and helps them get to the source of
why they're yelling in the first place. Generally, it ends with them sulkily
apologizing to each other through gritted teeth, since Ms. Pomfrey insists
on it. Regulus is pretty sure she only does because she finds it entertaining.)
Nonetheless, he and Sirius haven't so much as snapped at each other, or
raised their voices, or got into a heated debate about nothing much at all.
They haven't even cried. (They do that sometimes, Sirius the most. Regulus
is still Regulus. He keeps the crying to a minimum, thank you very much.)
Towards the end of the session, there's a long stretch of silence after Sirius
and Regulus have mumbled answers to Ms. Pomfrey's question (yes, they're
still watching a show together; yes, they do enjoy bitching to each other
about it; yes, it has turned out to be a bit of a bonding experience for them).

"Alright," Ms. Pomfrey declares, having spent a full five minutes just
regarding them in silence. "You're both remarkably pliant today. Barely any
trouble. What is it?"

"I take offense to that," Sirius mumbles, and Ms. Pomfrey's lips twitch.

"Our father is dying," Regulus says bluntly. "When we leave here, we're
going to see him."

Ms. Pomfrey sits on that for a second, then she inhales deeply and sits back
in her chair. "I see."

"Do you?" Sirius asks, blinking at her.

"Deaths in families are…" Ms. Pomfrey trails off before she heaves a sigh.
"Well, they're always a bit messy, no matter how healthy a family is, or
isn't. It can bring families together; it can also tear them apart. It depends on
who's dying just as much as it does who's being left behind."
"I wouldn't say we're really being left behind," Regulus murmurs. "That
insinuates he was with us to start with, and he never was, really."

"I know it's more complex for you two, considering your relationships with
your parents," she agrees, inclining her head in acknowledgement, "but that
doesn't mean the loss of a parent won't necessarily have an impact. It
doesn't mean it will either. These things depend on the person, what each of
us can or can't wrestle with. You may mourn him; you may not. You may
mourn what he never was; you may be grateful that he's gone. No one can
tell you how you're meant to feel in circumstances such as this, and there's
no wrong way to feel about it at all. That's important to remember."

"We haven't told anyone," Sirius blurts out. "Not James, or Remus. Or...I
haven't."

"Neither have I," Regulus admits.

"Boundaries are necessary in a dynamic that you two have found yourselves
in," Ms. Pomfrey tells them. "It's imperative that you find these boundaries
and respect them, both for yourselves and them. In this case, you both seem
to have a boundary with your parents, and how much you'll let anyone else
see besides one another, and that's okay. That's perfectly fine. Needing time
to do this with each other and process it together is alright. It's more than
alright. That's a boundary for you both. James and Remus need to respect
that as well."

"I'm sure they will," Regulus says softly. "I don't doubt that they will. It just
feels like it's not…"
"Theirs?" Ms. Pomfrey suggests.

"Yeah," Sirius says with an explosive exhale. "Yeah, exactly. I'm sure we'll
tell them after, but this is ours. I feel like it has to be ours."

"It can't be theirs. They can be there for you both however you need them to
be, but they won't be able to intrinsically understand the way you two do,"
she tells them.

Regulus clears his throat. "That's just the thing, Ms. Pomfrey. I feel like—I
mean, I think Sirius and I...understand differently."

"Feel differently," Ms. Pomfrey corrects. "You feel differently, Regulus, and
that's something else entirely, which is also perfectly fine. You're not
obligated to feel the same about things, especially things such as this, just
because you're brothers. But have a little more faith in being brothers. I
think, if anyone can understand, it's going to be Sirius."

"He's only going because I—" Regulus clenches his jaw, hands fisting on
his knees, and Ms. Pomfrey waits patiently. She's very used to Sirius and
Regulus having these blocks and needing to force past them. "Because I—I
need him."

"This upsets you?"

"He wouldn't go if I wasn't asking him to."

"Reggie—"

"Wait," Ms. Pomfrey says, holding up her hand, and Sirius snaps his mouth
shut. "I want to ask you what's wrong with that, if it is the case? What's so
wrong with leaning on your brother through a rough time? Why does it
bother you?"

"It doesn't bother me. I just—I don't know."

"Would you say it upsets you? Angers you? Saddens you?"

"It's just—it just feels like—" Regulus grimaces, rolling his tongue along
his teeth, trying to find the right words to describe it. "It feels like I'm—like
I'm making him do it again. Like it's just another form of him taking hits for
me. Again. Because why should he have to go if he doesn't want to, just
because I need him to? Why should he have to be forced to see our father
again, just because I can't do it alone?"

"You feel that it will be a punishment for him, and you're the one putting
him through it," Ms. Pomfrey summarizes, and Regulus lifts a hand to
wiggle it like so-so, because that's as close to what it is as it's going to get.
"Have you considered that Sirius might have simply told you he couldn't do
it, if it was going to hurt him? Have you considered that Sirius wants to do
this for you? Have you asked him how he feels about it?"

"No," Regulus mumbles, only a bit petulant. He already knows what's

coming next, and sure enough, Ms. Promfrey gestures to Sirius and sits
back to wait, leaving them to it. Regulus heaves a sigh and swivels to arch
an eyebrow at Sirius.

"I have never been more indifferent about anything in my life," Sirius
informs him bluntly, and Regulus blinks. "I don't care. I genuinely do not
give one shit about Orion Black. You're right, I wouldn't go see him if you
didn't ask me to, but not because I'm avoiding some sort of pain. I wouldn't
because he doesn't matter to me, Reggie. At all. But, if you need me there,
then I'm there. Simple as."

"Oh," Regulus says, then falls silent.

"He wants to be there for you, Regulus. I implore you to let him. You have
to trust that he would tell you if there was ever a reason he couldn't, and you
have to take the steps to ask, just as he has to take the steps to accept that if
he can't do something for you, it doesn't mean he's failing at being a
brother. It just means he's human." Ms. Pomfrey smiles at him gently. "In
situations such as these, I always encourage families to lean on each other.
It's hard no matter what your relationship is to the one who's dying, or dead.
As I said, it can tear you apart, or it can bring you closer together. It's a
choice, it's always a choice, and I think you know which one to make."
The session draws to a close shortly after that, and Ms. Pomfrey tells them
to take care of themselves and each other on the way out the door,
reminding them they can always book an emergency session if need be.

Leaving a therapy appointment and going immediately to visit Orion right

afterwards feels like a recipe for disaster, but it's their only window if they
wish to avoid Walburga, which they obviously do. She will be in a meeting
with Evan again, so they know for sure that they won't see her, and Evan
has promised to keep them both updated on her whereabouts at all times.

Getting in to see Orion is shockingly easy. A nurse is more than willing to

help them, and she doesn't even question their vague lies about being distant
family members. To hear her tell it, Orion has had a lot of visitors come to
say their goodbyes, making the assumption that he's beloved by many. In
reality, it's likely just people who hope it gets back to Walburga, like some
sort of signal that they deserve to be in her good graces. Funny how it's the
opposite for her children.

The nurse stops in front of the door, but then she has to bustle off quickly,
so they're left to go inside on their own. They don't for a while, just
standing shoulder-to-shoulder, staring at the closed door in complete
silence.

"We don't have to, you know," Regulus says quietly.

"No, we don't," Sirius agrees. He glances over at him. "But we can."

Regulus works his jaw, then swallows and nods. He doesn't move forward,
but he meets Sirius' gaze and nods again, more firmly the second time.
Because Sirius is braver, stronger, bolder—a lot of different things Regulus
can't be right now, maybe never—it's him that opens the door and leads
them in.

The sight of Orion draws them both up short. The last they saw him, he was
technically dying, considering he had a terminal illness. It left him
bedridden most of the time, especially once they were older. He'd lost some
weight, sure, and he had a ridiculous variety of medications to take in an
attempt to prolong his life, but the last five years since Regulus saw him
clearly hasn't been kind to him.

Orion doesn't just look sick. He looks like death personified. The concave
of his cheeks are pronounced, his skin wrapped around his skull with no fat
to fill it out. His lips are thin and pale and cracked. He's so skinny that he
looks frail, and the most harrowing thing is the sockets of his eyes, so
visible that it's like looking at a corpse. For a long moment, Regulus is quite
sure he is looking at a corpse, certain that his father is dead. His eyes are
shut. He's sleeping.

Regulus doesn't recognize him. The stench of death clings to him already,
even if the heart monitor quietly beeps in the background. His breathing is
labored, a hoarse rattle in his chest that stutters every third exhale. Who are
you? Regulus thinks, just staring, and then he thinks he could have asked
that question at any point in his life without knowing the answer. He's never
known his own father, not really.

That's not the point, though. Yes, maybe a part of Regulus feels...something
about his father dying. He's not—he can't really put his finger on what it is.
Maybe Ms. Pomfrey said it best—it's just mourning what never was, more
so than mourning him. Regulus still remembers the smell of his father's
cologne, but he hasn't come here to smell it again. Not that he could if that
was why. There's no scent of it anywhere.

No, Regulus isn't here for Orion. He might be a little bit here for a father he
never had. But, mostly, he's here for himself. He needs this; he hates that he
does, but he does.

"Christ," Sirius breathes out, stunned.

"He's dying," Regulus whispers, perhaps a little stupidly, but the grotesque
reality of it is genuinely sobering. Orion has been dying for years, but he's
never been so close to death.

For a long time, they just stand there in complete silence and stare. Neither
of them say anything, just listening to their father breathe. Regulus counts
them and wonders how close he is to his last. Death is a terrifying prospect;
a guarantee that no one can get away from. Is Orion afraid?

It's hard, really, to connect the burning hatred for their father to the rotting,
deteriorating wisp lying in the bed before them. That's difficult in a
different way, because it feels like there's really nowhere for it to go.
Regulus never thought he would be able to look at either of his parents with
pity, but he's proven wrong here and now. He doesn't feel only pity, but it's
there.
"Regulus," Sirius murmurs, "I don't—I mean, what is it that you're here for?
Really? Do you just need to—to see him?"

"I just…" Regulus releases a sharp breath. "I need him to see me, Sirius."
He looks over to find Sirius studying him, trying to find answers in the
curves of his face. For once, Regulus has no qualms about just giving them
to him. At the moment, the only person he wants to talk to is Sirius. "I need
him to see me. On the off-chance that he's thinking of his children, he
doesn't get to die thinking of a daughter. He doesn't get to die thinking that's
what I was."

Sirius' face clears as soon as he gets it, and there's a truly heartbreaking
amount of sadness that floods his eyes for a long moment. "You know he
might not—"

"I know," Regulus says, holding his gaze. "I know, Sirius. I don't need him
to accept it. I just need him to know it."

"Oh." Sirius breathes out slowly and nods. He turns to face Orion and says,
determined and steady, "Alright, then."

With that, Sirius pushes forward to go stand on one side of the bed, looking
back and waiting for Regulus to hesitantly stand across from him on the
other side. They peer down at Orion in silence, and then Sirius presses his
lips into a thin line before reaching out to touch Orion's shoulder. He almost
snatches his fingers back immediately, his hand twitching violently, but he
puts it right back and gives Orion a firm shake.
"Sirius," Regulus hisses.

"What?" Sirius mutters.

"Don't shake him so hard. He's literally dying."

"So?"

"So," Regulus grits out, "you could—I don't know—help the process along.
You don't want that on your conscience."

Sirius considers that for a second, then shrugs. "Honestly, I don't think it'd
bother me very much."

"You could get in trouble," Regulus reminds him.

"Literally how, Regulus?" Sirius grumbles. "He's dying as we speak. If I just

so happen to speed up the process, who's to know? You won't rat on me, will
you?"

Regulus rolls his eyes. "Obviously not."

"Exactly," Sirius says simply, then shakes Orion harder.

He withdraws his hand quickly when Orion's head swivels to the left,
towards Regulus. They both go still and fall silent, watching as Orion lets
out a harsh cough that makes him shake all over, his thin-skinned face
scrunching in a way that makes him look like he's about to crumble. The
haunting hollow of his expression shifts as his eyes flutter open.

Regulus is quite sure that he and Sirius are both holding their breath. It
takes Orion a long moment for any bit of clarity to clear the glaze in his
eyes, but when it happens, he's looking right at Regulus. He blinks slowly,
once, twice, the cracked cavern of his mouth parting around a wheezing
exhale.

"Sirius," Orion rasps—with confidence, too. He sounds absolutely certain.

"Sirius, you're here."

Regulus feels his heart turn over, and he flicks his gaze up to look at Sirius,
who is pale. They lock eyes for a moment, and there's an apology written in
every line of Sirius' face, but the thing is, Regulus doesn't blame him.
Regulus isn't angry that Orion has looked at him and seen his son; it doesn't
even hurt that much that he's seeing the wrong one.

"Wrong child," Regulus says, looking back down at Orion.

It takes a moment. Perhaps too long, considering Regulus is his child;

perhaps not much at all, considering he's currently dying, very medicated,
and hasn't seen Regulus in five years. Either way, he gets it eventually. The
haze in his eyes fades even more, and then he croaks, "Regina? Your hair
—"

"That's not my name," Regulus cuts in sharply.

Orion blinks again. "Your name…"

"It's Regulus," Sirius announces, and Orion slowly creaks his head to the
side, blinking at Sirius now.

"Sirius," Orion mutters, letting out another rattling cough, and then he sighs
loudly and turns his head forward, staring straight ahead. "I didn't think my
children would say goodbye. You're both so very stubborn. Spiteful. You're
both so much like your mother."

Sirius immediately scowls, but Regulus shakes his head sharply and leans
down to catch Orion's gaze. "My name is Regulus Arcturus Black, and I'm
your son."

"Arcturus…" Orion blinks again. "That was my father's name."

"I know," Regulus murmurs, ignoring the look of surprise that Sirius shoots
at him.
"My son…" Orion stares at him for a long moment, then gives a tiny shake
of his head and says, very simply, "No."

Just as simply, Regulus replies, "Yes."

"No," Orion repeats. "I have—I have one son, and not one I'm proud of.
Stop this at once; I won't stand for this nonsense."

"Full offense, Father, but you don't seem capable of standing at all,"
Regulus says dryly, and Sirius huffs a soft laugh. "I'm not here to ask your
permission. I'm telling you. You have so little life left to live, and you'll live
it knowing this. You'll die with this being your reality, whether you accept it
or not."

"I don't. I don't accept it," Orion coughs out, eyes squeezing shut like he can
pretend it's not happening.

Sirius plops down on the side of the bed with a careless ease that jostles
Orion a little bit, making him grunt and scowl as his eyes open. "Oh, well,
he hardly needs you to accept it for it to be true. If it was a requirement for
someone in his family to accept it so it could be true, then he has that with
me. Isn't that lovely, Father?" He leans in with a smile, lowering his voice
like he's telling a secret. "We're brothers."
"Is this what you've come to do, then?" Orion asks wearily, sinking back
into the pillow with a sigh, sounding downright exhausted. "Harass a dying
man with folly?"

"Well, you don't have much else to do, as far as we can tell. And really, we
didn't get to harass you nearly enough when we were children," Sirius
points out.

"You two clearly have warped memories of your childhood. I've never
known peace since either of you were born," Orion mutters, eyes sinking
shut again.

Regulus shares a wry look with Sirius. "Oh, I'm so sorry our existence
inconvenienced you so much."

"Mm, it truly did. You drove your mother to madness, the both of you. She
was well on her way, truthfully, but I'd say you were her final push."

"Well, we couldn't be blamed once we left. Her madness now is her own.
What excuse does she have anymore?"

Orion's eyes spring open. "Do you think your absence brought Walburga
any peace of mind? If anything, it made her worse. Losing her children
broke her heart."
"Mother never had a heart," Sirius says with a scoff.

"She didn't lose her children," Regulus adds. "She drove us out. Why the
fuck would we want to stay there with her? With either of you? She beat us.
You encouraged it."

"You don't understand. Neither of you ever understood," Orion whispers,

eyes drifting shut yet again, but they keep rising and falling slowly like he's
trying to hold them open.

"The same could be said for you and her," Sirius snaps.

"A dying man doesn't have to understand. I don't really care to. I don't think
I ever did," Orion admits, and Regulus shares yet another long look with
Sirius again. They don't say anything, but something passes between them.
Some sort of confirmation for what they already knew, but somehow, there's
some relief in having it anyway. "Tell me, how did you find each other
again? Did you go to Sirius when you left?"

"No," Regulus admits. "Our reconciliation is fairly recent."

"Ah," Orion hums. "Well, what better way to bond than hassling your father
on his deathbed? I'd hoped to avoid it, but since we're all already here…"

"Are you—joking?" Sirius asks, cringing.

Orion cracks open one eye very briefly, looking oddly deranged for a
moment. "Surely you don't think either of you got any bit of sense of humor
from your mother?"

"I assumed it skipped a generation entirely," Regulus says.

"Yeah, I don't recall you ever being funny," Sirius mutters.

"That's because I had no interest in making either of you laugh. You did that
for yourselves anyway."

Regulus shakes his head. "Christ, you are a truly shit father."

"I know," Orion rasps, not even remorseful. He looks unfairly relaxed at the
moment. Almost peaceful. "I never liked children, not even my own. Still
don't, even now that you're older. I am curious. In what ways are you
disappointing me and your mother now?"

"You're asking us about our lives?" Regulus asks in disbelief, and Orion
hums again, only to end up coughing once more.

"I'm dying. I'd like to be caught up on how you've both let me down before
I do. Go on, then," Orion wheezes.
"Well, I'm your son—"

"Still don't accept that."

"Yes, you've mentioned. Still don't care."

"We're both with men," Sirius adds.

Orion clicks his tongue, but his mouth is so dry that they can hear it peel
apart from the roof of his mouth. It's fucking gross, honestly. "Shameful. So
disappointing."

"For me, too?" Regulus asks, amused despite himself.

"Yes."

"So, it's shameful that I'm a gay man?"

Orion falls silent.

Sirius breaks out into a grin. "You know, Reggie, I think you've got him
stuck. See, Father, this is what sense bigotry makes. Absolutely none."

"Bedeviling a dying man," Orion croaks. "My children, what could I have
expected from either of you?" He raises a shaking hand and attempts to
wave it, but his fingers barely even sway through the air. Slowly, his hand
drifts back down to the rest on the blanket again. "Carry on. If I'm very
lucky, I'll die from the shame of you both and be free from this."

And it's strange, it's so very strange, how they sit there and do it. How they
sit there with this man they do not know, who does not know them, and tell
him about who they are now. How they sit there, years later, and listen to
their father tell them repeatedly that he's not proud of them, just as he
always has. How they sit there, as he's dying, and let him do just that, sure
to give just as horribly as they get, saying things to him that they never have
before.

It's not healing. There's no closure. There isn't acceptance, or a grand

mending of a relationship that never existed. The fact that Orion is dying
doesn't change very much at all. Regulus asks him what cologne he used to
wear anyway, because he can remember the smell but not the brand, and
Orion tells him to ask Walburga; she's the one who purchased it for him.
And that—in the end, that's what Regulus grieves.

Sirius and Regulus fall silent when Orion seemingly falls back asleep, and
they look at each other for a long time before they get up and decide
without ever talking about it to leave.
A hand clamps down on Regulus' wrist as he starts to turn, startlingly
strong, and he sees Sirius immediately go tense and begin to bristle out of
the corner of his eye. But all he does is turn and look at Orion, whose eyes
are half-open yet clear.

"Regulus," Orion says hoarsely, and for one second, Regulus feels his heart
jump. "That's a star, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"Is it in Orion's constellation?"

"No," Regulus murmurs. "It's a part of the Leo constellation, the one shaped
like a lion."

Orion wheezes out a hum. "For Sirius, then."

"Who else?" Regulus asks, tugging his hand from Orion's grip and staring
him down.

"I am your father," Orion points out.

Regulus just steps back. "It was never going to be for you. If it was going to
be for anyone, it was always going to be him."

"That… That makes sense," is Orion's rather underwhelming response. He

settles down with a rattling sigh. And then, just like that, he drifts off back
to sleep.

Again, for a bit, neither of them say anything, just lingering to look at him.
Then, quietly, Sirius says, "Let's go."

And they do.

They don't go very far. They leave the hospital, but they stop only a few
streets away at the first bench they see. Sirius is the one who bounds over to
it to sit down, and after a beat, Regulus goes to join him. They don't speak
for a while.

Regulus tries to get his thoughts in order. Tries to shift them around and line
them up so he can file through them one at a time and make sense of the
state of himself. It's ridiculously hard to do after all of that. His father is
dying, and he doesn't even know what he really thinks about it.

Maybe he doesn't know because he doesn't think very much. He still doesn't
know who his father is. He still doesn't understand him, or his mother, and
he isn't sure he ever will. And yet, in a way that stings down to his core, he
thinks he'll always understand them more than Sirius ever will. Maybe he's
doomed to miss them alone; maybe that's alright.
He feels—better, though. Strangely, he does. More solid. More real. More
of him, like there's still more of himself he gets to discover. He's been
discovering so much of himself for so long that he didn't know there was
anything else. He never thought he'd discover anything that he'd end up
liking, but he likes this. He likes the man he is to stroll into the room where
his father is dying to make sure he dies knowing he has two sons.

It's not Orion he thinks of being proud of him; it's Sirius. For the first time
in a long time, Regulus thinks Sirius is proud of him, and he thinks he
deserves that. Deserves the pride. He soaks it in and lets it settle warm in
his bones.

His father is dying, and Regulus thinks he's alright. He thinks he's going to
be alright.

"You alright, Reggie?" Sirius asks, as if reading his mind, finally breaking
the silence to bump their elbows together.

"Yeah," Regulus says. "I'm alright. You?"

"Never better. This was a good idea, actually."

"You just liked bedeviling him."

Sirius snorts. "God. Bedeviling. Who even says that? And folly? Us and our
folly, Regulus, can you believe it?"

"Two of the worst sons any parent could ask for," Regulus teases, and Sirius
barks a bright laugh.

It fades, though, and then Sirius looks at him, really looks, and quietly says,
"No, Reggie. We're not. They never deserved us."

"They didn't, did they?" Regulus asks softly.

"Never," Sirius confirms. "And we deserved better."

Regulus just nods. "Yeah, I'd say so. You know, Mother is going to waste
away alone in that house."

"Her own fault."

"I know."

Sirius' eyebrows furrow. "Does it upset you?"

"Not at all," Regulus says.

"Good, because I'll never forgive her, not even for you. I can't do that,"
Sirius mumbles, looking away. "I can move on, I'm trying to move on, but I
won't keep holding onto her."

"I'm the same," Regulus admits. "When she dies, she'll do that alone, too. I
have no desire for her to know me."

"Just Father, then?"

"I suppose so."

"Why him?" Sirius murmurs.

Regulus swallows. "Because he's not her."

"Oh." Sirius seems to think about that for a moment, then he bobs his head
in understanding. Regulus assumes this is what Ms. Promfrey meant about
Sirius being the only one who can understand. "Yeah, I get that. Do you
reckon he'll tell her?"

"Probably."
"Does that worry you?"

"No. We were only children, but we aren't anymore. Let her try something,"
Regulus declares firmly.

Sirius chuckles. "Oh, that wouldn't go well for her, I imagine. Between the
two of us, she wouldn't get very far. Even if we choked, there's countless
others, you know. James is fucking protective, you have no idea. He loves
us both now, so I don't doubt he'd go ballistic."

"Remus, too," Regulus muses fondly. "You know, I bet they'd come up with
a plan together for her."

"We said we wouldn't let them plan anymore, but I mean…"

"She can be the exception."

"Mhm," Sirius agrees, grinning, and they're both interrupted by Regulus'

cell ringing in his pocket.

Regulus digs it out and answers with a distracted, "Hello?"

"Regulus," Evan hisses, "if you're still at the hospital, you need to go now.
Your mother just got a call and announced to everyone in the meeting that
the hospital informed her that her husband just died, so she had to go. She
was fucking stone-cold, mate, the fucking witch."

"Oh," Regulus says. "Wait. Just—just now?"

"Yes! So, if you're there—"

"I'm not. We're not. We left about fifteen minutes ago now."

"Well, your father apparently died ten minutes after." Evan pauses for an
uncomfortable beat, then clears his throat. "I don't want to ask, but I have to
ask. You and Sirius didn't, like, smother him with a pillow, did you?"

"No," Regulus whispers. "No, he was—he fell asleep, so we left."

Evan hums. "Alright. That's your story and you stick to it."

"We didn't—"

"Sure, of course. Oh, and condolences."

"Thanks," Regulus mutters with a sigh.

"I have to go. Ring me or Barty if you want to go out and celebrate—or, I
don't know, drown your sorrows."

"Right. Bye, Evan. And—and thanks for—"

"Don't mention it," Evan says easily, then hangs up.

Slowly, Regulus slides his phone down from his ear, staring straight ahead.
It hangs limp in his lap for a moment, and he takes a long second to once
again try to figure out what he's thinking. His father is no longer dying; he's
dead. He saw his children for one final time, then died immediately after.

Some ridiculous part of Regulus almost hopes that he'd been waiting, that
he'd held on as long as he did for them, as childish of a notion that is. It's a
thought that flutters at the back of his mind, and it's probably not true, but
he feels like James would encourage him to believe it. The relief of
believing the best in people, even those that don't deserve it.

"Regulus?" Sirius asks cautiously. "Who was that?"

Jolting, Regulus exhales shakily and slides his phone back in his pocket.
"Well, we don't have to worry about—about Father telling Mother that he
saw us."

"We don't? Why?"

"He's dead."

Sirius stares at him. "We just saw him."

"And he died almost immediately after we left," Regulus informs him,

searching his face for any reaction, but Sirius just seems to be doing the
same thing to him.

"Are you—"

"Does that—"

They both halt and stare at each other. Sirius waits, and so does Regulus.
For a long moment, they just breathe.

"I don't really know what to...say, or do," Sirius admits, finally.
Regulus shrugs. "Neither do I. Do you—feel anything?"

"Not really? I don't know. I mean, death is a bit…" Sirius makes a face.
"But it's him, isn't it? So, it's just…"

"Yeah," Regulus says, because he understands. He does. He's the only one
who can.

Sirius clears his throat. "Should we go get drunk?"

"Probably for the best."

"Alright."

So, with that, they push to their feet and start heading home to get
thoroughly pissed. Their father just died, so why shouldn't they? Sirius
throws his arm around Regulus' shoulders and holds on the whole way
there.
Sirius hiccups into a laugh as Regulus stumbles over his own rug, arms
raised high as he carts over a bottle of Pimm's, the top already taken off.
They're on their third bottle because they haven't passed out yet, and at this
point, they're not stopping until they have.

"Like, do you know what I mean?" Regulus asks as he dumps himself back
on his sofa next to Sirius, holding out the bottle.

"Wait, what did you say again?" Sirius mumbles as he takes the bottle,
because he's forgotten. He takes a deep swallow and squints at Regulus,
trying to figure out if his vision has gone wonky or if it's just Regulus
swaying.

"The—the indecipherable discrepancies of, like…" Regulus waves his

hand, a little limp-wristed.

"Yeah. Yeah, exactly," Sirius agrees, because he gets it now. He does. "All
of that. The—the things. Yeah."

Regulus makes a vague noise of satisfaction and snatches the bottle to have
some, slumping down on the sofa next to Sirius with one eye closed and the
other only half-open. They both just breathe for a bit and pass the bottle
back and forth.

"Do you—do you ever think about, um, you know…" Regulus pauses to
drink some more. "Because, well, they had to, right? We were babies,
Sirius. Who the fuck else would?"
"Lost me."

"Hold us. They—they had to, if you think about it. I mean, when we were
really small. Before we could walk. Can you imagine? I'm trying not to
imagine, because it makes me feel oddly dirty. Does that make sense?"

Sirius thinks about it, then shudders. "Oh, Reggie, why would you mention
it? She brought you home in her arms. First time I ever saw you was there.
It's my first memory as far back as I can recall; meeting you. I was—I was
so excited."

"I'm trying to picture it, really. Mother and Father picking us up and
changing our nappies and—and—" Regulus falters, apparently at a loss.
"What else do you do with babies?"

"You—you—well, you hold them sometimes, I suppose. Rock them when

they're crying. Wake up with them when they scream themselves awake in
the middle of the night. Help them get back to sleep," Sirius muses,
blinking slowly as he takes the bottle. "Clean them, feed them, love them."

"I wonder if they thought they'd love us in the beginning."

"Makes you think, doesn't it?"

Regulus hums. "You did all that, didn't you? With me."

"Mm, as much as I could being only a bit older than you. I used to—I
remember I used to climb into your cot with you when you would cry, and
I'd—" Sirius huffs a slurred laugh, shaking his head. "God, I'd just talk to
you until you stopped crying and started babbling back. Never knew what
you said, but I just agreed every time. Carried on full conversations with a
little baby, can you believe that?"

"I bet I was calling you an idiot," Regulus says, and Sirius roars with
laughter immediately, nearly overturning the bottle, but Regulus fumbles to
catch it and claim it back.

When Sirius finally calms again, he lets out a deep sigh and shakes his
head. "God, I can't believe he's fucking dead. He's been dying for so long. I
thought he'd outlive us all just out of spite, the prick."

"Well," Regulus slurs with a soft giggle, "one down, one to go!"

"Yes!" Sirius bursts out in resounding agreement, reaching over to snag the
bottle and raise it in a toast. "May she perish swiftly and join him in doing
us the favor of no longer fucking existing at the same time we do!"

"Hear-fucking-hear," Regulus echoes, bobbing his head and waiting for

Sirius to down three swallows with gusto before snatching the bottle to do
the same.
"We should—we should, like, do something to celebrate," Sirius declares
firmly.

Regulus flops his head over, rubbing his cheek against his own shoulder. "Is
that not what we're doing by drinking?"

"Not sure," Sirius admits. "Just assumed—presumed?—well, whatever,

maybe you needed to...grieve. So. Drinking."

"Am I—is this grieving?" Regulus mumbles.

Sirius shrugs one shoulder. "Suppose. Ms. Promfrey said no one can tell us
how, so… I don't want you to be sad, though." He looks over at him,
eyebrows furrowing. "Reggie, I don't want you to be sad. I hope—I hope
you're not. But it's okay if you are. But I hope you're not."

"I'm sad about his cologne more than him," Regulus tells him, which makes
Sirius blink. Strange, but alright. Sure, Sirius can work with that through
the haze of alcohol. "I can remember the smell of it so clearly, you know.
I'm not… I don't know why, really. I've smelled better things. James smells
better."

"Remus," Sirius points out, briefly distracted thinking about that lovely spot
in the curve of his neck.
Regulus nods with simple acceptance. "Right, but it's just… I don't know.
Just remember it. I want to smell it and see if it smells the same way to me
now as it did then. Like—like we're all a fixed point in time, and that person
—whoever I was back then—must exist somewhere, even if it's just when
I'm smelling my father's cologne. Do you know what I mean?"

"What if—what if it doesn't smell the same?" Sirius asks.

"I…" Regulus blinks. "Well, it'd have to, wouldn't it?"

Sirius purses his lips. "Complicated thing, that. We don't really… I mean,
we don't remember reality the way it was when we're living it. S'always
different from how we remember it. I've learned that. You've taught me
that."

"But some things… Sirius, at least some things remain the same. Surely.
They have to."

"Yeah, but it's not guaranteed to be the same as we remember it. That's just,
like, memory. I don't—I have a fucked up memory, honestly. I don't
remember what Mother looks like."

"You don't?" Regulus whispers.

"No," Sirius murmurs, looking down at his fingers. "I remember her voice.
That's clear. I remember her hands, and the sound of her shoes coming
down the hall, and—and the way she wore her hair. I know we have her
eyes. I know she never smiled. I know you have her nose, and I have the
same widow's peak as her, but when I try to picture her face… It's like all of
her features exist separately, and I—I do know what she looks like, but I
can't remember. She must have wrinkles by now, mustn't she? Do you
think?"

"She must," Regulus agrees, frowning. "I've just thought about it, but
beauty doesn't last forever, and I think she never really had anything else.
And it's her own fault. Because she could have had us, I think. Right? But
now Father is dead, and all she has now is...wrinkles."

"Wrinkles," Sirius repeats, nodding very seriously. Siriusly. Heh. Oh. Oh,
he's pissed, isn't he?

Regulus smacks his lips and says it again. "Wrinkles."

"Fucking wrinkles," Sirius says, a laugh bubbling up in his chest, climbing

the walls of his throat.

"We won't only have wrinkles," Regulus blurts out, swinging his arm wide,
the bottle hovering in front of Sirius' face. Sirius takes it, but Regulus
doesn't seem to notice. "We'll have them, but we'll also have… We'll have
our—our passions, those lovely things. Art and food, which is just—it's
really just creation and life; freedom and survival."
"Yeah!" Sirius bellows supportively, raising the bottle, then downing a deep
pull from it.

"And—and we'll have, like, friends," Regulus continues. "Real friends who
don't give a toss about our money, or status, or anything but—but us, really.
True friends we can rely on."

"Yeah!" Sirius repeats, once again toasting to it.

"Oh, and love," Regulus hisses, like it's a curse word he's excited to use for
the first time. "Proper love, you know! With touching, and shagging, and—
and fucking talking. Christ, Mother and Father hardly ever talked. I never
even saw them bloody kiss!" He pauses, then his face screws up. "Which,
now that I'm thinking about it, I'm actually grateful for. But you get my
point. Love is my point. Gentle love. Patient love. Kind, and passionate, and
—and just—just real love."

"Yeah!" Sirius shouts even louder this time, waving the bottle wildly and
drinking on that one as well.

"Fuck it, we'll even—we'll have what she doesn't especially. We'll have
family, Sirius, because of us. Me and you. Being brothers," Regulus adds,
smacking his hand down to the cushion between them to swivel and stare at
him. "We'll have wrinkles, and we'll have each other."

"Yeah!" Sirius cries at the top of his lungs, nearly dropping the bottle as he
swings his arms up in a sign of victory.
Regulus seems to have anticipated this, because he snatches the bottle and
knocks back the rest left over, which mostly amounts to all the toasts Sirius
just had. He lets out a deep breath and lazily dumps the empty bottle on the
floor, then slumps back. "We're fucking winning at life."

"We are," Sirius declares with a grin of triumph.

"She lost. Her and father lost, and we won. Can you believe that?" Regulus
huffs out a stunned laugh. "You're right. We should absolutely celebrate.
Let's make biscuits."

Sirius immediately starts tipping himself off the sofa eagerly, very enticed
by this idea. "Yes, let's."

Twenty minutes later, they're both on the floor in the kitchen, and Regulus
is sobbing next to an overturned pan of dough while Sirius sits next to him
and sobs into a handful of chocolate chips.

"And—and it's just not fair," Regulus whines, snottily. He scoops up

another ball of dough off the floor and smacks it angrily to the pan. "Why
do they get to just die? And we have to carry on with all the stupid fucking
trauma they dumped on us? Why didn't they just put us up for adoption,
yeah? That would have made so much more sense."
"They're so stupid. So fucking stupid," Sirius chokes out, then stuffs more
chocolate chips in his mouth.

"Why am I so upset?" Regulus groans and slaps another bit of dough on the
pan, then exhales sharply, weeping harder as he kicks childishly at the pan,
sending it skittering across the floor as all the balls of dough scatter
everywhere.

Sirius chews angrily and whimpers, "He wasn't even that nice that time in
France."

"He never once made us laugh!" Regulus snarls.

"Entitled prick, thinking we got our humor from him! I was born with it
naturally, and—and you got it from me!"

"Yes! Exactly!"

"He never cared," Sirius adds.

Regulus makes a low, choking noise. "No, he didn't. And to say we broke
Mother's heart? Is he fucking delusional?!"
"I know!" Sirius explodes, aghast, and chocolate chips go flying when he
jerks his hands around. They sail up and rain back down on them, dropping
to the floor or settling in their hair, but neither of them care.

"She—she never loved us, and he never cared about us, and I refuse—
Sirius, I fucking refuse to believe anything else," Regulus informs him.

"They never gave us reason to believe anything else," Sirius declares, his
eyes prickling with heat again.

"But," Regulus rasps, "I wish I could."

"Yeah," Sirius whispers, and they both pretty much burst into immediate
tears at the same time.

Twenty minutes after that, they're both stumbling around the kitchen,
laughing loudly as Lilly Allen's Fuck You blasts at full volume. There are
chocolate chips all over the floor, and the discarded pan and scattered balls
of dough remain, because now they've moved on to lemon scones, which
Sirius has to admit he's looking forward to very much.

"Do you, do you really enjoy living a life that's so hateful? 'Cause there's a
hole where your soul should be. You're losing control a bit, and it's really
distasteful," Regulus croons, holding the mixing bowl as he—well, mixes.
"Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you very, very much!" Sirius sings cheerfully.
"'Cause we hate what you do, and we hate your whole crew, so please don't
stay in touch!"

"Oh! Oh, Sirius, we should—we should do lemon blueberry scones,"

Regulus gasps, head snapping up. "Check my fridge. I might have
blueberries."

Sirius snaps his fingers. "You fucking genius, Reggie."

"This is going to be—" Regulus hiccups, "—so good."

"It is," Sirius agrees, stumbling towards the fridge. It takes him a few
moments to locate the blueberries, but once he has, he brings them back,
walking very carefully because the floor seems to be trying to evade him.
"Look at us, making lemon blueberry scones together. I so badly want to
tell the people we were eight years ago that we'd end up here."

Regulus hums, sucking on his finger as he sits the mixing bowl down. He
pops his finger out and shuffles off to go find a pan, laughing a little when
he nearly trips. "I would—I absolutely would not have believed you. Or
even me. Christ, I wouldn't even care about anything I had to say; I'd be too
busy staring at myself in—I don't know—disbelief, maybe."

"You never thought you'd transition?" Sirius asks.

"Dreamed about it. Doubted I'd ever be brave enough," Regulus admits.

Sirius huffs, watching Regulus start shaping the scones; he goes over to
help him. He wants one shaped like a cock. "If I'd known it was something
you wanted, I would have—well, I would have—I would—"

"Hm?" Regulus asks, blinking at him.

"I would have," Sirius announces decisively.

Regulus takes that in for a moment, then nods. "I know."

"You were brave, though. You turned out to be so brave, Regulus. I'm so
proud of you," Sirius slurs out, leaning over to knock their shoulders
together. They both tilt too far, and chocolate chips rain down from their
hair.

"I'm—" Regulus hiccups again, "—proud of you, too. You turned out to be
such a—just such a good person. Best thing in that house. Best thing out of
it."

Sirius sniffs, patting a scone like it's a pet. "Really?"

"Really," Regulus confirms. "You're smashing it, Sirius."

"Smashing—what, exactly?"

"Life."

"You think so?" Sirius asks, beaming at him.

Regulus mhms. "I do, yeah. Everyone must think it, surely, because you are.
Why don't you think so? You should."

"I do think so. Maybe. Sometimes," Sirius says, then loses the thread of the
conversation entirely. Lilly Allen comes back into focus, so he starts
singing. "You say, you think we need to go to war—well, you're already in
one. 'Cause it's people like you that need to get slew. No one wants your
opinion."

"Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you very, very much. 'Cause we hate what you do,
and we hate your whole crew, so please don't stay in touch," Regulus
mumbles along, head bobbing up and down as they continue to make their
scones.

Some time later—there's no keeping track at this point—they have settled

back down on the floor in front of the oven in the middle of an absolutely
wrecked kitchen. The scones are in the oven, they're covered in flour, and
the music is off again. They aren't crying, nor are they laughing. They're
quiet.

Sirius feels all sloshy on the inside, and he's barely keeping his eyes open.
He and Regulus are propped up next to each other, Regulus' head on his
shoulder, Sirius cheek resting on top of his head. He thinks a chocolate chip
has melted against his cheek and in Regulus' hair, but he can't be bothered
to check.

"Are you alright, Reggie?" Sirius mumbles.

"Yeah," Regulus whispers. "And you?"

"Think so. I feel… I feel like we handled that well."

"We did, didn't we?"

Sirius nods against his head. "Can't sleep. The scones."

"I know," Regulus says.

And yet, not very long after, they're both passed out leaning against each
other, emotionally drained and possibly closer than they've been in a long,
long time.

(It's very fortunate that, in their drunken stupor, they went through all the
trouble of making scones, but never actually turned on the fucking oven.
This means that the flat doesn't burn down because they pass out, and it also
means their scones do not get cooked. Neither of them are awake to care
about this, which is just as well.)

The following morning, Sirius is roused by a low conversation that still

feels too loud. His head throbs like it's about to crack open, and he's
genuinely scared to move, sure that if he does, he'll just immediately empty
his churning stomach. Oh, fuck, he's never drinking again—a necessary lie
he's telling himself to get through this very trying time.

"I mean, should we be concerned?" James can be heard hissing, and why is
he here? How did he get here?

It takes Sirius longer than it should to remember that James is in love with
his brother and knows where he lives, and that he didn't just get magically
summoned because he could sense that Sirius has made some recent bad
decisions. Not that he did anything wrong, exactly, but he's never claiming
Pimm's as anything other than a bad decision ever again.

"Neither of them look injured," Remus responds weakly, because he's also
here. Sirius is so pleased by this.
James makes an unhappy noise. "I'm still concerned. I'm very fucking
concerned, Moony."

"I'm mostly just confused," Remus admits. "Why is there dough just
everywhere? What the fuck were they doing?"

"That's what you're worried about? Remus, they smell like an entire bar,
there's three bottles of Pimm's empty by the sofa, and they're covered in
flour and chocolate."

"I—honestly, mate, I don't even know where to start."

"If I had to guess, they got very drunk and decided to do some baking?"
James tries, distressed. "Doesn't explain why they've obviously been crying,
though."

Regulus shifts against Sirius, then proceeds to croak like a damn frog and
go very still. Sirius can feel him holding his breath, and he risks cracking
open his eyes, despite his head splitting in two, just to see Regulus with his
eyes squeezed shut, visibly pale and clammy. It takes him a long moment
before he'll exhale and finish leaning away from Sirius entirely, and even
then, he makes a small blub noise in the back of his throat like a little fish
effect. Under any other circumstances, Sirius would find this comical, but at
this point in time, he can relate to sound and what it means.

"Remus," Regulus croaks, "if you—oh god—if you don't get me to the loo
in less than a minute, we're all about to have a bad time." He makes another
pathetic sound. "Fucking please—"

"Right," Remus cuts in quickly, and then he's coming into view to help
Regulus to his feet. Regulus practically clings to his arm, going white as a
sheet, and Remus carts him off with a lingering look shot in Sirius'
direction.

"Hey, Padfoot," James murmurs gently, moving over to crouch down beside
him with furrowed eyebrows. He reaches up and pushes Sirius' hair off his
sweaty forehead. "Rough night?"

"You could say that," Sirius rasps.

"You're not looking well."

"James, I'm not going to make it to the loo. Help."

"Best be the sink, then," James says softly, sighing quietly as he cups his
hand under Sirius' arm and nods at him in warning before helping haul him
upright.

Sirius' entire body viscerally does not like this, but James spins him towards
the sink in just enough time. All Sirius can do is brace his hands on the edge
of it and feel the burn of his body rejecting his bad decisions. James, lovely
friend that he is, dutifully holds his hair out of his face and rubs his back.
"Oh god," Sirius heaves out, still curled over the sink, quite sure that he's
dying, even though it's over.

"Yes, bloody awful, isn't it?" James sighs sympathetically and reaches
forward to run the tap, guiding Sirius' mouth underneath so he can gargle
water, but making sure he doesn't drown. "There we go. Alright, let's get
you in a seat and let the tap keep on, yeah?"

The tap carries on washing away the vomit, and James helps Sirius over to a
chair. He squints around in disbelief, because the kitchen looks even worse
than it did while pissed. Christ, he and Regulus are destructive shits, aren't
they?

Sirius winces as he's lowered into a chair. His head is very angry with him
and is sure to let him know it; he wishes it would get over it, honestly.
James disappears for a bit, but then he comes back with a small cup of
mouthwash, which Sirius takes and uses gratefully. After that, Sirius
gingerly presses the side of his face against the cool tabletop and silently
prays for death, only mildly appeased by James' fingers gently working in
his hair, massaging his scalp.

In the distance, the shower turns on, and it's either eighty years later or just
a few minutes before Remus returns to the kitchen. He comes over and
crouches beside Sirius' chair, reaching out to brush his fingers over his
temple. There's a steady ache there, so Sirius makes a pitiful, needy noise
and looks at him beseechingly. Carefully, Remus begins to massage his
temple, not putting too much pressure.
Exhaling in muted relief, Sirius lets his eyes drift closed again. Now, this?
Well, this would be bliss if he didn't feel so fucking awful. He sits right
there and basks in it for however long it takes for Regulus to get out of the
shower.

"Your turn," Regulus mumbles, not looking much better, but clearly cleaner
and in no danger of being sick.

"Clothes?" Sirius croaks.

Regulus winces and braces his head in his hands as he settles into the open
chair beside him. "In the loo."

Sirius doesn't have the energy to thank him. He just drags himself up and
goes to have a shower. It's the absolute best thing he's ever felt, and it's also
literal Hell. He somehow feels better and worse when he gets out, but at
least he's clean. Regulus has chosen the shirt—the one he kept for eight
fucking years—and a simple pair of denims. It all fits, even if it's a bit more
snug than he'd usually go for, but he genuinely doesn't care about what he
looks like right now.

Back in the kitchen, Regulus is now the one being coddled by his best mate
and boyfriend. His head is cupped in his hands, elbows propped on the
table, and James is gently running his fingers through his damp curls while
Remus rubs in between his shoulders. Sirius doesn't have the energy to be
jealous; his main focus is making it back to his chair.
James and Remus draw away from them both, moving around to
do...things. Honestly, Sirius isn't paying attention. All he knows is that
there's eventually some medicine placed in front of him and Regulus, which
they both take, and that's about it. Sirius plants his head on the table and
doesn't resurface for quite some time, waiting for Remus and James to come
back.

His head has eased off quite a bit when there's a squeak, and then Remus
mutters, "Oh, what the fuck?"

"Why are there unbaked scones in the oven?" James asks.

"Oh, shit," Sirius garbles out, lifting his head just in time to see Regulus'
eyes snap open. "The fucking scones."

"We didn't turn the oven on," Regulus breathes out, sagging in visible relief.
"Oh, that would have been bad. Fuck."

The oven slams shut, making Sirius and Regulus both grimace in
discomfort at the same time, and James grits out, "Are you having me on?
You—you—do you know how fucking dangerous that was?! You could
have started a fire! You could have died!"

"Lay off, Prongs," Sirius complains. "We didn't. Obviously."

"That was incredibly, disastrously irresponsible," Remus snaps, sounding at
the end of his rope. "You don't attempt to fucking cook when you're pissed!
Not that pissed, especially. What if you had turned the oven on? What if
—"

"Piss off," Regulus grumbles. "We know, alright? Leave us be, you fucking
—something. I don't fucking know. Just shut up."

"If you know, then why would you do something so reckless?" Remus
retorts. "And no, we will not shut up. This place looks like a tornado blew
through it, and you're both dragging about with less life in you than corpses,
so what happened?"

"Obviously we want you two to bond, but Christ, don't do it in the most
unhealthy ways possible," James says sharply.

Sirius heaves a sigh and scrubs at the side of his face, feeling a rising pinch
of irritation take root in his chest. "I'll have you know, our bonding was
incredibly healthy and recommended by our therapist, so fuck you very
much."

"I find that incredibly hard to believe," Remus informs him, arching an
eyebrow at him.
"How would you know? You've never even been to therapy," Regulus
retorts coldly, always ruthless when hungover.

"Love," James mutters, reproach in his tone.

"Since you're both so fucking curious," Regulus bites out, glaring at them,
"our father died yesterday. We grieved. We celebrated. We got pissed and
tried to make scones. I'm sorry, are you trying to judge us for how we
handled ourselves?"

Silence falls instantly, and Sirius watches in real time as James and Remus'
demeanors change immediately. Really, Sirius knows—and Regulus also
likely knows—that their agitation came from a place of concern, but now
they're just outright concerned without any of the agitation. It's not actually
an improvement. Sirius doesn't want to be coddled because his father died;
he'd rather be coddled for his hangover, but he can't help but wonder—is
that the same thing?

"We're fine," Sirius says before Remus or James can even open their
mouths. "We, you know, dealt with it together. Make us tea and we'll tell
you about our visit with him, yeah?"

"The fucking prick," Regulus mumbles sourly.

Remus reaches out to squeeze Regulus' shoulder as he goes by to start

pulling down teacups. Meanwhile, James drops a kiss off on the top of
Sirius' head as he shuffles past, heading to put the kettle on.
And so, as Remus and James make them tea, Regulus and Sirius catch them
up on what they've missed. Predictably, neither of them take offense to not
being told anything about Orion, though they really wouldn't have a right
to. They do at least seem to sense that they can't understand certain things
the way Sirius and Regulus do. Nonetheless, Remus and James don't
hesitate to follow their lead when it comes to current opinions on the topic;
if they're hearing Orion Black slander, they're perpetuating Orion Black
slander. Sirius loves them.

Finishing half the cuppa is a feat that Sirius thinks he should get an award
for, honestly, and continuing to look at the state of the kitchen (though
James and Remus seem to have tidied a bit, because they're wonderful) is
making his headache worse, so he begs off for the inviting comfort of the
sofa. He drags Remus with him, claiming him by practically curling up
against him with his face shoved into Remus' neck, inhaling that special
smell of him, a secret just for Sirius, one he's never going to have enough
of. Something inside Sirius keens, a long drawn-out whine like a canine
whimper escaping through locked jaws, every cell in his body straining
with how badly he wants to crawl inside Remus and be with him always.

"I'd give everything to make you feel better," Remus whispers, speaking
low and soft in his ear.

"I wouldn't," Sirius admits, lifting his head to see Remus blinking at him in
surprise.

Remus nods slowly. "Suppose that makes sense, actually. I mean, even
giving up your art is—"
"No."

"What?"

Sirius leans in and kisses him, a gentle press of mouths, and Remus releases
a shuddering breath as he pulls back. With a smile, Sirius drags his thumb
over the small smattering of freckles on his cheekbone, barely visible at this
time of year, and murmurs, "You're my everything, Moony."

"But—"

"No. No, hear me out, yeah? Because art—make no mistake, I will always
love art, and I will continue to create until I physically cannot lift my hands.
But—and this is so very important—when I can't lift my hands anymore, I
will still have you right next to me. No art gallery in this world compares to
your arms, do you understand? If my hands fell off tomorrow, I would find
ways to carry on. If I didn't have you, I'm not so sure that I could. At the
end of the day, it's you. Art is in my bones, but you, Moony, you're in my
blood."

Remus makes a small, quiet sound and surges forward to kiss him, open-
mouthed and wanting, desperate about it in the way Sirius has always liked
best. Like he can't get enough. Like he could do it forever and still want
more, more, more. Sirius feels his whole frame down to the very core of
himself rattle from the reverberation of Remus' touch. He shakes with it,
gasping against Remus' mouth and curling into him.
This, this, all of this, Sirius thinks in a daze, fumbling at the side of Remus'
neck to press them closer together, feeling fingers grip his thigh, pressing in
like Remus owns the spot. God, he does. Oh, but he does. Sirius is so much,
he's always been so much, and all of him craves all of Remus.

This is what it is to taste eternity, to cup it in his hands, to cherish it.

Because art? Maybe he'll have it in his next life, maybe he won't, but
Remus is an unwavering constant. He's here in this one; he will be in all the
ones after; he was in every one before, and Sirius knows it, he knows it,
because he recognizes it. Somewhere, everywhere, nowhere. That's them.
Everything, all of it, and more. Eternity to have each other, and it's still
never going to be enough.

"Please don't shag on my sofa," Regulus says, sounding truly exhausted,

sapped entirely of energy.

"It'd serve you right," Sirius mumbles against Remus' mouth, slowly
calming, settling down again. He presses one, two, three more quick kisses
to Remus' mouth, then goes back to hiding away from the world in the
safety of Remus Lupin' side, the curve of his neck, the space between his
arm and ribs that is opened and shaped tailor-made for him.

"Come on, love," James murmurs, sounding tender, and he must guide
Regulus to the sofa as well, because Sirius can feel them settling in next to
him and Remus.
Briefly, Sirius glances up and takes in the sight of Regulus directly in
James' lap, head on his shoulder, toes tucked under his thighs. He's
breathing softly, one hand cupped to the side of James' neck, the other
twisting James' shirt in between his fingers like he used to do when he was
a small child trying to fall asleep. He looks calm, and James is just rubbing
his back, though he does press a kiss to the side of Regulus' head, his eyes
meeting Sirius' for a moment.

They look at each other. James blinks. Sirius blinks. They look away. And
that's it.

Sirius hides away in Remus again, feeling better than he has all morning.
They're fine. Sometimes being fine is just knowing that you're going to be
fine, and despite the complexities that plague him, Sirius never even doubts
it. How can he?

He has this.

Chapter End Notes

this is the LAST chapter with any real sadness to it. and im not sure if
this qualifies? does it? like, im personally not sad that orion is dead,
but it's sad that sirius and regulus had to work through it a bit. idk. one
of those complex situations, and im tired, so im not speaking
eloquently at the moment. you let me know what you thought.

but yeah, it's back to fluff from here on out.

see you all tomorrow <3

 Chapter 29
Chapter Notes

no warnings for this one!

enjoy <3
See the end of the chapter for more notes

James settles down in the ridiculously comfortable chair in Filius Flitwick's

office for the very first time. He fiddles with his hands and fingers in his lap
awkwardly, leg jumping up and down obsessively. Filius has a pendulum
swing on his desk that clicks back and forth, five marble balls hitting each
other in a soothing pattern that helps crank the tension out of James'
shoulders, slowly, over time.

"I can tell you're nervous, James," Mr. Flitwick says warmly. He's a very
warm man, as far as James can tell, all smiles and kind eyes. "There's no
need to be. Therapy isn't something you can fail at, and neither do you need
to excel at it. Think of it as a visit with a friend, if that helps."

"Thank you, Mr. Flitwick," James murmurs.

Mr. Flitwick chuckles. "Filius, please. This is a comfortable space; we can

address each other comfortably."

"Do all therapists do that?" James asks curiously. He's never heard Sirius or
Regulus address Ms. Pomfrey by her first name.
"No, I don't think so, but I imagine some do. I like to, as long as you're
comfortable with it. I'm always eager to promote an environment where we
can be entirely ourselves," Filius tells him. "This is just our first session,
and usually, I prefer to get to know one another at the start. Trade
conversation about our likes and dislikes, the people in our lives that are
important to us, our occupations and such things."

James blinks. "Oh. So, er, no 'what's wrong with me' talk just yet, then?"

"I don't think there's anything wrong with anyone," Filius declares
cheerfully. "I like to call it works in progress, because the way I see it, we
all have room for improvement!"

"Well, that's...nice," James muses. "Yeah, I like that."

"It is nice, isn't it?" Filius leans forward with a smile. "Now, let's get to
know each other, shall we?"

Getting to know Filius actually turns out to be fun. He has six adopted
children, the youngest of which has gone off to uni just last year, and he
shows James a picture of his wife that he has on his desk. They make for a
lovely couple, and there's another picture on his desk of them surrounded by
their children, all six kneeling or crouching down beside their adopted
parents to beam at the camera. It's the most diverse family photo James has
ever seen, and he's warmed by how happy they all look, united in all their
differences.
Filius has two dogs and a truly wide assortment of hobbies, and he was a
professor at a university for twelve years before he found he missed the
thrill of learning a new field and switched to become a therapist, which he's
been doing for six years now. He's only fifty-seven. He's delighted to hear
that James went to Hogwarts, as he also went to Hogwarts, much to their
shared excitement.

James tells Filius about himself as well, more than happy to chatter about
his parents, friends, and boyfriend. It takes some gentle guidance for James
to actually talk about himself, what he likes and doesn't, what he's doing for
work and school. He gets so caught up in talking that he's at complete ease
by the time the session ends, even a little disappointed that it's over. Yeah,
he thinks. Yeah, this is going to be good for me.

"I look forward to seeing you next week, James," Filius tells him sincerely
as he walks him to the door.

James beams at him. "Same to you, Filius."

After the session, James goes to meet with Sirius and Peter, since Peter has
the time-slot for lunch and Sirius makes his own schedule.

"Good day, Prongs?" Peter asks cheerfully as he slides into his seat. Sirius
is already in the queue, ordering for all of them.
"Yeah, actually," James admits. "I—I went to my first therapy session today.
Because I'm in therapy now."

Peter blinks, which is fair, considering James hasn't told anyone yet. Then,
all he says is, "Oh. Good on you, mate."

"Wormtail, you always know just what to say," James says, his face
softening. "Cheers."

"Anytime," Peter assures him easily.

James plops his chin in his hand. "And you? Good day?"

"Boring, mostly. Looking forward to the weekend."

"Still going to that concert with Aiko?"

"Yeah," Peter says, his face turning red immediately. His nose twitches like
it does when he's about to smile, and sure enough, it blooms on his face as
if he can't help it.

"How did you go from asking her out and not getting it across that you
wanted it to be a date, to going on dates with her without asking her out?"
James asks, raising his eyebrows.

Peter flicks his straw-paper at him. "It's not a date."

"It is! It absolutely is, Pete!"

"No, I—"

"He's right," Sirius breaks in, dropping off their food as he dumps himself
into the chair next to Peter, who looks at him in betrayal. "Oh, don't look at
me like I'm a traitor. The only traitor at this table is you."

"How am I a traitor?" Peter asks with a huff.

Sirius waves a plastic fork under his nose. "Because you're sabotaging your
own happiness out of fear. Bloody hell, Wormtail, you've fancied the girl
for ages, and this is a date! You know what you do? You go to the concert
with her, and when the music swells, you just grab her and snog her like her
life depends on it."

"Er, maybe don't do that," James argues warily. "Life isn't a movie, Pads.
You can't just go about kissing people as you like. At least ask, Peter."
"As if she's not so wound up waiting on him that she'd be anything other
than relieved. At this point, I think she's going to snog him," Sirius says
with a snort.

Peter sighs. "Now that would solve all my problems."

"You could solve all your problems," James insists. "This is what you do,
yeah? You go have your little date, and then you both go back to your
building, and before you part ways for the night...you just tell her you'd like
to kiss her. If she's alright with it, there you have it, then."

"And if not?" Peter mutters.

"Oh, bugger off," Sirius scoffs, rolling his eyes. "There's no world in which
she isn't alright with it. You can't see it, but she's absolutely smitten with
you."

"He's right," James agrees. "She literally thinks you're the funniest person in
any room."

"Which is just factually untrue," Sirius declares, pressing his hand to his
chest, "because that honor goes to me."

James rolls his eyes. "Don't listen to him, mate. You're plenty hilarious; it's
just that I beat you out by a small margin. Sirius isn't funny at all,
obviously."

"You take that back right now," Sirius fake-gasps.

"I—you know, I do. I tried it and it immediately felt wrong. You're very
funny and I love you."

"I love you, too."

"Neither of you are funny," Peter says flatly.

"Pete?" James asks, wounded.

Sirius gazes at him sadly. "You don't mean that."

"We were born into this world to be a source of amusement just for you,"
James murmurs gravely, "and you're saying we've failed to fulfill our
purpose?"

"Then what's the point?!" Sirius cries, slamming his hand down to the table,
making multiple people stare at them. He, of course, pays them no mind.
"What's the point of living, of existing, if it's not to make you laugh, Peter
Pettigrew?"
"Hold on, wait, Sirius. Do you see that?" James makes a big show of
squinting and leaning in, pointing at Peter's face. "I think… That's a smile,
that is."

"Stop it," Peter hisses through quiet chuckles, shoulders shaking as he

reaches up to try and hide the way he's dangerously close to losing it.

"Never," Sirius announces gleefully. He reaches out and sticks his finger in
Peter's ear, making him squirm away and finally crack, busting out
laughing. "Ah, success. What's funny, Peter? Hm? Is it us? Is that what's
making you laugh?"

James holds up his hand, and Sirius immediately smacks his own to it while
Peter wheezes like he's never found anything funnier. "Yeah, we've still got
it."

Lunch goes well, the three of them chatting easily, always effortless and
with effort together like three peas in a pod. It's a lazy mixture of current
events and memories, a table full of laughter and good company. James is
having a very good day.

When he makes it home, his day gets even better, because the package he
ordered is waiting for him. Sirius is very curious, but James hoards it like a
dragon with treasure, ridiculously giddy like a little kid. He rushes off to his
room to open it and isn't surprised that Sirius wanders in less than five
minutes later. He plops down on the bed, eyeing him expectantly.
"These look advanced," Sirius comments. "What are they?"

"Contact bracelets," James explains, staring down at the black box in his
hands. It has a white outline of two hands reaching towards each other,
fingers nearly touching—Michelangelo's design for The Creation of Adam,
specifically. "It's for Regulus. Or, us, really. For when we're not together,
we can just touch this part here, and it lights up to let the other know that
we have. So, when I'm thinking of him, I can let him know."

Sirius raises his eyebrows. "Really?"

"There's charger ports, so we can keep them charged while we're sleeping,"
James continues, pulling out one of the bracelets to hold it up. "We can tap
it multiple times, too, so we can come up with little coded messages.
Figured he'd like that, being as secretive as he is. Oh! Oh, and look, I was
able to customize a design for the band. Mine is a little storm cloud with
rain and his is the sun. Isn't that cute?"

"That's...honestly gag-worthy, mate," Sirius tells him, but his lips curl up.
"Very sweet. He'll love it, you know, especially with all his abandonment
issues and such."

James hums. "Well, now he'll always have me with him."

"Are you giving it to him today?" Sirius asks.

"Yeah, if he's free. I'm—I plan on telling him about therapy. Do you reckon
he'll want to go flying today after work?"

"How am I meant to know, Prongs?"

"Not sure, really. Some brother connection, I suppose," James muses with a
lopsided grin.

Sirius snorts. "That's not how it works. He wouldn't really have

abandonment issues if that was the case, would he? It'd be convenient,
though."

"Wouldn't it? It'd be neat. Shame. Did you see him today?"

"Yeah. I stopped in and pestered him for a bit. He really has charmed Ms.
Delby, you know, the bastard. But he seemed to be in a good mood today, as
much as he ever is."

"Damn. If only we had a connection, then you could have checked for me
then."

"Well, you know, there's this brilliant thing in the modern world where you
can message people, did you know that? So, what you do is, you open up
your—"

James reaches out and shoves Sirius' face gently away while he barks a
laugh. "Oh, piss off. Leave me be, yeah?"

"Fine, yes, alright." Sirius holds his hands up in surrender and drags himself
up from the bed, ruffling James' hair before begging off to go have a
shower.

Can I take you on a date? James messages Regulus, not even five minutes
later, because yes, maybe Sirius has a point.

Regulus doesn't respond for a bit—he's working—so James spends a few

hours doing boring, yet necessary adult things. He gets caught up,
admittedly, so he misses Regulus' reply by twenty minutes, which makes
him frown. See, this is why the bracelets are brilliant; there's no missing
that. And it's just… James isn't sure why, but it's more intimate, in a way.

Whatever you want, Regulus replies, and James breaks out into a broad grin
immediately.

"Heading off?" Sirius asks in visible amusement an hour and a half later
when James comes skipping through the flat, satchel hanging from his arm.

"Yeah," James replies. "I'm surprised you're not off to go pester Moony."
Sirius hums. "He had plans after work. Didn't say much about them, but
he's coming here when he's done."

"Ah, in that case, I might just stay with Regulus tonight."

"Honestly? Probably for the best."

James shakes his head with a smile and continues on, calling over his
shoulder, "Don't scream the roof down, Padfoot!"

"No promises!" Sirius shouts back. "Hugs, love, and kisses!"

"Mwah!" James says, making a smacking noise with his mouth right before
he shuts the door behind him and locks it.

Less than two hours later, the sun is hanging low in the sky, bleeding a hazy
orange that warms the horizon. It's especially beautiful from the perspective
at the top of a particularly high building, which James gets to see firsthand
as he happily drags Regulus onto the roof they're very familiar with by now.
It's been too long since they've done this.

"It's a good day for it," Regulus comments as he follows James up onto the
platform, and he's not wrong. It's a really, really nice day out, shockingly
enough.

"Isn't it?" James agrees, pleased by this. He gently sits down his satchel and
goes to gather the harnesses. "Christ, I've missed this with you. Why didn't
we do it sooner?"

"Well, we've been doing a lot of shagging," Regulus reminds him, amused,
and James makes a low noise of approval.

They have been, in fact, doing a lot of shagging. It's only been two and half
weeks since Regulus showed up to make him porridge, and in those two
and a half weeks, they've been quite insatiable. They've shagged so much
that James has discovered new and exciting ways to shag, up to and
including the largest, now-conquered cock he'd been wary of before. As it
turns out, he can handle it, actually. Oh, and they've found that getting
drunk and sloppy on purpose can be a lot of fun for them, particularly in the
shagging department.

In other words, James is having the time of his life. It goes beyond just the
shagging, too. They've been spending a lot of time together in other ways—
basically any way they can, really. In the aftermath of Orion dying, Regulus
was notably more emotional, and also distant, and also clingy, and also sort
of all over the place for a bit. But, well, with time and support from James,
Remus, and Sirius especially, he's settled again. Throughout all of this, he's
been around James as much as he's able, as much as James will let him, and
it's not like James will ever stop him, so it works out. In the last two and
half weeks, there's only been around five or so nights where they weren't
sleeping together in either of their beds.
So, yes, James is thriving. He knows he's meant to accept sadness into his
life, but he's also just really fucking happy.

"We could...you know," James says suggestively, pairing this with kneeling
down in front of Regulus to start clipping straps around his thighs. He raises
his eyebrows and purposefully slides his hand up Regulus' inner thigh.

Regulus' eyebrows shoot up. "While we're flying?"

"I'm not sure if that's possible, honestly, but when we reach the other side?"
James murmurs. "Right after?"

"I mean…" Regulus bites his lip, his face flushed already. He clears his
throat. "Whatever you want, James."

James grins and starts clipping faster.

Flying is always a rush of pure adrenaline. There's nothing like that drop off
the platform and the sail of the zipline across the sky, except, perhaps, the
touch of Regulus Black. Flying with Regulus almost overloads James' brain
every time. He's so fucking lovely, it's insane, and James is lightheaded just
looking at him. He's always looking at him when they fly together, because
no other sight could compare.
Shagging post-flight is… Well, James is bound and determined for it to
become tradition, because fucking hell. It's a bright collision of the trill of
flying with being swept in Regulus' storm. James is fucking obliterated, and
then he's genuinely useless for a bit afterwards, dazed where he's sprawled
out on the blankets they always keep stored here. James is pleased to note
that Regulus is equally blown away.

"That was genuinely one of my more brilliant ideas," James declares

eventually, once he finds his voice again.

"Yes," Regulus agrees immediately. "Yeah, it was. Absolutely fucking

brilliant, James. You're so smart."

"Thank you, love," James says, grinning stupidly up at the sky.

Regulus releases a sigh of pure satisfaction. "We're going to have to do that

again."

"Mhm," James confirms. He props up on his elbows to fling his hand out
and drag his satchel closer, thankful he didn't forget it on the other roof.
"Hungry? I stopped by to get us snacks, just to keep us from starving until
we have supper."

"What'd you get?" Regulus asks, turning to lift himself up as well, still
leaning over against James' side.
"Crisps, mostly. Some chocolate. Oh, and I got us one of those little
containers of fruit to share. It's just sliced strawberries and apples, though,"
James tells him, drawing it all out.

"A balanced meal," Regulus teases, darting out with one hand to grab a bag
of crisps before sprawling out again.

"Not everyone can be a chef," James mutters.

"Not a chef. Yet."

"Exactly. Yet. In two year's time, you'll have your own restaurant, you know.
I'll get free food, obviously."

"Mm, no," Regulus says.

James pops open the fruit, frowning. "No?"

"Sorry, but no. You'll pay just like everyone else. Well, except for Remus.
He'll eat for free forever."

"Because you pretended to—"

"Yes, because I pretended to poison him," Regulus admits with a sigh, and
James' lips curl up.

"Does he know that?"

"I haven't mentioned it, but he'll find out when I actually get around to
opening my place, I suppose."

"I like that," James decides. "It's a kind thing to do."

Regulus smiles at him, a soft thing, so lovely. "I suppose it is, yeah. You've
inspired me, you know."

"Have I? How so?"

"I have a plan for guests who don't know exactly what they want off the
menu. A special they can order where they'll get a dish based on the color
they're wearing—obviously with allergies and personal tastes kept in mind,
of course."

"Wait, really?" James blurts out, eyes widening. "Regulus, that's—that's

really fucking amazing! So many people go out for food and don't know
what they want. That's brilliant."
"You did it first, technically," Regulus points out. "I'll credit you, of course.
Call it The Sun Special."

James pretty much melts. "Oh, that's so sweet. You're so lovely. I love that, I
love you, come here."

Regulus smiles and tips his face up so James can kiss him, which they get
carried away with for a bit, admittedly. The crisps and fruit are forgotten for
each other instead, which is just as well. James is having the best day.

"Are you?" Regulus mumbles against his mouth, laughing softly, and oh,
James must have said that out loud.

"I am," James admits as he pulls away. He looks at Regulus for a long
moment, then takes a deep breath. "I—I don't always, though. Have the best
day, I mean. Sometimes…"

"James?" Regulus asks, eyebrows furrowing as he stares at him, clearly

picking up on the shift in tone.

"I'm not always happy," James blurts out, then immediately grimaces. "I
mean, I am happy. I'm so happy, love. I'm just… It's just that I'm not always
a happy person like I pretend I am, I suppose. I don't like it, being sad,
which I imagine no one does, but I've never really—I don't really let myself
be sad. Like I have to be the happy one, you know. I have to make people
laugh, brighten their days, be that source of constant support and positivity,
but… But sometimes I'm just—sad."

Regulus reaches out to cup his cheek, frowning. "That's alright, James. God
knows I'd be the last person in the world to judge you for being sad. You
can be. You don't—you don't have to be 'the happy one', or even pretend to
be. You're more than what you do for others."

"I talked to Sirius about it. Cried a bit," James mumbles with a sheepish
smile. "He was good about it, you know. Really very good. And he—he
suggested I see someone. Professionally."

"Mm, well, shocking as it may be, I'm something of an advocate for therapy
myself these days."

"With good reason, I've found. Sirius got a recommendation from Ms.
Pomfrey, and I had my first session today. His name is Filius Flitwick. I
adore him already."

"That doesn't surprise me," Regulus says, amused. His face softens. "I'm
glad, then. You can—well, obviously you don't have to, but you can always
talk to me about it. About anything, really. And, when you're sad, I'm here
for that, too."

"I just—I don't want you to think I'm not happy with you. I am. I'm so
fucking happy with you, love. Never doubt it. Never doubt that I'm—"
"James, James, I don't. Listen to me, I don't. My place in your life is not
dependent on your emotional state, or the things you can do for me. I love
you, regardless of if you're happy or feeling down, whether you have the
energy to run laps around the world or you can't bring yourself to get out of
bed. You told me—do you remember when you told me that you were with
me, you wanted to be with me, and it wasn't some trick? That's exactly how
I feel. You never have to be anything other than you, good days and bad
days and all."

James swallows thickly. "Well, ironically enough, it makes me very happy

that you've just said that."

"I can see that," Regulus says fondly, lifting up to press a gentle kiss to his
mouth. He pulls back with a sigh. "Maybe in therapy, you'll learn to be a
little more selfish. I think you can stand to be more selfish occasionally. I
think it'd be good for you—and me, honestly, because I'm so very willing to
be something you're a little selfish about."

"Mm, is that right?" James murmurs, leaning down to shake his hair in
Regulus' face and rub his head against his neck and cheek like a cat,
listening to Regulus laugh. James captures the sound in memory to cherish
forever, just for himself and no one else, something to be selfish about.

Regulus pushes his head up and kisses him again, a quick press of mouths
before he mumbles, "You're ridiculous."
"I know." James grins at him and draws away, reaching out for his satchel
again. "I have something for you. Well, for us both, technically."

"Oh?" Regulus squints and sits up, watching him curiously.

James perhaps gets a little excited, so he's mostly just rambling as he pulls
out the bracelets and explains the purpose of them. He puts Regulus' on
first, distracted in his continuous stream of words, and then he puts his own
so he can demonstrate how they work. He presses his finger to the bracelet
three times, watching Regulus' light up immediately in response. One, two,
three. I. Love. You.

Grinning, James looks up, pleased with himself, only to find Regulus
staring at the bracelet that sits just above the one with the trans flag, even to
this day. His eyes are wide and a little glassy, but it's his expression that
really makes James' stomach swoop. He's all thawed out, fractured open
like light streaming through parting clouds of rain, a juxtaposition of
emotion that makes James' heart threaten to beat right out of his chest.

Regulus is so still that it's like he's impersonating a statue, but one carved
and frozen into a state of great emotion. There's devotion there, cutting into
the pinched wrinkle of his brows and the hollow of his cheeks, his mouth
parted. He's beautiful. He is so, so heartbreakingly beautiful that it's hard to
look at him, and even harder to look away.

If Regulus were actually a statue, one of those chiseled with precision and
put on display, James knows it would be a famous attraction. People would
travel far and wide to simply fall to their knees before marble, willing to
bleed over it if they thought that would bring him to life, so in awe that
they'd worship him, form religions around him, and kill anyone who ever
dared suggest he be toppled over.

But James? Oh, James sees past that. Far past that. He sees past the ideal
that Regulus is a statue of the marble variety, untouchable, easily broken if
not handled with care. No, Regulus is different. He's bronze—the kind of
statue that turns gold the more he's touched, a good luck charm for the
people who pass him by every day. Durable and trusty. A monument.

The truth is—the real truth is—Regulus is rain and whipping winds,
mystery and familiar, angelic and man. He is made of stardust and
something cosmic, but he is also home.

"You got me the sun," Regulus breathes out, his thumb gently sweeping
across the little design of the sun on the band. "You gave me the sun to
carry every day. Made sure I'd always be able to reach out and touch it.
Touch you."

James softens. "Yeah, love, I did."

"Oh," Regulus whispers, and then his head snaps up seconds before he's
scrambling forward to practically climb James, kissing him with the force
of an incoming hurricane.

Grunting, James lands on his back, automatically clutching at him,

instinctively pulling him closer, always wanting him closer, as close as he
can get. Regulus doesn't let him up for a long time, but James isn't trying to
go anywhere else anyway. As always, he's happy to be caught in Regulus'
storm.

Remus is going to take back everything bad he's ever said, thought, or
assumed about therapy in the abstract.

Newt Scamander runs his therapy sessions with puppies. Cute, fluffy
puppies. Four, to be exact. Two of them are brown, one is golden-haired,
and the last is solid black with a tiny patch of white on the forehead.
They're all females named Inky, Blinky, Pinky, and Clyde—four ghosts
from Pac-Man, Mr. Scamander informs him. Remus is in love.

Remus is also finding it very hard to feel uncomfortable, or angry, or

vulnerable when he has four puppies falling all over themselves in his lap.
They are so small. In the back of his mind, he can recognize that this is a
tactic of some sort, but he hardly cares, because it works. It's all about
putting something soft and tiny in front of him to invoke simultaneous
feelings of protection and fondness; the perfect paradox to crack the code
and find that safe space where he can feel strong and gentle at the same
time without any of the downsides to either.

In short, Mr. Scamander is a fucking genius.

"And would you say that it helps you to bottleneck your feelings on the
matter?" Mr. Scamander asks quietly, because they've been talking. Oh,
they've really been talking.

It's so strange how this is really, genuinely working for Remus. He's sitting
on the floor next to a man he's only just met today, four puppies crawling all
over him, and he's never felt as open and happy about it as he does right
now. Maybe that's just the magic of puppies; maybe it's the fact that Mr.
Scamander has a way about himself that makes Remus feel like he's writing
a letter no one will ever read. In the kindest way possible that Remus could
ever mean it, Mr. Scamander feels like a diary.

"Probably not," Remus admits, helping one of the puppies—Inky, he thinks

—back into his lap. She'd tumbled out and immediately started climbing
back up. Remus really appreciates that he doesn't have to look at Mr.
Scamander as he talks, and that he can distract himself with the puppies
while he opens up and reveals things in the background.

"You said that you have this insatiable thirst for more out of life," Mr.
Scamander murmurs. "Have you considered that the more you're after is
just the parts of yourself you repress?"

"Like I don't feel whole because I don't let myself be whole?" Remus
muses, lips curling up despite the topic because Clyde pounces at his hand
and starts chewing on one of his fingers, tail wagging furiously.

"We are more than the sum of our parts, Remus, but we gain nothing from
letting those parts remain broken apart and unfelt. Feeling is the one lesson
in life that can never be taught, because there are no guidelines for it, only
that to not let yourself feel at all is worse than feeling too much. There's
nothing more tragic to me than those that attempt to mute themselves; be
loudly you."

"My range of volume frightens me."

Mr. Scamander hums. "You fear the force of yourself, but you crave it all
the same. It bubbles up, I imagine. Repressing it, suppressing it—those are
just defense mechanisms. But, if I may ask, what are you defending
yourself from?"

"I…" Remus' eyebrows furrow, but his usual discomfort with something
like this can't exist, because Blinky is attempting to crawl up the front of his
chest and shove her nose under his chin in a way that's fairly reminiscent of
Sirius. He gives her a little boost so she can settle into the curve of his neck,
tail flying as she licks his hair. "I—I honestly don't know. It's just always
been this way. This is just who I am."

"There's no reason you can think of?"

"I mean—well, I suppose I...started when I was young. Being like this, I
mean. I told you about being very ill and how my parents handled it. Maybe
from there?"

"It's not an easy thing, experiencing something like that, especially for a
child. Feeling a sense of rejection when you've done nothing wrong.
Loneliness flays the soul, doesn't it? Strips it piece-by-piece until it feels
like there's nothing left to lose, and in a way, reaching that point can seem
relieving."

"Yeah," Remus mumbles, patting Pinky's head gently. She's asleep in the
crook of his legs while Clyde and Inky crawl all over her. "Yeah, exactly.
So perhaps I… Perhaps it's just fear of rejection. Because I—I was rejected
when I was only a child by the people who were never supposed to, and it's
not—they never mistreated me, really, but—"

"Neglect is mistreatment, Remus," Mr. Scamander says gently.

Remus frowns. "I—yes, but I mean, they never abused me. Mum tried her
best, you know. She did. I just needed more."

"More of her, or more of yourself so she could try with all of you?" Mr.
Scamander asks.

"I was scared," Remus whispers, turning his head to bury his face in
Blinky's fur. She licks his temple, and it's the only reason he doesn't cry.
After a moment, he drags his head back up. "I was scared that I would show
all of me, and she wouldn't try. Because—because I think the disconnect
between us was partially my fault, too, and it's too late to do anything about
it. She's already gone."

"You don't need to blame yourself. You were a child, and the mistakes she
made were mistakes. I want to reframe this in a way that I think will help
you heal. You say that she tried, that she loved you in her own way, even
though you needed—and deserved—more; it's also true that you didn't
allow yourself to be all of you. We can draw the conclusion that she loved
every part of you that you granted her, and this stands to reason that she
would love every part of you that you were afraid to," Mr. Scamander tells
him. "It's not too late to believe that."

"Oh," Remus says softly, feeling as if Mr. Scamander just reached out and
ruffled through his pages, finding the ones stuck together and gently prying
them apart. They creak along the spine, aching. It hurts. It feels terribly
good.

Remus would probably cry at this point, but Inky springs up and tries to
stick her tongue up his nose, which draws a choked laugh out of him. He
ducks his head down and lets her sniff all over his face, and Clyde is quick
to scramble over and shove her nose into his hair. Blinky seems upset that
her sisters are taking his attention, so she slips down from his shoulder and
tries to get in between them and him. Fondly, he thinks of her as Sirius Jr.

Mr. Scamander lets him stay quiet, sitting on all that they've talked about,
playing with the puppies and feeling much better for it. And then he says,
"We've run over, just a bit, so we'll have to continue this next week. I have
to get these girls back home, in any case."

"Are they yours?" Remus asks.

"No, not mine." Mr. Scamander groans as he hauls himself up off the floor.
Remus had thought it strange that they were sitting on a thick rug for their
therapy session, but he finds that he's appreciative now. It felt more casual,
as well as hidden, like being lower to the ground is where it's safest to let
secrets slip. Besides, the puppies are down here. "I partner with a shelter, as
I'm an advocate for therapy paired with animals. They really do make
everything better, you know."

Remus laughs softly and starts handing off the puppies one by one as Mr.
Scamander takes them off to their crates. "I can't actually argue with you.
What about people who don't like dogs, or they're allergic? You asked me,
but…"

"Oh, I have a wide variety of animals I use. Birds, cats, lizards, even the
occasional snake or two, if you'd believe it. I've even used a spider once.
You'd be surprised what people take comfort in," Mr. Scamander admits,
amused.

"I'm fine with puppies," Remus blurts out quickly, pushing to his feet and
brushing his hands off.

Mr. Scamander flashes him a warm smile. "Yes, I've noticed. You'll see
them again next week."

"Oh, well now I have to come back," Remus jokes, and Mr. Scamander
chuckles. "Honestly, if I could, I'd just take them all with me."

"No pets?"
"No, sir. I—don't really have the time between work and school and such."

"Ah, that's unfortunate. I highly recommend pets, generally, if there's a way

you can have them and properly care for them. I find it helps when there's
more than one in a household, but you live alone?" Mr. Scamander muses,
turning to lead him towards the door.

"At the moment, yes. I—well, I suspect I'll eventually move in with my
boyfriend, so I don't know," Remus says.

"Not a fan of pets, is he?"

"I've never actually asked."

"You could," Mr. Scamander points out.

"Can't hurt," Remus mumbles, shooting a glance towards the crates for one
more glimpse of the puppies. Sirius would get a dog with him, wouldn't he?
Probably.

Mr. Scamander sees him off, and Remus finds himself stunned by how not
awful that was. Christ, puppies really do make everything better, don't they?
He needs one.
Do you like puppies? Remus messages Sirius.

Am I a fucking monster? Of course I like puppies. Who DOESN'T like

puppies, Remus? Sirius responds.

Well, that's good to know. He feels like he knew that already, honestly, but
it doesn't hurt to have the confirmation.

Maybe it's the revelation that Mr. Scamander has granted him, the piece of
his mother he's given back to Remus, but his day feels warped and out of
focus—but in a good way. Open. Bigger. More breathable, like he can
breathe himself into it, and the lungs of the world will just inhale, inhale,
inhale him with ease before one big exhale that rattles his whole frame.

Because, really, it does come down to the simplicity of the statement he

made. He doesn't feel whole because he doesn't let himself be whole. What
more can he find if he won't be more of himself, if he won't even fucking
try? Who will reject him now? Not Sirius. Not Regulus, or James, or Peter,
or Lily. He knows that better than he knows himself.

Remus would like to know himself, he thinks. It's such a kind thought he
offers about himself that he hardly knows what to do with it; he's rarely so
kind to himself like this. But he can't help but think about that child—the
one who was afraid of more and still so desperately needed it—and he feels
like there's something gentling in him, the same sort of feeling he had for
the puppies, the need to protect and the need to be tender. What is pride in
the face of your inner child?
It doesn't take long to make it to Sirius and James' flat. He takes the tube,
then just walks the rest of the way, letting his mind settle from his time with
Mr. Scamander. His day so far has put him in a pensive mood, not solemn
and not pleased either. Mostly just curiously calm. He thinks that therapy is
going to end up being very good for him.

As soon as Sirius opens the door, he grins. "Well, hello, Moony. You
beautiful bastard, just look at you. Hi, I love you."

Remus feels himself break into a soft smile, helpless to do anything else
when Sirius is being...Sirius. Remus finds it tragic that Sirius doesn't get to
experience himself the way Remus gets to experience him. He wishes he
could reflect it back on Sirius, that same feeling, but he doesn't know how.

He knows he's a reserved person. Quiet in his affection, careful with who he
opens up to, even awkward at times with sharing how he feels. For Sirius,
he tries his absolute best to give all that he has, and he thinks he does alright
for the most part, especially in privacy. Sirius isn't a reserved person in
some ways; he's loud in his affection, and he'll bloom like a flower in the
spring about certain parts of himself. Yet, he is a reserved person in other
ways; he keeps some things locked away and hidden from even himself
sometimes, and he often can't express how he feels simply because he can't
figure out what he's actually feeling.

They've found their ways to make these things work, to adapt to each
other's needs and their own, to be aware of what they give and take from
one another.
The thing is, Sirius has one thing he does with ease—and that's love Remus.
He does so loudly, and quietly. He does it where people can see, and when
no one is looking. He loves Remus so openly, so shamelessly, so
purposefully that there's no denying what he feels. It's effortless, the way
Sirius loves him, and he still tries so very hard at it. Remus sometimes feels
full from it, so satisfied from Sirius' love that he hardly needs to even eat.
He could survive on it, he knows; maybe that's why he survived when he
was young and so very close to death, because this is what was waiting for
him.

After all, Sirius loves Remus in every way imaginable. He tells him all the
time. He calls him beautiful, draws him just to draw him, touches him just
to know he's there. He lights up every time Remus enters a room, drawn to
him like a needle points north on a compass. He does it like it's natural,
even though Remus knows that he's not the easiest person in the world to
love, no matter how easy Sirius makes it look.

"I love you, too," Remus says softly, and then he steps into the flat to
capture Sirius' face in his hands to drag him into a kiss.

Sirius tips forward into the kiss eagerly with an earnest noise of delight,
which could have something to do with the fact that Remus is snogging him
in a not-entirely-appropriate manner, with intent, almost as if he plans to
shag Sirius right here and now. It helps bolster his confidence, honestly,
because Sirius is curling into him with muffled sounds of encouragement.

As soon as they break apart, Sirius is gasping out, "Fucking hell, Remus,
what was that for?"
"Because I adore you. Because I can have you in every way possible, in
every life possible, and I would still want more. Because you are electric;
you are the current of energy that shocked me to life," Remus tells him,
keeping a firm hand on the side of his head so he can't pull away. Not that
Sirius is trying to put any distance between them, mind. He looks fucking
overjoyed to be here, to hang off every word Remus says to him. "I love
you, Sirius. Simply and with all our peculiar complexities, I love you. I
can't even begin to explain how very fortunate I feel, how very thankful I
am, that you turned around that day in the bookshop and decided to talk to
me. I was instantly enchanted by you, enamored with that grin of yours,
curious about all the thoughts in your head, and I found it inexplicably
necessary to know you, and to have you."

"I knew I was going to be stupid about you, just from that first glimpse, and
I thought—I knew it would be worth it," Sirius whispers, biting his bottom
lip to try and stifle his smile. "I was right. Christ, it's so worth it."

Remus has to kiss him again, not as deeply this time, quicker as he pulls
away. Sirius sways into him, his breath hitching, and Remus rocks him back
to stare into his eyes. For a moment, that's all they're doing, looking at each
other, and nothing exists. This is forever caught in amber, one moment
frozen in place with no outside interference, the eternity they've trapped
between them.

"You're beautiful, you know," Remus whispers, watching as Sirius' eyes

light up, dewy with delight.

"Keep saying sweet things to me," Sirius whispers back.

"I'll try, but I don't think I know how," Remus admits, caressing his thumb
across Sirius' cheek. "Personally, I don't know very much for certain, but of
the few things I do, one of them is that I love you, and I've always loved
you, likely in countless lives we don't know the details of and undoubtedly
in many more we haven't lived yet—but I'm in no rush to get to those,
because I'm happy to live and love every moment with you in this one."

Sirius bites his lip, shifting around, and then he fists his hand in the front of
Remus' sweater before he fully just snatches Remus further into the flat. He
sounds breathless as he drags Remus into his room and announces, "Oh
god, I have to suck your cock now. I absolutely have to suck your cock
now."

"Makes sense," Remus says, lips twitching, and Sirius releases a groan like
he's dying before promptly hitting his knees. One of his more dramatic
moments, honestly, but you know, Remus is in full support.

"Remus, I want a new tattoo," Sirius informs him a little under an hour
later, when they're sprawled in bed together, lost in lazily touching each
other just to touch.

"Mm, you should. What do you want and where?"

"All the phases of the moon down my spine."

Remus cracks open one eye. His heart flutters in his chest, a tiny little skip.
"Padfoot…"

"Do you hate the idea?" Sirius asks softly. "You told me I couldn't get your
name on my chest, so I want what represents you on my back. Because,
well, you must think it's reckless and foolish, but you're under my skin as it
is, and you always will be, so what's the harm in you being on it, too?"

"Tattoos are permanent. Well, mostly."

"No, no, I know. But tattoos are… I started getting them as, like, proof of
control over my life, a newfound freedom I had when I left my family. It
wasn't just reckless rebellion, you know; well, a small bit, but not just that.
It's—it's me, really. A sense of ownership over myself and my body, and I
want you there. You belong there."

Remus' heart does some sort of gravity-defying flip when he looks at Sirius
Black and realizes he gets to see this part of him, the man behind the
curtain, the folded-away reasons he so rarely allows anyone else to know.
They'll think him reckless, think him a fool blitzing through the world with
no sense of precaution, but everything he does has meaning.

"Lovely, now I have to suck your cock," Remus mumbles, shifting around
to get started doing just that.

"So, so I take it that's a yes, then?" Sirius asks, his breath hitching as Remus
starts kissing a path down his chest. His hands sink into Remus' hair.
"Because I just thought—I mean, you belong with me, and you always will
be then, and I—I want you with me. I really—I—oh, oh, that's a yes. That's
definitely a yes. Fucking—"

Sirius isn't really coherent for a bit after that.

Another hour later finds them curled towards one another like opposing
parenthesis. Sirius' hair is a mess, and his face is still flushed, eyes bright
and hazy with satisfaction. He's grinning lazily, one hand resting under his
cheek, the other gently tracing Remus' features where he lays across from
him. A soft touch over the curve of his eyebrow, down the line of his nose,
over the cupid's bow of his lip, then back again over and over.

Remus has both hands tucked up under his cheek, and he's more than alright
with lying here and basking in the simple perfection of Sirius' touch. He
feels satisfied just looking at him, and at the same time, he can't get enough
of it.

It's mental, really. This charge between them. Remus swears sometimes that
he can just reach out and touch it. He can genuinely feel it, the way Sirius
affects him, that unexplainable thing that draws them closer together. Like
magnets, like gravity, like the moon controls the tide and lightning splits the
sky open in a blazing flash of energy.

"I saw puppies today," Remus murmurs, talking low and soft because it
feels like they're in a bubble, a pocket of eternity curated by them just for
them. "Four of them named Inky, Blinky, Pinky, and Clyde after the Pac-
Man ghosts."
"Oh, that's brilliant," Sirius blurts out, startled. "I love that. Where did you
see them?"

Remus hesitates, then blows out a deep breath. "Regulus pointed out to me
that—that I have some things I...struggle with, regardless of the good things
in my life. Pride and repression and other such things. He sort of demanded
that I go to therapy, and I was resistant, but he was right. I told him I would
try, so he got a recommendation from Ms. Pomfrey, which led me to my
first session with Newt Scamander today, who believes in pairing therapy
with animals."

"Lucky," Sirius hisses, dropping his hand to push up on his elbow, pouting.
"I want to play with puppies during therapy!"

"I—" Remus cuts himself off and huffs a laugh. "That's all you have to say,
Sirius?"

Sirius blinks, then frowns. "Oh, right. Obviously I'm happy for you,
sweetheart. Did it go well?"

"I mean, I think it went extremely well, shockingly."

"Mm, suppose it'd have to. Hard to go wrong when there's puppies, I
imagine."
"It made it so much easier," Remus admits, and Sirius smiles at him.
"You're not upset that I didn't tell you?"

"No? Of course not," Sirius says, like that should be obvious. He blinks
again. "Why would I be upset about you seeking help if you need it?
Besides, that'd be very hypocritical of me, wouldn't it? I'm in therapy, and
it's not as if I was eager to tell anyone about it, especially in the beginning."

Remus feels his face soften. "I feel like a bit of a prick for making it out like
it's—it's a bad thing, or a weakness, because I don't think that about you and
Reg. I'm actually very proud of you both for it."

"You should be proud of you, too," Sirius tells him, reaching out to poke
Remus on the end of his nose. "I know it's not always easy. But I think…
Well, I think it's worth it. I've found it helpful, in any case."

"Mr. Scamander made me feel better about my mum," Remus mumbles,

swallowing thickly.

Sirius hums. "That's good. I'm glad. Anything else?"

"He said loneliness flays the soul until it feels like there's nothing left, and
that nothing can sometimes be a relief."
"Do you think so?"

"Yeah," Remus says slowly, pensively. "He said something else, something
I think you'll like. Be loudly you."

"I do like that," Sirius confirms with a grin.

Remus' lips curl up. "I knew you would. I can't say how therapy will go for
me in the future, but I—I think it's going to be good. And, well, puppies."

"I'm so jealous," Sirius mutters, but there's humor in his eyes, and he cranes
forward to kiss Remus gently. He's still doing so when he mumbles against
his mouth. "You're doing just fine, Moony. I'm proud of you."

"Thank you," Remus mumbles back, then slips his tongue in between the
seam of Sirius' lips just to hear him moan.

When Sirius pulls away a few minutes later, breathing heavier than before,
he gasps out, "Fucking hell, Remus, your mouth."

"What about it?"

"I'm obsessed with it. I want you to swallow me whole. I want to curl up in
your molars. You'll drive me to madness before my family's curse ever
will."

"There's no family curse," Remus says, exasperated. "It's just mental illness,
Sirius."

"I—well, Christ, don't pull your punches," Sirius grumbles.

Remus chuckles and leans in to kiss the wrinkle between Sirius' eyebrows.
"Sorry. I didn't mean for it to sound bad. There's nothing wrong with you."

"Just my many imperfections," Sirius says.

"I love your imperfections," Remus assures him, and Sirius' face twitches,
slowly forming into a smile as his cheeks burn red. He turns and buries his
face into his pillow, which is rather adorable of him, actually. The muffled
shout that follows is equally amusing. "Liked that, did you?"

"You'll kill me," Sirius declares, lifting his head to gaze at him softly. "My
heart is fighting so hard to get out of my chest. Let it rest, Remus, please."

"No," Remus replies with a mild smile.

Sirius chews on a smile, then shuffles over to practically dump himself over
on Remus, curling into him. "This is a good life for us, don't you think?
Don't know about all the rest, but this one is my favorite. We're living our
happily ever after."

"Are we?" Remus asks fondly, lifting his arm and shifting around so he can
gently card his fingers through Sirius' hair, taking care to remove tangles.
"No one really goes into much detail about what happily ever afters are.
We're just meant to know. I didn't, before you. I do now. It's this, isn't it?"

"Yeah, I'd say so," Sirius agrees.

Remus closes his eyes and breathes out, "I don't have to miss you
anymore."

"Of course not," Sirius whispers. "I'm right here."

"I love you, you know."

"I love you, too. I can't even begin to express it properly, as there aren't
enough words in any language, but I truly do."

"Do you expect to do that for a long time?" Remus teases.

Sirius presses a kiss to his cheek. "What?"

"Love me."

"Oh. Oh, Moony, I'm going to do that forever."

"Are you?" Remus asks with a low chuckle, tilting his head back dutifully,
because Sirius is looking for that spot he always seems eager to go to. "I'll
hold you to that."

"Good. You hardly need to, though. It's like I said." Sirius squirms closer,
his words muffled into Remus' skin at the curve of his throat, and he
releases a quiet sigh of pure contentment. "We're eternity, you and me."

Remus hums and rests his cheek against the top of Sirius' head, still
brushing his fingers through his hair with tender affection. "So we are, and
so we are, and so we will be."

"Soppy git."

"Clingy bastard."
Remus can feel Sirius grin against his neck, and equally fond, he tucks his
responding grin into Sirius hair. They hold onto each other just like that,
and that's eternity in its own way. They cradle it between them, within each
other, and keep it.

Chapter End Notes

i can't believe there's only one chapter left :(

 Chapter 30
Chapter Notes

no warnings for this one.

enjoy the happy ending, babes <3

See the end of the chapter for more notes

When Regulus was a child, before Sirius went off to Hogwarts, he used to
be woken up on the morning of his birthday by Sirius leaping on his bed
and shrieking Happy birthday, Reggie! at the top of his lungs, bouncing on
the bed as Regulus woke up giggling and sleepy and warm, despite the fact
that their mother was sure to be infuriated by it.

On Regulus' twenty-fourth birthday, this happens yet again, with a few

minor changes.

For one thing, James Potter is in the bed next to him, holding onto him even
in sleep, so he's caught up in Sirius' display. For another thing, Regulus has
a best friend, who is leaning in the doorway, watching Sirius fondly, a smile
curling the corners of Remus' lips. Oh, and there's no Walburga Black
around to be infuriated by anything, which is just as well.

Perhaps the biggest change is that Regulus does not wake up giggling,
sleepy, and warm. He wakes up disoriented and grumpy and sputtering in
disbelief, because he's an adult now who appreciates his sleep.
"Sirius, shove off!" Regulus bursts out as soon as he makes sense of what's
currently happening to him. Beside him, James is releasing scratchy
chuckles, thick with sleep.

"Happy birthday, Reggie!" Sirius bellows, bouncing up and down like a

child, complete with a bark of laughter.

Regulus shoves him off the bed.

The next ten minutes pass in agitated daze for Regulus. He drags himself up
from bed to shuffle off to the loo for a shower, muttering under his breath as
he goes, while Sirius laughs at him, James tries to drag him back to bed,
and Remus offers him a warm smile as he passes by. Alone in the loo, he
catches a tiny smile flickering at the corners of his mouth in the mirror, and
he rolls his eyes at himself.

When he leaves the loo, Sirius leans out of his room and catches his arm,
pulling him inside. It's woefully empty of James and Remus, so Regulus
heaves a put upon sigh as Sirius drags him over to the bed so they can sit on
it.

But Sirius isn't joking anymore, and he looks sincere when he murmurs, "I
have something for you."

"I thought I said—"

"Yes, I know you said no gifts, but surely you know that absolutely no one
is going to listen to you. Everyone else is just going to give them to you
later at the party."

"And you just had to be first, didn't you?" Regulus asks, mildly amused
despite himself. The reminder of the party that's being held later this
evening warms him, even if he'll never admit it. Everyone's coming as far
as he knows, and while they all love an excuse to get together, it's nice that
they're all doing it in the name of celebrating him.

"Of course," Sirius declares grandly, grinning, but then his smile fades. He
looks...nervous.

"Sirius, what did you do?" Regulus says, narrowing his eyes.

"It's—well, it's...sort of recycled, really," Sirius says very carefully, holding

over a small box. It's a simple brown with R.A.B. engraved on the outside of
it, and there's a silver clasp on the front that Regulus immediately turns.
Sirius darts his hand out and keeps the lid closed, meeting Regulus' gaze.
"The box is—I made it, just in case. Because you don't… I mean, you can
just leave it in there. You don't have to—"

Regulus knocks Sirius' fingers aside while rolling his eyes, lifting the lid
and immediately feeling his face fall slack. He goes silent and just stares.

Christ, Regulus hasn't seen this in over eight years now. Well, no, that's not
true. He's seen it in a painting, but not in person. When he was fifteen, he
took it off and left it next to a puddle of his brother's blood before walking
away.

Sirius is very quiet as Regulus stares at the necklace, not even saying a
word when he reaches out with the slightest tremble in his fingers to lift it
out of the box. It looks the exact same, an oval pendant with a snake
engraved into it, so incredibly detailed that you wouldn't believe a thirteen-
year-old had done it. Regulus rubs his thumb along the curve of the snake,
unfurling his fingers so the pendant will flip over in his palm.

On the back, there's something new. It's a small, yet unmistakable outline of
the Leo constellation, thin lines shaped into a lion. The Regulus star is
bigger than all the rest, settling right there as the lion's little heart. It's really
quite beautiful, and Regulus can tell that Sirius put in the effort to get it to
look right. The sight of it makes Regulus' eyes sting.

It's just that Regulus promised Sirius he would never take the necklace off,
only to do just that a mere three years later. He regretted it, will likely
always regret it, because it represents so much more than the passing
foolishness of birthday gifts. This goes beyond that, and he thinks the both
of them always knew it. Beyond just jewelry and a gift given early in the
stead of absence; it was always the foundation of their efforts, the promise
of having someone that matters, that cares, and then it was the heavy thunk
on the table that cleaved that right in two, foundations crumbling, a broken
promise.

Regulus never thought he'd have it again.

"Regulus," Sirius says softly.

"I'm fine," Regulus croaks, lifting his free wrist to drag them underneath his
eyes. He sniffles helplessly, still fixated on the necklace. "Really."

"You don't have to wear it," Sirius tells him quietly. "That's why the box is
there. I just...wanted you to have it, I suppose. Have it back, I mean, with a
few minor adjustments."

"I'll wear it," Regulus mumbles, lifting his watery eyes to stare at Sirius.
"I'll never take it off."

Sirius regards him for a long moment, and Regulus knows what he's
thinking, because Regulus has said that before, young and certain of so
many things and still having so much to learn. He said it, and he meant it
then as well, only to end up taking it off anyway. But that's the beauty of
second chances, isn't it? The way it flows both ways, the way it settles in,
because they're not the children they were when Sirius gave it to him the
first time, nor are they the children they were when Regulus took it off, and
yet here they are anyway, forgiving and forgiving. Trying. Still trying,
despite it all.

"Good," Sirius says. "Because if you do, next time I'm just going to launch
it at your fucking head." That draws a choked laugh out of Regulus as he
reaches up to link the necklace around his neck. Sirius flashes a grin at him.
"You know, that's the first thing I ever created that actually left class.
Minerva has my first ever painting that I did at eleven; it looks like shit, so
she has it hung up in her class next to some of my later ones as motivation
for her students. But this—" He reaches out and taps the pendant. "It's the
first thing I ever tried at, the first thing that ever saw the outside of that
classroom, and it made me fall in love with art. We are who we are because
of each other, you know. There's no changing that."

"I wouldn't change it, if I could," Regulus admits.

"No, neither would I," Sirius murmurs.

"Thank you," Regulus whispers.

"Yeah, of course," Sirius replies simply. He reaches out and lifts up the
pendant in his palm, gazing at it for a long time, and then he raises it and
drops it down on the inside of Regulus' shirt. He smiles and says, "Happy
birthday, Reggie."

Regulus rarely initiates hugs with Sirius, even after all these months of
therapy and mending their relationship as brothers. That's just not—him,
really. Sirius does, though. Sirius will drop an arm around his shoulders, rub
his knuckles into Regulus' head, shove him lightly, things such as that. He's
an affectionate person, and Regulus allows him to get away with it solely
because he's his brother.

This is one of those rare occasions where Regulus is the one who pulls
Sirius into a hug. Sirius accepts it easily enough, and it's as comforting as it
always is, and always has been.
When they break apart, Sirius coos at him and pinches his cheek mockingly
until Regulus smacks his hand away and shoves his head aside, making him
yelp. Moment officially over, Regulus launches off the bed and out of the
room, in search of his much more tolerable boyfriend or best friend; either
or, he's not picky.

They're both located in the kitchen. Remus is making stacks of toasties,

which draws Regulus in immediately, but Remus points a spatula at him in
warning while James slips an arm around his waist to haul him right off his
feet and turn him pointedly away from the stove.

"No. No cooking for you today. You're doing nothing today; everything will
be done for you," James declares.

"Can't I at least walk?" Regulus mutters, even as he dutifully tips his head
to the side so James can kiss his cheek.

"I'm tempted to carry you around all day," James informs him, but he does
sit him back on his feet. He swivels Regulus by his shoulders to smile
softly. "Happy birthday, love."

"Thank you," Regulus says, giving him a quick kiss.

They have toasties, all four of them, which are really very good because
Remus makes magic toasties. Sirius praises him for it as if he's never had
them before, even though Regulus is certain that he has. It sort of comes
with the territory of living with your partner; you tend to cook for one
another.

Three months ago, there was a slow shuffling of living arrangements. There
was an odd two weeks where it was almost like they were all living together
in James and Sirius' flat, which wasn't as bad as Regulus imagined. It's just
that he and Remus were literally there every day, and they slept there every
night, and none of them talked about it or acknowledged it for a while. In
those two weeks, Sirius and Regulus were repeatedly put to the test with
seeing their best friend with their brother, but that also wasn't as bad by that
point.

There were only two occasions where Sirius and Regulus got into
arguments so bad that Remus and James actually had to separate them like
they were children, but in the way only siblings can, they got over it.
Usually by showing up hours later and asking if the other was hungry, or
wanted to watch their show, and that amounted to an apology enough for
them. James and Remus always seemed so very baffled by sibling
dynamics, or maybe it's just their sibling dynamic that's bewildering, even
to this day.

In the end, Regulus' building manager called him to ask if he was moving
out, so that pushed them all to sit down and have a very uncomfortable
conversation. Sirius suggested that they all just live together, and Regulus
stated bluntly that he didn't want to do that. (The main reason was that he
missed sleeping naked; also, he wanted to shag his boyfriend when and
where he liked at his leisure. He very wisely did not mention these things.)
There was a minor argument, but in the end, Sirius was shockingly mature
about it. So, James moved in with Regulus, and Remus moved in with
Sirius.
It took the better part of the first month for that to actually change much,
because James and Sirius have truly disastrous levels of codependency
issues. They literally have to see each other every day, even if it's just
through their phones on a video-call. James will legitimately go into a
minor depression if he hasn't seen Sirius in person in three days. This leaves
Remus and Regulus constantly exasperated, but they don't bother Sirius and
James about it much, giving it the test of time. These days, they've all
learned that time can make things better for all of them. And, sure enough,
James and Sirius have gotten better about it, settling into it and their
routine.

Because Sirius' flat is bigger and also has a guest room that Regulus and
James can pass out in (his old room), that's where the party is taking place.
Sirius, Remus, and James head there first, but Regulus has a meeting with
Chef Sprout for his end of term review, which ends up, ironically enough,
making him late to his own birthday party.

He's never made a big deal about his birthday; that was always Sirius, when
they were younger, and that stopped when Sirius went off to Hogwarts and
then left for good. By now, Regulus has made peace with such a thing, but
Sirius might not have, not fully, because he's particularly invested in
celebrating.

As soon as Regulus comes in, the entire room bursts out into cheers and
shouts of Happy Birthday that all bleed together in a cacophony of noise,
which makes him grimace instantly.
"Look who finally showed up to their own bloody party," Sirius says, eyes
glassy and cheeks flushed. "We've been getting drunk without you, Reggie."

"Really? I couldn't tell," Regulus replies flatly.

"In your honor, of course," Sirius assures him.

"Happy Birthday, Reg," Remus tells him (yet again) with a small smile as
he comes over to stand next to Sirius. He swings his foot forward to nudge
Regulus' shoe with his own, a gesture of affection that only they'll
understand. "How's twenty-four?"

"Exactly like twenty-three so far and nothing like twenty-two," Regulus

admits, lips twitching.

"Move, move, move," James chants, pushing forward from the back of the
room, then fully just pushing Sirius and Remus aside to stride between
them. Regulus helplessly breaks into a smile immediately, and James is
already beaming at him, so the kiss that James sweeps him into is more
smiling than anything else. He looks so pleased with himself when he rocks
back. "Hello, love. Hi. You're here."

Regulus chuckles quietly. "Hello, James. Hi. I am."

"Happy Birthday, Regulus," James says warmly (again), then wraps his
arms around him fully, apparently planning not to let him go the entire
night. Regulus is very alright with this.

"Let's get a drink in your hand immediately," Sirius declares, bouncing on

his toes with bright eyes. He links his arm through Remus' and turns. "Oi,
Crouch, make yourself useful and get the birthday boy a drink!"

"Already on it, Black!" Barty calls back.

And, with that, the party resumes. Or, really, it starts. Regulus is passed
around by everyone, and so is James, because he really does hang off of
him the whole night like a limpet.

The most tolerable people here are Lily, Peter, and Mary. The people he
actually likes are Remus, Dorcas, Pandora, and Aiko. Barty, Evan, and
Marlene are in a category all on their own where he doesn't like them (but
he does), and he doesn't deny that they're his friends anyway. Frank and
Alice—well, he's mostly indifferent about them; he hasn't really had the
true opportunity to warm up to them yet. Xenophilius is also here, as well
as Gideon and Fabian, but Regulus honestly doesn't care about any of them.
James, he loves, obviously—and Sirius, well, Sirius is his brother, so he
exists in some sort of plane of love and annoyance on his own.

But, with the help of alcohol and the passing hours, Regulus loosens up and
gets sweeter and sweeter until everyone's just a blur of people he has no
issues with, friends there for him, and it feels good. He feels very good.
There's music, dancing, laughing, and talking. Sirius bounces around
between everyone like he's having the best night of his life, and Regulus
isn't entirely sure why, but he finds it entertaining in any case.

"It's because he's not sad," Lily tells him, hiccuping. Her round cheeks are
flushed red as her hair, green eyes glittering with a soft haze of inebriation.
She's leaning into Regulus' side, swaying back and forth with him to the
music, because James is swaying all of them, crooning low in Regulus' ear
along to the lyrics—something soppy about paper rings and picture frames
and dirty dreams. Regulus doesn't think he even noticed that Lily joined
them, though it was Regulus who reached out to grab her as she stumbled
by, trying to make sure she wouldn't fall, but then she balanced against him
and ended up just staying. "He was always sad on your birthday."

"Sirius?" Regulus asks, blinking.

Lily bobs her head like it might fall off. "Mhm. Always—it was always a
hard day for him, yeah? Missed you, I think."

"Oh." Regulus cranes his head to search for his brother, locating him
dancing with Mary and Remus. Well, Sirius is holding onto Remus and
swaying, while Mary holds onto him from behind. Remus is rubbing her
shoulders, his cheek resting on the top of Sirius' head. "I missed him, too."

"I—I have a sister, you know," Lily mumbles, turning to look at him sadly.
Her eyes are very big. "We're not like you and Sirius. I don't think she
misses me at all."
Regulus feels his chest clench. "Do you miss her?"

"Sometimes," Lily admits.

"Stands to reason she must miss you, too. At least sometimes," Regulus
tells her, and her lips tilt up into a smile. His chest unclenches, and they
continue to sway.

An hour later finds him talking to Pandora and Dorcas. He's leaning back
into James, who has his arms wrapped around Regulus' waist and his face
buried into Regulus' hair. He hasn't resurfaced in some time, apparently
very happy to be right where he's at. Regulus is happy to have him there.

"You're twenty-four!" Pandora announces gleefully. "Did you know,

twenty-four is the atomic number for the chemical Chromium, which is just
a hard, silver metal?"

Regulus slow-blinks. "I did not know that."

"Brilliant, isn't it?"

"Yes, absolutely brilliant."

"Your twenty-four won't be Chromium, though," Pandora informs him. "It'll
be soft and warm. I can sense it."

"Well, thank god for that," Regulus says, giving a lopsided smile as Pandora
immediately bursts into tinkling laughter.

"To a soft and warm twenty-four," Dorcas declares with a wink, raising her
glass, and they all drink—even James resurfaces to toast to that.

A bit later, Regulus and James have sort of swapped positions. Regulus is
behind James now, face buried in the back of his shoulder, practically
clinging to him. James' arms are braced on top of his, their fingers threaded
together. He's talking to Xenophilius, Gideon, and Fabian—all people that
Regulus doesn't care about and is more than willing to ignore for the chance
to hang off his boyfriend for a bit. Things are a little hazy, but he likes them
that way at the moment.

They don't really reposition again until they find themselves talking to
Aiko, Peter, Marlene, Barty, and Evan. It's a bit of a big circle, so Regulus
ends up with his arm around James' waist like a loose belt while James
leans into him and plays with his hair idly as he carries on conversations.

It's always a bit of fun watching Barty and James interact, because Barty
enjoys riling James up, but they seem to have come to a truce for the night.
Regulus is sort of warmed that they'd do that for him, actually. He mostly
just talks to Evan while Peter and Aiko—being disgustingly cuddled up,
now that they're finally together—pitch in occasionally, and Marlene keeps
stealing James' drink to drink it, then puts it back in his hand. He never
seems to notice.

By this point, Regulus cuts himself off because he can feel himself smiling
constantly. Distantly, vaguely, he thinks he should be appalled by how
sweet he's being with everyone. A steady stream of praise for literally
everyone falls out of his mouth at all times. He spends a solid five minutes
just telling anyone who will listen that he is hopelessly, unwaveringly in
love with James Potter, to which everyone simply tells him that they
already know. James is visibly thriving.

He is so happy by this, in fact, that he drags Regulus off to a corner and

snogs him like he'll never get another chance. Of course, Regulus is very
pleased with this turn of events, even more so when the rest of the room
melts away and everyone else stops existing. It's just him and James,
fumbling in a sheltered little space for themselves, whispering and giggling
to each other in between kisses.

"You're so lovely, Regulus," James mumbles against his mouth, his cheek,
breathing him in. "You're just so lovely, love. The loveliest. The most
lovely. Oh, I love you. I love you. I—"

Regulus cuts himself off with his mouth, threading his hands into James'
hair and pressing them as close together as they can get. They go stumbling
back against the wall, and alright, maybe they get a bit carried away.
Regulus doesn't really mean to; he blames all the drinks he's had, even
though he's not actually that drunk. In any case, he's trying to get James out
of his shirt when they're rather rudely interrupted by someone bellowing
that it's time for presents.
"I don't care," Regulus complains, breathing hard, his words muffled into
James' neck. "I want to unwrap you."

"Shh, shh, later," James whispers low in his ear, laughing softly and
peppering quick kisses along Regulus' jaw, slow to pull away. His glasses
are a little lopsided, so Regulus reaches up to straighten them on his face,
and James beams at him.

"If you two are done canoodling," Sirius calls out, "we'd like to get to the
presents some time tonight!"

"It's my birthday," Regulus mumbles.

"Be nice," James says softly. "This is the first time he's gotten to be happy
on your birthday in fourteen years."

Regulus stares at him, stricken. "Now, why would you say that?"

"Sorry," James mutters, wincing apologetically and threading their fingers

together as he tugs them towards the center of the room where everyone is
waiting.
Due to Regulus having the excuse that he's mildly drunk (even though he
isn't, really), he is outwardly and loudly grateful for all his gifts (a lot of
kitchen appliances feature, for which he is genuinely grateful). Nonetheless,
he's grateful when it's over and they're all just sitting around in various
states of inebriation, chatting and laughing. Regulus is very pleased where
he's at—sharing a chair with James, leaning back against him with his legs
thrown over the plush arm of the chair, James' arms loosely linked around
him. Next to him, Remus is sitting on the sofa, Sirius sprawled on the floor
in front of him, his back resting against Remus' legs, head on his knee, and
Remus is running his hand through his hair. Regulus isn't entirely sure
Sirius isn't asleep, actually.

Well, he isn't until Sirius groans and says, "Moony, your hands are magic.
Feels good. That feels really good."

"Get a room," Lily teases, even though she's doing literally the same thing
with Mary right next to him. Well, Mary seems to be putting loose braids in
Lily's hair, so it's a little different.

"Love is in the air," James declares, pressing a smile against Regulus'

shoulder, because of course he would find it cute.

"Isn't it?" Sirius agrees, lifting his hands and waving them gently through
the air like he's touching it. "Feels nice. Ours is so aged, Moony. We've
been echoing through oxygen and existence for eternity. Breathe us in,
sweetheart."

"Alright, Shakespeare," Mary says, "give it a rest."

"No," Sirius retorts petulantly. "I love him. You'll all know it. I'll make sure
you'll all know it. And him, too. Remus Lupin, you brilliant bastard, I love
you." He fumbles one hand back to grip Remus' wrist and peers up at him
with a grin. "Let's get married and adopt all sixty-four of our future children
tomorrow, yeah?"

"Sixty-four? It was fifty-nine this morning," Remus murmurs, lips curling

up.

"I added five when you smiled a few minutes ago," Sirius informs him
gravely.

"Like Ned McDodd," Pandora says, and they all stare at her in confusion.
"Horton Hears a Who? The mayor of Whoville? He has ninety-seven
children—ninety-six of which are daughters and one of which is his son."

"Ohhh," the room choruses all at once.

"That's really cute, Pads," James teases, dropping his head to the side to
peer around Sirius with a smile.

"I know," Sirius agrees triumphantly. "God, I'm so romantic. Moony, aren't I
so romantic? Asking you to marry me all the time, wanting all your
babies?"
"Yes, Sirius, very romantic," Remus tells him indulgently, carding his
fingers through his hair again.

Peter chuckles. "Strange, really. Sirius has never been like that for anyone
before you, Moony. That's usually more of James' thing. Or it was. He
doesn't do that anymore."

"Oi, what's what's supposed to mean?" James blurts out, his arms tightening
around Regulus. "I'll have you know, I'm very fucking romantic,
Wormtail."

"No, yeah, I know," Peter assures him, "but I meant the marriage part,
really. I'm surprised you're not asking Regulus like Sirius asks Remus."

"Oh, no, I wouldn't," James says casually, and Regulus tips his head back to
look at him, but James is still looking around him. "I'm not marrying him."

The room falls silent, and Remus' head snaps over, his voice sharp as he
blurts out, "What the fuck, James?"

"Christ, it's his birthday," Dorcas hisses in horror.

"Barty, get up, we need to kill Jim," Evan snaps, sounding downright
frosty.

James blinks, rearing back, and he looks at Regulus then. His eyes go wide.
"I—what? I don't—"

"It's fine," Regulus says, and he means for his voice to be calm and steady,
but it's ridiculously small and wobbly. His stomach is in knots, and it feels
as if someone—James—has reached into his chest, grabbed his heart, and
squeezed.

"Hold on," Sirius blurts out frantically. "Hold on, give him a bloody
moment. It's James. He didn't—he must have a reason for—just let him
explain what he meant."

"Inquiring minds do want to know," Frank mutters weakly. He and Alice

have been quietly canoodling up until now, next to Pandora and
Xenophilius doing the same.

"I don't—I thought—" James' eyebrows furrow, and he looks at Regulus in

genuine confusion. "You swore off marriage, love, didn't you? You said—I
mean, you don't want to get married, so of course I wouldn't demand it. I'm
—I'm not sure what—"

"Oh, now that's sweet," Pandora says softly.

"Yes, yes it is," Regulus agrees, everything in him relaxing all at once, "but
it's also just—wrong. Very wrong."

"What?" James frowns. "No, you—you said—"

"I swore off marriage because I believed I wouldn't get to marry for
anything other than—than some sort of business transaction, certainly not
for love, and I didn't want a husband who would never love me for me,"
Regulus explains slowly, having to find the right words he wants to use,
because he's never talked about it before. "But you're not—you're different.
It'd be different with you. Everything is different with you."

"Wait." James leans back a little, blinking rapidly. "Wait, love, are you just
—drunk? Do you actually mean—"

"I'm not that pissed, James. I do mean it. Remus, tell him. Remus knows. I
said it to him six months ago, that I'd marry you even though I've been
running from marriage since I was a child," Regulus blurts out in a rush.

Remus nods and confirms, "He did."

"Really?" James asks, dazed, his hands clenching down on Regulus like he
needs to hold onto something.
"Yes, really. I would marry you, James. I—I want to," Regulus admits, his
heart thudding wildly in his chest as he searches James' eyes, which are
wide. "Do you want to?"

"I—you—you're asking?" James chokes out, his whole body spasming like
it's trying to take a screenshot of this moment and capture it forever. "Are
you asking me if I want to, or are you asking me if I will? Because—
because, love, I can't tell, and I really need you to clarify for me. I need you
to be very fucking precise right now."

Regulus' breath hitches, and the rest of the room seems to hold its breath
with him. He can't look away from James even if it meant saving his own
life. He'd die just to keep gazing at the expression on his face right now, the
swirl of emotions, and if it was the last thing he saw, he'd die a happy man.
Or, no, maybe not. Maybe he'd die in the grips of fury with the unfairness of
it all, knowing he wouldn't get to gaze upon James for longer. Better yet,
he'd live for James.

Regulus searches James' face for a moment, but then he stops, because he
thinks that's not quite right. Because James, though he doesn't often own up
to it, is enticed by the idea of being loved out loud, shamelessly and with
pride. This makes sense, considering his issues surrounding what he feels
he has to do and give for others, the pressure he feels. He's gotten better
with therapy, with effort, with the help of good people in his life who do
better by him. Regulus wants to always do better. James deserves someone
who will reach out to take his hand in a crowded room and beg for the
chance to get to hold it forever, no matter how many eyes are on them, and
he deserves someone who will ask whether or not they know the answer
beforehand, because he's worth that.
So, Regulus exhales and does something very, very brave. And something
selfish in the healthiest way possible, because he wants this. He really does.
He reaches up to cup James' cheek, feeling flushed and faint, strangely
terrified and safe at the same time. His fingers tremble, but sometimes they
do that when he's cradling the sun. "I'm asking if you will. James Potter,
will you marry me?"

James makes a small sound, the tears welling up in his eyes and spilling
over, and he winds his arms tight around Regulus as he collapses forward to
bury his face against Regulus' chest. Instantly, Regulus curls both arms
around his head, bowing his shoulders in like he's forming his body into a
shelter from a storm. He cradles James as much as he can from his lap,
feeling him shudder and cry and cling. He doesn't shush him, or demand
answers, or do anything other than press a kiss to his hair and hold him.

"Did they just get engaged?" Remus whispers.

"I don't know. I don't fucking know," Sirius responds breathlessly, sounding
like he's on tenterhooks, barely hanging by the final thread of his own
emotional stability.

"Did we? Regulus, did we?" James gasps out, raising his head to peer at
him, tears still streaming.

"Well, you have to agree to it first," Regulus reminds him gently, sliding his
hands up to carefully swipe his tears away with tender fingers. "I asked, and
you get to answer."
"You asked," James croaks, on the verge of tears all over again.

"I did," Regulus murmurs. "I'm still asking. Would you like to hear it again?
Will you marry me? You don't have to say yes, even though it's my
birthday. You don't have to say yes at all; I'll be with you even if you say
no."

"No," James breathes out, then sucks in a sharp breath. "No! No, I mean—I
mean yes. I meant yes. I meant no, I wouldn't say no. I would say yes. I'm
saying yes. Yes, I'll marry you. I'm going to marry you. Can I marry you?"

"Yes," Regulus says, lips curling up. "You can marry me."

"Oh my god. Oh my god," Sirius bursts out, then proceeds to dissolve into
hysterics in perfect unison with James.

James hides back in against Regulus' chest, weeping and chanting over and
over that he loves him. Meanwhile, Sirius grabs onto the first person in
reach—Lily—and throws his arms around her as he wails. Everyone else
promptly breaks out into excitement, shock, or a mixture of the two.

So, from there, Regulus' birthday doubles as an engagement announcement,

much to the surprise of literally everyone. It takes a bit for James to recover,
which immediately gets ruined when he and Sirius get ahold of each other.
They hug and break down sobbing, and honestly, you'd think they were
getting married the way they act.
"I can't believe our boyfriends are boyfriends," Remus tells him, his voice
wry.

"I don't want to talk about it," is Regulus' dry response.

Remus huffs a weak laugh and says, "Well, fiancé for you, now. James is
your fiancé. You're engaged, Reg."

"I know," Regulus says, and he can feel himself beaming, like maybe he's
the sun, too. Glowing with it. Fucking giddy.

"Christ, I'm happy for you," Remus blurts out with a stunned little laugh,
and then he reaches out to snatch him in a hug, which Regulus allows with
immediate acceptance.

"You have to be my best man," Regulus whispers.

"I'd kill anyone who tried to claim the position," Remus says, sounding
ridiculously emotional about the whole thing.

Regulus squeezes him a little. "Aw, for me?"

"Yes." Remus squeezes him back.

Remus is promptly snatched back by Sirius, who apparently abandoned

James—Peter has a hold of him now—to get to Regulus. Before Remus can
so much as sputter, Sirius is yanking Regulus right into his arms and crying
all over him like the dramatic, emotional idiot he is. Regulus sighs and pats
his back, shooting an exasperated look at Remus over Sirius' shoulder, and
Remus smiles before wandering over to James where he claims a hug from
him, too.

The celebrations carry on for a while after that, and it takes a bit for any of
it to wind down. Everyone's so palpably happy for them, and Regulus feels
more drunk on that than any alcohol. No one goes home until the early
corners of the morning, people finally slipping off with final
congratulations to the newly engaged couple. Before everyone has actually
left, Regulus is so impatient that he drags James off to his old room, turns
up the stereo so loud he can't even hear himself think, locks the door, then
proceeds to shag James so thoroughly that the world could end and he
wouldn't care.

If Sirius and Remus are bothered by the loud music playing persistently for
nearly three hours—well, they don't make a fuss about it. James seems only
mildly chagrined when he gets up to turn the music off and stumbles back
into bed. Regulus has made a proper mess of him. He's beautiful.

"We have to talk about this," James says once he's snuggled back up to him
again.
"Alright," Regulus replies simply.

"We've known each other for a little over a year, nearly three of those
months we spent not actually together, and we've only lived together for
three months," James lists out slowly.

Regulus hums. "Yes, I know."

"So, getting married next month is—probably a bad idea, isn't it?" James
mumbles. "Tell me it is, because I—I really—"

"Nothing with you is a bad idea. I'll marry you tomorrow, if you want. I
would have married you yesterday," Regulus says softly, smiling at him.
"We go at our own pace, yeah? Because love is a choice, and we can keep
making it whether we're married or not. If you'd like, we can have a long
engagement, or we can elope tonight. Whatever you want, James."

James takes a deep breath and holds it for a long moment, then blurts out,
"What about what you want?"

"I have what I want, don't I?" Regulus reaches up and pats James' chest,
right over his heart. "Sincerely, I'm very fucking happy with all of it."

"I can't believe you asked me," James whispers, and he looks dangerously
close to crying again.
Regulus laughs softly and leans in to kiss him, pulling back to shake his
head fondly. "I can't believe you thought I didn't want to marry you."

"I thought you just didn't want to get married at all. I didn't take it
personally. I respected it. I'm—I need you to know, I will still respect it if
you—"

"Shut up, James."

"Love," James starts.

"No. Shh," Regulus declares, reaching up to clap his hand over James'
mouth. "None of that, because it's irrelevant. I know you'd respect it. I know
all of these things already, but I'm literally begging you to be a little selfish
about this. Or, well, there's nothing selfish about it, really. But you don't
have to undermine your happiness, alright?"

James nods against his hand, and as soon as Regulus pulls his hand back, he
surges forward to kiss him deeply. He pulls away to gasp out, "I love you so
much," and then dives right back in.

"I love you, too," Regulus murmurs when they break apart.
"Will you ask me again tomorrow?" James whispers, beaming as bright as
the sun, warming Regulus all the way through.

"I will," Regulus promises, and he does.

Sirius hums in gravelly delight when he wakes up to the feeling of a warm

mouth trailing down the length of his spine. Remus, of course. He's right
obsessed with the tattoo there, kissing each phase of the moon often enough
that Sirius sometimes dreams of the sensation. It feels so nice.

"Where's Stella?" Sirius mumbles, not even opening his eyes.

"Snoring on the sofa," Remus answers in between kisses.

Sirius hums again in approval, because this means they'll likely have a
morning-shag. Not that he begrudges Stella her presence in their room, but
there's just something that feels slightly immoral about fucking in the bed
when your dog is lying at the end of it. They usually put her out and give
her a treat afterwards for her patience; the routine has led her to being as
delighted as them by the frequency of their shagging.

They do, in fact, have a lovely morning-shag, so the start to Sirius' day is
magnificent. They give Stella a treat when they drag themselves out of their
room anyway, but that's because they spoil her shamelessly.
Stella came into their lives when Remus got Regulus a cat for a wedding
present—the world's ugliest cat (and the meanest) that likes no one but
Regulus. Remus rang Sirius and told him that he'd fallen in love, to which
Sirius had immediately panicked until Remus clarified that he was talking
about a dog, and then Sirius was over the moon about the idea of getting a
pet with him. So, Remus has brought Stella home, a dog that had been in
the shelter for years; no one had wanted her because she's covered in scars,
one of her ears are almost entirely ripped off, and while she's the sweetest
dog Sirius has ever met, she 'smiles' a lot when she's happy, except her
smiles look like she's snarling and getting ready to attack. She has
essentially stolen his heart, as well as Remus'.

Honestly, she's done wonders for them both, as far as opening up goes.
When Remus finds it hard to talk about things, he usually cuddles with
Stella to help, and it always does. In turn, when Sirius feels like he can't get
enough affection, or give it, Stella is the perfect cure; she can't get or give
enough either. While Sirius doesn't doubt that he and Remus would be
alright without a pet, Stella has undoubtedly worked miracles for their
relationship, life, and household.

"Good morning, baby," Sirius coos at her, capturing her snout between his
hands and kissing her all over it with loud smacking noises. Her tail thumps
against the cushion, and she smiles at him, snout wrinkling up to show
teeth. "Do you want to go out? Go for walkies, hm?" He barks a laugh as
Stella springs up eagerly. "Yes, you do. Mhm, that's what I thought. Let's go
get your lead. Sweetheart, I'm taking Stella out!"

"I'm starting breakfast," Remus calls back. "Full English?"

"Oh, would you? You're a marvel, Remus Lupin!" Sirius praises, strolling
along with Stella, who trots along with him and bounces on the pads of her
feet excitedly.

Sirius takes Stella on her usual walk to relieve herself and get some exercise
in. It's good for them both, honestly. Some people on the route know her
and stop to pet her, which makes her very happy, as usual. Some people see
the scars and aren't bothered from the start; some are wary at first until
Sirius assures them (always offended) that she's a lovely, sweet dog and
doesn't deserve the judgment; mostly everyone ends up falling in love with
her, though, if they see her enough.

Sirius has only seen Stella be anything other than sweet one time. He'd
taken her out late at night, because she'd come pawing gently at him, her
signal to let them know if they don't get her out, they'd have an unpleasant
surprise in the morning. Remus, who had been tired from work, slept
through it, so Sirius wordlessly dragged himself up to take her out. They
didn't go far, and everything was fine at first, but then…

Well, Stella loves everyone. Usually. Just not that man, not that night.
Something about him, Sirius supposes. He'd been walking up the street
towards them, and Sirius hadn't thought much of it until he was startled by
Stella growling low in her throat in warning, her tail stiff and her hair
standing on end. The man ended up turning around and walking swiftly
away. To this day, Sirius wonders what would have happened if Stella
hadn't been there; he's always grateful he never has to know.

When they get back inside, Sirius fills Stella's food bowl and leaves her to
tackle her breakfast, then slips over to where Remus is working on theirs at
the stove. He slips in behind him, and because Remus is still moving around
without a bloody shirt, he slides his arms around him and bites down on the
curve of Remus' shoulder. Christ, he wants to eat him. Nearly two years of
knowing him, and the urge still hasn't gone away. As usual, Remus just
snorts when he clamps down.

"Oh, yes, harder," Remus says monotonously, and Sirius has to break away
and bury his grin against the impression of his teeth. "Christ, Padfoot,
you're worse than Stella. She's the sodding dog, and she never bites me, you
know."

"She has self-control that I do not," Sirius states firmly. "If anything, it's
your own fault. Walking around with no shirt. What else am I meant to do,
Moony?"

"Mm, I like it, you know," Remus muses. "Bites—at least when they're
yours. Couldn't be anyone else, or I'd hate it."

"Too right. Want another?" Sirius asks playfully, already sliding his mouth
along Remus' back to bite his other shoulder, gentle and teasing this time.

Remus chuckles and swats at his head. "Maybe later. I need to focus so I
can feed us. Go sit."

"Sometimes I think you've trained me like Stella," Sirius says, amused,

pulling away to go do as he's told.
"How do you think I knew how to train Stella?" Remus looks over his
shoulder with a mild smile and a mischievous glint in his eyes. "I had
practice."

"Woof," Sirius replies with a lecherous grin, winking at him, pleased when
Remus busts out laughing.

Sirius scrolls lazily through social media at the table, his lips curling up
when he sees a picture of Peter and Aiko posted. They're on vacation in
Kyoto, which—from what pictures Sirius has seen—is full of beautiful
views. In the newest photo, they're in a bamboo forest, their faces pressed
together side-by-side. They're both glowing happily.

Admittedly, Sirius is proud of Peter. He'd done exactly as Sirius and James
encouraged him to—nearly a year ago, now. Following the-date-that-wasn't,
Peter had told them he'd been confused because it felt like a date, so he'd
plucked up the courage to blurt out that he'd wanted to kiss her, to which
Aiko responded by promptly snogging the living daylights out of him. Peter
had actually taken a full day to inform them of the good news that they
were actually, officially dating, but Sirius figures they were too busy
shagging to tell anyone.

In any case, they're still going strong. It's cute, really. Sirius and James are
always happy to see Peter happy, and Remus as well, plus it pleases
Regulus that Aiko has ended up with 'someone tolerable', which is just code
for him liking Peter.
In the group chat, James is complaining again. Regulus is on a conference
trip where only a few selected students from Chef Pomfrey's class were
given the opportunity to go, something to do with learning more about the
culinary arts, as well as more about being a future restaurant owner. He's
been gone only a week and is due back today, even though it was a trip that
was supposed to last for two weeks, except Regulus insisted he had to be
back by today, for whatever reason. Even still, James hasn't hesitated to
inform everyone that he's sad. They're all properly accommodating, because
a sad James is never treated like a joke.

When will my husband return from the war? James has messaged.

He's coming home today, mate! Frank replies with a string of thumbs-up
emojis and a smiley face.

I've been spamming our contact bracelets, and he always touches back,
James informs them with a sobbing emoji. A message follows right after. I
miss him :(

Just a few hours now, Peter reminds him.

Sirius, rather maturely, finds it within himself to text, And you have the
whole day to get reacquainted. Moony and I won't be over until the evening.
Hours and hours of shagging my little brother, James Potter, that's what
awaits you.
You spoil me, James replies with the smiling emoji that has the hearts
around it.

Fucking heathen, Sirius messages, which prompts the chat to fill up with
laughing emojis.

"How's James?" Remus asks as he carries their plates over to the table.
Sirius automatically lifts his head for a kiss, which Remus dips down to gift
him with.

"Still a bit mopey," Sirius answers when Remus pulls away to sit down next
to him, "but I've just told him he gets to shag his husband all day, so I think
that lifted his spirits."

"I imagine it would," Remus agrees, amused, sticking his leg out under the
table so Sirius can hook their ankles together. It's routine at this point.

Sirius clicks his tongue. "The sacrifices we make for them, Remus. Where's
our reward?"

"Well, I suppose we could spend the whole day shagging. Is that reward
enough?"

"You know, now that you mention it, I'm more than willing to make these
sacrifices."
"Happy to help," Remus says, lips twitching.

"This looks lovely, by the way. Thank you," Sirius tells him warmly, putting
his phone down to grab his fork and gesture to his plate.

Remus hums, pleased. "You're welcome. I'm no Regulus, but it's good
enough, I think."

"No one's Regulus when it comes to food," Sirius allows, because it's true,
"but you're certainly nothing to complain about. I'm always satisfied, in any
case."

"I think I picked up more from my mum than I ever thought I did," Remus
murmurs, his voice softening the way it does when he talks about his
mother.

Therapy, in many ways, has changed a lot of things for Remus, particularly
his relationship with vulnerability. He still struggles from time-to-time, but
he's certainly made leaps and bounds in his endeavor to be more of himself,
even the parts he's always shied away from and repressed. One of the
biggest changes, though, is his peace with his mum. With the help of
therapy, Remus has gone back to visit Hope Lupin's grave, and Sirius has
gone with him every time he asks. While he doesn't relate to missing one's
mother, he doesn't need life experiences to know to hold Remus when he
cries, or simply just be there when Remus needs him.
In making peace with his mum, Remus has gone through the cathartic
process of facing that he has not, and may never, make peace with his dad.
That, Sirius had related to strongly, and they'd spent many nights staying up
late, talking quietly in the dark, telling each other things Sirius knew neither
of them expected to ever let out with anyone. There's an intimacy to such
things, an intimacy they keep with them even now.

"Mm, well, compliments to Hope," Sirius declares, taking a big bite and
smiling with full cheeks.

Remus smiles, small and sweet. "Exactly."

For a bit, both of them focus on eating, so much so that they're not talking.
It's a comfortable sort of silence that Sirius enjoys more than he—or anyone
—would expect. He likes everything with Remus, really, even when they're
just sitting quietly together. He doesn't feel untethered and adrift, but more
like the lapping waves of the tide, gently rocking in the pull of the moon.
It's comforting. Remus is so, so comforting.

Sirius' cell buzzes on the table, but it's just Peter sending James a meme to
try cheering him up. It must work, because James replies with a gif of
someone laughing hysterically. He only really does that when he's actually
laughing.

Shaking his head, Sirius goes back to eating, but his mind still sticks on
James. Just worrying about him a bit, is all. That's what you do when your
best friend is sad for any reason, even if you know they're alright altogether.
Besides, James missing Regulus is oddly heart-wrenching, especially
considering they have only been married for four months.

They'd had a four-and-a-half month engagement, mostly because they

needed time to, one, plan the wedding, and two, find the proper time they
wanted to take their honeymoon. Between life, jobs, and availability, it had
taken nearly five months for everything to fall into place.

Sirius had been ecstatic, ironically enough. After how he was in the
beginning, you'd think he wouldn't, but he actually really adores that his
best mate and brother are married. He'd been a fucking wreck at the
wedding, and the only person who could compete for crying as much as
him was Effie. He gave Regulus away while Monty gave James away, and
there hadn't been a dry eye in the room. Even now, Sirius gets a fierce
clench in his chest when thinking about it.

Though, now that Sirius is thinking about it, Regulus is a little shit. A
thought hits him and makes him drop his fork, his mouth dropping open as
his eyes bulge.

"Oh my god," Sirius breathes out.

"Sirius?" Remus asks, blinking at him.

"I'm—I'm an honorary Potter, but Regulus is actually a Potter. Like, he has

the actual name! He married into it, that little shit," Sirius blurts, appalled.
"He's a Potter, and I'm still a fucking Black, Remus."
"Oh," Remus says. "Well...yes."

"That devious little snake. He—"

"Sirius—"

Huffing, Sirius picks his fork back up. "I'm taking your name when we
marry. Taking it and claiming it as mine, just as I have you, and you can't
stop me."

"Why would I attempt to stop you?" Remus looks at him in amusement,

which is his usual response to Sirius' dramatics.

"I don't know," Sirius admits, "but it's a fool's mission if you do." Stella,
without prompting, barks about something, and Sirius points at her with his
fork. "Yes, exactly. You see? She's in full agreement, so that's that just
decided, yeah? Perfect timing, Stella. I love you so much, baby."

Stella's response to this is to pad underneath the table and lay down on their
feet, and Sirius grins at Remus in triumph, who chuckles and says, "Oh, is
our dog—"
"Our child. The first of all the one hundred and eighty-four we'll be
having," Sirius cuts in to remind him. The number has grown quite a bit
over the months.

"Is Stella deciding things for us now?" Remus asks.

Sirius nods solemnly. "She's the only sensible one, really."

"I...can't actually argue with you on that one," Remus says, laughing when
Sirius cackles in delight.

After breakfast, Sirius cleans up since Remus cooked, leaving Remus to do

some schoolwork. He's so close to graduating, only a few more months
away, and then he'll be free to start teaching. He's clearly excited about it,
and Sirius is excited for him, especially because he's looking forward to
calling Remus Professor and being an all around naughty menace, just to
make Remus laugh. He loves making Remus laugh.

When Sirius finishes cleaning, he bustles into their room to grab his
sketchbook, then heads back out to drop down on the sofa next to Remus,
who has his laptop in his lap with music playing softly from the speakers.
He's glaring at the screen like he wants to put his fist through it, so Sirius
suspects he's working on something difficult. Sirius knows the feeling; he's
definitely been there before.

Stella hops up on the sofa in the space between their thighs, of which she
barely fits in. That doesn't bother her, though. She's basically half-in Sirius'
lap, but this works out, because Sirius braces his sketchpad on her back. He
flips through the pages idly. They're full of people—one of his favorite
people to draw is Mary, a discovery he made at fifteen that still remains true
to this day, and she's always been charmed by it—and there's also a lot of
Stella as well. Honestly, she might just feature the most, seeing as Sirius
really loves drawing animals.

Of course, Remus features the most. If it's not his face, it's his hands; if it's
not his hands, it's his eyes; if it's not his eyes, it's the moon. Genuinely,
Sirius can never get enough of drawing any part of Remus, or any version
of him. Remus is his muse.

Sirius takes great enjoyment in getting to sketch Remus while he's just
sitting there, working on his computer. The furrow of his brow, the sprawl
of his fingers over the keys, the sweep of his floppy hair and the glow of the
screen in his amber eyes and the parted seam of his mouth open in
concentration. He's beautiful. He's absolutely, inarguably beautiful. Sirius is
so eager to memorialize him, to keep a record of such beauty.

This isn't the first time they've wasted half the day like this, just existing in
one another's spaces, doing their own things. Sirius is always so relaxed by
it, calmed more than he ever knew he could be, and he can feel the simple
contentment they grant one another, an ebb and flow that caresses them
both.

Sirius always likes getting to relax and do this anyway, especially now that
there's been a steady rise in commissions in his routine. He's had a few on-
site projects as well, which are fairly new for him, but extremely exciting.
He got to paint a mural for a museum, which was really fucking cool, if he
does say so himself. Christ, he loves his job. But, at the same time, he still
enjoys just getting to draw at his leisure.

Remus, after hours of intense concentration, groans and snaps his laptop
shut, whining, "Oh, enough already."

"Need a break?" Sirius asks gently, reaching out to cup the back of Remus'
neck, kneading out the tension.

"Done for the day, I've decided," Remus mumbles, his head hanging
forward as a contented sigh escapes him. "Oh, that's nice. Really bloody
nice."

"Is it?" Sirius chuckles and massages some more.

"Mhm," Remus hums, tipping over into him with yet another noise of pure
peace. "Oh, I'm meant to be shagging you, aren't I? Got a bit caught up,
sorry."

"This is nice, too," Sirius assures him, wrapping an arm around him as he
leans his head over on Sirius' shoulder. He tips the sketchbook forward so
Remus can see it. "I was just drawing your hands again."

"You have a very obsessive fixation on my fingers."

"They're lovely fingers, Moony. Really, I just have a very obsessive fixation
with every part of you."

"The feeling is mutual," Remus murmurs.

Sirius turns to press a kiss to Remus' head. "Do you want to tell me what
you were working on?"

"If I have to think about it anymore, I'm going to reach in and grab my brain
just to toss it away," is Remus' exhausted response, and Sirius makes a
sympathetic noise. "Oh, was that very dramatic? I think I mean it, though."

"No, I get it. I've been there before. Feels like your eyes are fucking
crossing, doesn't it?" Sirius mutters.

"Yes," Remus hisses, clearly pleased that he understands.

"Well, we just won't talk about it, and you don't have to think about it,"
Sirius declares. "What do you want to do? Sit in silence? Play your guitar?
Put on the telly? Or maybe you fancy a kip? Catch up on a bit of rest; me,
you, and Stella all snuggled up and warm."
Remus pulls away slowly to regard him with so much unbridled affection
that it'd be impossible to miss. "You're wonderful, Sirius, do you know
that?"

"Marry me," Sirius responds instantly, struggling not to squirm around in

delight. All the people in the world who have praised him, yet when Remus
does it, Sirius goes all warm and giddy and would probably twirl his hair
and kick his feet if he didn't physically fight the urge every time.

"Alright," Remus says.

"Then let's adopt all one hundred and eighty-four of—" Sirius stops and
blinks. He blinks again. "Wait. What'd you just say?"

"Alright," Remus repeats, lips twitching.

Sirius stares at him. "Alright...as in…?"

"Alright, as in alright, I'll marry you," Remus clarifies.

Once again, Sirius just stares at him. As many times as he's asked that
question, Remus has never given an answer in the affirmative. He's never
refused either, or denied that they would one day get married, and Sirius has
never pushed for anything else. It hasn't bothered him, and he's always liked
that Remus never got uncomfortable about him blurting such things like
requests for marriage when he's really excited, or just feeling so much love
it tumbles from his mouth.

"Are you—are you serious?" Sirius asks cautiously.

"I thought you were Sirius," Remus teases, his gaze warm and bright with
humor, and fondness, and so much love that Sirius can barely breathe.

"Remus," Sirius whispers, "don't take the piss right now."

Slowly, Remus' face softens. He stands up abruptly and walks right out of
the room, and Sirius stares after him, mouth hanging open. Alright, what
the fuck? He can't just say shit like that and then leave. Sirius is freaking the
fuck out.

Remus returns quickly, though, and he stands in front of Sirius as he holds

out what appears to be a ripped receipt—which, what? "Look at it."

"There's no price," Sirius says, mind racing as he scans the receipt for any
clues, but there's nothing that he can see.

"Yes, because you don't need to see that. Look at the date."
"Alright… So, what, you bought something a year ago? What was
happening a year ago?"

"A year ago was the day after I met Effie and Monty for the first time,"
Remus explains. "The next day after, when I got off of work, I bought
these."

Sirius looks up and watches as Remus pulls out a black velvet box, which
immediately makes Sirius' heart shoot off to the races, and Remus' hand is
steady when he reaches out and sets the box on Sirius' knee. Sirius
swallows. "Is that…?"

"That day, when I met them, Monty said something to me that stuck… He
said that you always put too many expectations on yourself and so few on
anything else and that you weren't doing that anymore. Apparently, even
then, every time you looked at me, it was like you found a part of your
future, because you knew I'd be in it," Remus murmurs. "And he didn't even
know about how you'd asked me to marry you earlier that day, because—
because you wanted to live your life to the fullest, and the thing is, I wanted
to say yes. I've always wanted to say yes, Sirius, but I kept thinking one
day. But one day could be any day, and you don't live by one day. You're
every day, everywhere, all the time—and I love you for that. I love you
for...a lot of reasons, honestly."

"Remus," Sirius breathes out, a lump forming in his throat.

"And I didn't know what it was that I was waiting for, so I went out and
bought rings, hoping that one day would just reveal itself to me," Remus
continues. "I didn't understand what was holding me back, because every
time you asked, I wanted to say yes. I bought the fucking rings, Sirius, so
what more was I waiting for, right? It took a while before I realized I was
waiting on me. More of me. Because I wanted to give you all of me, but I
didn't know how to be all of me, so I had to figure that out first. And then,
you know, I realized that I'm always going to be finding more of me to be,
and finding more of you, because that's just—that's just life. That
realization came to me a couple months ago, and I thought then that I'd wait
for you to ask me today, because surely you would, and I'd tell you yes. I'm
not all of me, and you're not all of you; there's always more, but that doesn't
mean we're not enough. That doesn't mean we aren't everything for each
other already."

"I—I—Remus, a year ago?" Sirius croaks, his vision blurring as everything

goes topsy-turvy inside him.

"Yeah. I've been saying yes for a year, so I thought, you know, that I'd get a
yes out of you a year later," Remus says. "I'm going to love being your
husband, do you know that? You can hang this moment over my head for
the rest of our lives, if you like, and quote me on it when I threaten to
divorce you because you've mixed up my socks or found some place to hide
the book I'm reading because you want attention. I know I'm just telling you
that you're going to be my husband, and I am because you will be, but I
suppose, for you, I will go through the trouble of actually asking—"

"Yes," Sirius blurts out, nearly shouting and still somehow sounding
ridiculously breathless.

Remus smiles gently. "You have to actually let me ask, Sirius."

"Oh. Right," Sirius says, still dazed. Remus makes it look like the easiest
thing in the world to do to just step back and go down to one knee, and
Sirius immediately jolts, his heart absolutely rioting. "Oh, you're actually—
the whole bit. You're kneeling. I—you're actually kneeling."

"I am, yes," Remus replies, amused. He reaches out and gently peels the
receipt out of Sirius' hand where he's gripping it so hard his knuckles are
white. He looks so calm, and it doesn't seem to bother him that Sirius is
shaking, that he has to reach down and grip Stella's fur for dear life. He
scoops up the box and clicks it open with easy familiarity, as if he's done it
many times. "I got them inscribed on the inside to say we're eternity, you
and me, because you said that to me, and I believe it. We are, you know,
and we're going to have eternity to love each other, but right now—right
now, Sirius, will you do me the absolute honor of marrying me?"

They're matching rings, a silver band with black and gold lines etched all
the way around it in a double helix, and on the inside are the words we're
eternity, you and me.

They're beautiful.

And, for just a moment, Sirius' curtain comes down. He never has control
over such a thing, so it can't be helped. It happens to him in times of great,
overwhelming emotion when he can't handle what he's feeling, when he
needs a safe place to retreat before he just—breaks. It's through so much
therapy, so much effort, that he's learned how not to lash out in response to
the curtain falling, how to breathe through it, how to settle himself and draw
that curtain back up with his own control.
He does so now, slowly, breathing and shaking all over, just rattling from
the assault of feelings that slam their way through him with all the finesse
of a bull in a figurine shop. Remus is so, so patient with him. Calm, steady,
giving him exactly what he needs.

"God, fuck off, you romantic bastard," Sirius chokes out, finally, which
makes Remus tuck his lips in to fight a grin, and Sirius' eyes start streaming
slowly and all at once. He nods his head almost frantically, then reaches out
to grab the ring box and snap it shut before hitting his knees right in front of
Remus. His hands dart up to capture Remus' face in between his hands,
yanking him in to kiss him repeatedly, speaking rapidly in between each
kiss. "Yes." Kiss. "Yes, of course. Obviously I'm going to marry you." Kiss.
"You inscribed them? You're insane. You're fucking insane, Remus Lupin."
Kiss. "I'm so maddeningly in love with you. You're the moon. You're
everything. I love you, I love you, I love you so much." Kiss, kiss, kiss.
"Oh, Moony. My beautiful, lovely Moony. Let's get married right now,
tonight, and adopt all two hundred and four of our children tomorrow."

"That's more than before," Remus mumbles.

"I've added twenty," Sirius declares, leaning in to kiss him briefly yet again,
a fierce press of mouths.

"Yes, alright, let's do that," Remus agrees pliantly, happily, smiling at him
before Sirius inhales sharply and wraps his arms around him, tucking his
face into Remus' throat and breathing him in.
For a long moment, they just stay kneeling there, holding onto each other,
and then Sirius abruptly wrenches back. He shoves the ring box into Remus'
hands. "Put it on. You have to—"

"Alright, alright," Remus soothes him, because he's shaking from head-to-
toe and on the cusp of crying again. He cups Sirius' trembling hand and
holds it steady as he slowly slips the ring on. "Do you want—"

"Yes, I bloody want," Sirius cuts in eagerly, snatching the second ring out.
He nearly fumbles it, his breathing all wonky, and he can barely get it on
Remus' finger without Remus gently cupping his wrist to steady his hand
again. It slides on eventually, though, and Sirius stares at it like it's the most
miraculous thing he's ever seen. "Oh god. We're getting married. We're
going to get married. Remus—"

"Yes, I know," Remus says softly.

"We have to—I need to tell—but first, I have to—"

"Sirius, slow down. Breathe."

Sirius breathes, just gazing at Remus with hopeless and helpless adoration.
He's usually never left speechless, but suddenly, no words feel like they
even qualify for this moment. So, he takes some time to prioritize, and to
calm down a bit, or as much as he can under the circumstances. "Right. Yes,
well, we have to shag. That's first."
"Is it?" Remus asks, eyes sparkling.

"Yes. Stella, stay," Sirius orders, and Stella's tail starts wagging because she
knows what that means. Shagging equals treats. Sirius likes to think she's
just supportive.

With that, Sirius all but drags Remus off to devour him. They shag until
they're fucking sore and can't even twitch a muscle. Maybe Sirius cries a
few times, but no one has to know that except for Remus, who doesn't judge
him for it anyway. It's just another form of emotional connection, as well as
emotional release, and Sirius is overflowing so much that he's still trying to
shag Remus again even hours later when neither of them can actually,
physically manage it.

In the end, Sirius has to settle for clinging to him, holding him as close and
tight as he can, wishing he could dissolve into him and live under his
ribcage. He can't drag himself away for a long time, and they kiss each
other over and over, softly and deeply, until even that has to come to a
natural stop. Instead, they rest their foreheads together and breathe the same
air. It's an intimate pocket of space they exist in, a little slice of eternity
they're not eager to find their way out of.

For a long time, Sirius just cradles Remus' hand in between his own,
playing with his fingers, fondling the new ring on it. He's utterly
mesmerized. Honestly, he could probably waste years doing just this and
nothing else.
Eventually, though, Remus drags him up so they can have a shower, seeing
as they both made complete messes of one another. Afterwards, Sirius
decides what the next priority is; well, it's decided for him, really.
According to his cell, James had messaged him two hours prior to tell him
that it was safe to come over, insinuating that he and Regulus had shagged
themselves all out. So, that's decided for him.

"Are you going to immediately announce it as soon as you walk through the
door?" Remus asks in amusement as he follows Sirius out to his bike (after
they've given Stella treats and made sure she was taken out, of course).

"No," Sirius says.

"Mhm," Remus replies skeptically.

Twenty minutes later, Sirius is bursting into Regulus and James' flat to
shriek, "Moony and I are getting married!"

This does not get the proper response, Sirius feels, which may have
something to do with the fact that he's been asking Remus to marry him
for...a really long time now, and it's not outside the realm of possibility for
him to declare this without it being entirely true. Of course, when Sirius
shoves his hand out to wave the ring like proof, that gets the right reaction.

"Wait, no? No, really? Yes? Real?!" James blurts out, dumping Regulus
right off his lap where he seemed quite cozy in favor of springing up with
wide eyes.
"Real! Real, James!" Sirius bellows, bouncing up and down in place as
James snatches his wrist to examine every angle with the ring, making
small, excited noises under his breath.

"I told you he'd say yes," Regulus tells Remus, lips twitching.

Remus huffs a laugh. "I never doubted it, really."

"Wait, you knew?" Sirius sputters in disbelief.

"Of course. I'm his best friend. I've known for months, Sirius. Why do you
think I had to come back from my trip today?" Regulus asks, visibly
amused.

"Oh!" James gasps out, gaping at Regulus. "That's what you meant about
them likely being caught up in each other, and that's why Sirius didn't reply
to my message."

"Yes, James," Regulus says fondly, shaking his head.

James chokes out a laugh. "My husband, a little sneak." He pauses, then his
head whips towards Sirius. "Wait. He asked? Wait, wait, months?!"
Sirius immediately launches into a retelling of the events earlier, rambling
breathlessly, still so excited and elated that he's shaking all over again.
James matches him, though, practically fucking vibrating in shared
enthusiasm and joy. By the end of it, they've both cried twice, hugged each
other for twenty minutes, and bounced around because neither of them can
actually be still. Meanwhile, Remus and Regulus calmly sit on the sofa and
watch in shared amusement.

"Oh my god, I'm so happy for you, for both of you," James chokes out,
close to crying for a third time. He finally peels himself away from Sirius to
go snatch Remus into a hug while Sirius looks at Regulus meaningfully, his
fingers twitching.

"Yes, Sirius, I'm happy for you, too," Regulus tells him, mouth pursing like
he's trying to fight a smile.

"Well, get over here and hug your brother, then," Sirius demands, and
Regulus sighs but ultimately indulges him.

"Tosser," Regulus mutters as soon as Sirius snatches him into his arms and
squeezes him, too happy to keep his grip light.

"Wanker," Sirius shoots back, absolutely giddy.

"Prick."
"Prat."

Regulus swats him on the back of his head, but it's so light it could be an
affectionate pat. "Cunt."

"Bastard," Sirius mumbles, slowly pushing him back to smile at him.

"Really, though. You're—you're happy for us?"

"I am," Regulus confirms quietly. "Genuinely."

Sirius grins at him. "We'll have different last names, you know. You can
start telling everyone we're not even related."

"Now, why would I do that when you're the only person I'm actually proud
to be related to?" Regulus challenges, eyes flashing with muted humor and
mischief.

"Still brothers, Reggie?" Sirius teases.

Regulus hums and dryly says, "Until our last breaths, I imagine, but at least
that makes death seem less scary."
"You're awful," Sirius says, biting back a laugh.

"I know," Regulus replies, lips curling up.

"Yes, James, I love you too, but I need to breathe," Remus wheezes from
the right of them, because James is apparently still smothering him in a
hug.

"I'm just—I'm just so happy," James declares, still a little weepy. "You're
going to get married. It's lovely marrying the person you love. God, can we
do it again, Regulus?"

"Whatever you want," Regulus says, and James beams at him.

Sirius flaps his hands around. "Prongs, come here and help me get the
perfect picture of the ring to put in the group chat."

"Oh god, Peter is going to lose it," James hisses, immediately detaching
from Remus to come join Sirius.

"I know!" Sirius agrees gleefully.

The next hour passes with the announcements. The group chat goes
absolutely ballistic. Nearly everyone tries to call at once, so Sirius ends up
on the phone with a hysterically sobbing Peter, while James holds the phone
away from his ear where everyone can hear Lily screeching at the top of her
lungs with Mary doing the same in the background. It takes a bit for Sirius
to get everyone to calm down enough to agree to meeting up tomorrow for
celebrations.

Meanwhile, Remus just puts it in the smaller and still fairly new group chat
—consisting of him, Pandora, Regulus, Aiko, Evan, and Barty—that he's
engaged. Evan and Barty congratulate him, declare that he's brave for
chaining himself to Sirius, and apologize for the suffering he's sure to
endure. Pandora beats Aiko in ringing Remus, so Aiko rings Regulus
instead, and the four of them have a slightly milder version of the same
thing James and Sirius are dealing with.

After that, Sirius calls Effie, asking her to put it on speaker so Monty can
hear. As soon as he delivers the news, Effie cries happily, and then she cries
even more when Sirius asks her if she'll give him away at the wedding. That
begs the question of who's going to give Remus away, and for the first time
today, Sirius feels his mood take a sharp nosedive as he looks over at
Remus, who undoubtedly won't be inviting his father to the wedding.
Monty would surely do it, Sirius knows that, and he's just about to say so,
because the look on Remus' face makes his heart ache, but he never gets the
chance.

Because Regulus puts his hand over his phone and cuts in casually, almost
distracted, to declare, "It'll be me, obviously. Who else? Only I can really
give Remus away to my brother, if you think about it. Just makes sense."
He says it flippantly, like it doesn't matter, like it's a foregone conclusion.
But Sirius sees Remus and Regulus look at each other with something
passing between them, and he thinks he understands. Because when they
had no one else, they had each other; they were one another's only friend,
only family, and that means something to both of them. Remus visibly
relaxes, his eyes getting a bit shiny as his face softens, and Regulus offers
him a quick, tiny smile of acknowledgement before going right back to
talking to Aiko.

In the end, after they've all talked themselves out, they all collapse onto the
sofa together. There's a long, comfortable silence between all of them, one
that speaks of the simple contentment and love they all have for each other.
Sirius closes his eyes for a while and basks in it.

"Christ," Remus murmurs, "who would have thought we'd end up here, like
this?"

"Marrying our best friend's brother?" James prompts, sounding amused.

"Yeah," Remus admits.

"I never doubted us," James says, and everyone turns to stare at him until he
relents. "Alright, so maybe I doubted us a little bit, but I always knew it was
possible, how's that?"

"I'm proud of us, you know," Sirius says softly.

"So am I, honestly," Regulus muses. "We worked very hard to get here,
didn't we?"

"We did," Remus agrees, and they all share a quiet laugh between them,
exhilarated with life.

"Come here," James says happily, pulling Sirius into yet another hug, which
Sirius is more than willing to indulge in. James does unfurl his arm and flap
his hand off to the side, shuffling him and Sirius until he can grab onto
Remus and drag him in as well. Regulus very pointedly shuffles away, but
James keeps holding his arm out and wiggling his fingers persistently. "No.
You too, love. Get in here."

"Oh, alright," Regulus mutters, barely even resisting, and they can all see
him tucking a warm smile away.

"If I have to be a part of this, Reg, so do you," Remus teases, reaching out
to snag Regulus' arm and pull him in the tangle of a strangely steady
embrace.

It stays steady. Like them. Like a storm, a lightning strike; like the sun, and
the moon. Like four people who love each other so very much in such
different ways, who worked so very hard to get the chance to, and they'll
keep doing it.
It's a choice they'll all keep making.

Chapter End Notes

This fic was honestly such a labor of love, and it holds a special place
in my heart for a lot of different reasons, one of which is that it got me
deeper into this Fandom and helped me meet some really, really lovely
people. My love for these characters are boundless, so I will
undoubtedly be writing for them again. <3

I would also like to say that the feedback and support, comments and
kudos, and interactions I've gotten for this fic means so very much to
me. I can't thank all of you enough for it.

Come and see me on Twitter, my @ is zeppazariel

Come and see me on Tumblr, my url is: regulusbrainrot

Again, thank you all so, so much <3

Until the next one :')

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enjoyed their work!