Chapter Text
— FIRST YEAR , DECEMBER .
“Do you have any siblings?” Sirius asks, arms hanging loosely by his side. They’ve only known each other for a few months but James has grown familiar with Sirius' habits. For instance, right now, he knows that Sirius' behaviour means he's thinking. It means Sirius is getting himself ready to share another part of himself.
This is the habit they’ve fallen into. Christmas break is approaching, as is Sirius’ inevitable return home.
James isn’t quite sure why Sirius acts as if this is a bad thing. Sure, he's been able to gather that Sirius’ parents aren’t very nice, but sometimes Sirius speaks like he’s sure it’s his last chance, like he thinks James will vanish into the January air and they’ll never speak again.
In Sirius’ frenzy of trying to dish out information, with the weight of it potentially being his only shot, James has come to learn quite a few things.
Sirius loves tea but doesn’t quite know how to make it for himself. He has impeccable table manners and yet he still licks the icing off his scones because it makes Remus laugh. He’s never quite had a favourite colour but, when he was 8, he hated the look people gave him when he didn’t have an answer so he picked red and stuck with it. There are six freckles on his neck, he can write with both his left and right hand, and he hates his parents.
And now, James suspects, he’s about to find out about Sirius’ siblings.
“Nope.” James replies, keeping his answer brief and to the point. He’s much more interested in what it is that Sirius wants to say. “Do you have any?”
There’s a soft sort of smile that passes along Sirius’ face, one that carries the weight of his love. “Just one, a little brother.”
“What’s he like?” James asks, just to keep Sirius talking.
“He’s amazing. A little shy, but good.” Sirius pauses, looking down at his hands. James only ever sees him timid like this when he speaks about his family. “I miss him terribly.”
“He’ll be here next year, right?”
Sirius nods, “Regulus—that’s his name. He’s just a year younger.”
Regulus .
It’s not just a name, it reverberates in James’ skull like the drums of a rock song. It sweeps over his body and blankets him a warmth he’s never quite felt before. Regulus .
˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚
— SECOND YEAR, SEPTEMBER .
“James!” Sirius calls from just down the train.
James turns around at the familiar voice and runs straight towards it. He hugs Sirius so tight that his glasses become lopsided, uncomfortably digging into the flesh behind his ear, but he can’t be bothered to care.
Sirius is safe. Sirius is here.
He’s only 12, but the horrors that Sirius encounters at home aren’t something he needs to be old to understand. Sure, he doesn't quite get it all, but he does get that Sirius hates being there. And if Sirius hates it, James does too. When Sirius feels something, James swears the exact same emotion bubbles through his heart.
“How was your summer?” James asks, just to have something to say, but he bites down on his tongue instantly. What a stupid question.
“Terrible.” Sirius replies, grinning in a way that doesn’t quite match the bags under his eyes and the bruise that James can see blooming just past his neck. “But at least I got something out of it.”
“What?” James raises an eyebrow before his gaze follows Sirius’ down to the boy sitting quietly in the compartment next to them.
“My brother, Regulus.” Sirius explains, “He’s finally in his first year.”
Regulus.
The name is just as destructive as it was the first time James heard it, sending shockwaves through his veins that disrupt the steady pattern of his pulse. Sirius pulls him through the compartments until he stops and smiles at someone inside.
Regulus is beautiful, just as James expected he’d be.
He’s small, or maybe he’s just making himself that way, curled into a corner against the window. James wants, fleetingly, to push back the dark curls dancing on Regulus’ forehead.
There’s an odd buzz in his stomach, he feels it carry his feet forward, into the compartment. He feels it throw his arm forward in a greeting.
Regulus looks up at him, eyes hidden behind his hair. It’s wilder than Sirius’, falling over his head but not quite in a way that looks messy. It looks graceful. Everything about Regulus is graceful. His hair, his eyes, his soft, pale hand shaking James’ as he mumbles hello .
“I’m James.” James says, beaming at the way Regulus’ features fold into recognition. He wonders what Sirius has said about him.
Before leaving for the summer, Sirius told James that he planned on giving Regulus an in-depth recap on the entirety of the year. He said he didn’t want Regulus to feel like he’d missed out on anything. But by the dulled, muted look in Regulus’ face, James can’t be sure that Sirius told him everything . James has yet to meet someone bored to see him, until now, of course.
“Regulus.” The boy offers, pressing his lips into a thin smile and dropping James’ hand. He doesn’t protest when James takes the seat next to him and James beams at that too. Hadn’t Sirius said he was shy? Perhaps he isn’t bored, just unsure.
“That’s a nice name.” James compliments, hoping to get a human reaction out of the boy in front of him. Regulus Black may be pretty, but he doesn’t seem very alive.
There’s a grey around his eyes and an undertone to his voice that makes him sound worn out. It’s an early judgement, James knows, so he grins at Regulus and—
And then the sky parts and the Earth rumbles and Regulus smiles.
A smile that could move mountains, stop hearts. A smile that stretches across the skyline, brightens the day, signals the birds to sing.
And there’s a split second where James realises he was wrong.
Regulus Black is alive. He’s living and breathing and carrying so much life in him that he hides it in the pockets of his dimples, the creases of his cheeks.
His soul seeps into his face, drawing colour to his skin, revealing the humanness that was lacking.
James wonders if Regulus doesn’t smile much because he knows that the world stops when he does. He wishes Regulus would do it anyway. Would the world freezing be so bad if James was here?
“Nicer than the brightest star?” Sirius teases.
“Well, that depends.” James starts, he turns to Regulus attentively, “Regulus, what’s your star?”
“Heart of the Leo constellation.” Regulus replies softly, like he has it memorised.
James leans toward Regulus, motioning for him to come close so James can whisper. “I love lions.”
Regulus smiles again. It’s catastrophic.
˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚
“Lost, Black?” James laughs, tapping Regulus’ shoulder. He’d watched as Regulus walked into the wrong room twice before helping.
There’s something magnetic about Regulus, something that draws in James in a way he can’t quite understand for himself. He likes the low hum of a crowd passing by them as they focus on each other, he likes the way Regulus doesn’t seem to like many people, but fairs with James just fine.
Regulus’ face morphs into something like relief when he turns around. “It’s hard not to be lost. This school is a maze.”
And oh , James loves this part, too. He loves that Regulus is comfortable with him.
“Let me be your tour guide.” James says, throwing his arm over Regulus’ shoulder. “Off we go, Baby Black.”
There’s something electric in Regulus’ skin, something that feels like bolts of lighting racing toward James’ heart. It should be alarming how easy it is to let Regulus feel like an old friend, a vital organ in James’ body that he’s simply been living with, living because of .
“James, don’t you have class?”
“Oh, the horrors of missing one period.”
“I’d feel terrible if you were late to a class because I made you help me.”
It’s only been weeks, but James knows what Regulus will do if he leaves. He won’t ask a teacher for help, he won’t find another student. No, he’ll wander, and wander some more, and eventually he’ll find his class, and he’ll be a half hour late, but he’d rather that than ask. He’ll struggle within himself, until it's too much, and then he’ll slip away and find the solution on his own.
James hates it. He hates not knowing, he hates not fixing it, he hates the idea of Regulus in need of help and denying himself the aid anyway.
He wishes Regulus would follow Sirius’ footsteps, ask for what he’d like and accept it with the same pride. He wishes he could force Regulus to take his help.
“Well, I’d feel worse if you were late because I didn’t help you.” James replies easily.
Regulus sighs, smiling defeatedly but arguing anyway, “James—”
“Just let me help you,” James says, guiding them toward the classroom and laughing when Regulus huffs.
Just let me spend time with you , James thinks, a few extra minutes with you.
˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚
— THIRD YEAR, MAY .
“I hate school.” Regulus declares, flopping onto the grass next to James and crossing his arms.
“That’s a lie.” James comments. He tilts his head so he can get a better look at Regulus but it proves to be a terrible idea. Because once he starts, he can’t stop looking. And looking and looking and looking. At the small blades of grass that dance between Regulus’ fingers, the sun pouring its love into the freckles that adorn his face.
Regulus smiles warmly, eyes teasing but unable to mask the joy. James knows that, despite what Regulus says or how he acts, he likes this. He likes being known. He likes being figured out.
“So maybe it’s a bit of a lie.” Regulus closes his eyes, still smiling. “It’s not completely false either.”
“Tell me what you don’t like.” James says. He’s trying hard to focus on the conversation but the wind is blowing Regulus’ hair into intricate patterns along his forehead.
And James is looking and looking and looking.
“I’m just not particularly in the mood to do maths.” Regulus admits. He gives James a guilty smile, another smile.
“You’re going to hate everything at school because of maths?”
“What’s there not to hate?”
“Me.”
Regulus laughs then, a bold laugh, a lovely, lively, attention commanding laugh. “It was implied that I didn’t hate you.” And then he pauses, and the laughter dies out of his face and they’re both just laying there.
And James is looking. God , is he looking.
The next words that Regulus’ voice produces are small, suddenly, lighter than before with only the facade of a joking manner. “I wouldn’t ever hate you.”
“I wouldn’t let you.” James says.
And it makes them both laugh because of how ridiculous it is to think that they could, in any world, feel something other than this for each other. This low, warm feeling in the bottom of their stomachs that seems to double in size every time they do this—laugh and love in the presence of the other. This gentle caress of invisible finger tips that graze their cheeks every moment they’re together.
How terrible to think they could ever be anything less than this.
˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚
The astronomy tower is likely James’ best discovery to date.
He feels guilty coming here alone, blankets and candles in hand as he unravels in the darkness that engulfs the space. He knows he should share the room with his friends, show them the majestic brass and bronze pillars and stairs that circle around—but he can’t bring himself to.
He loves his friends, he truly does.
And yet, he craves these moments alone. Seconds of the day where he can breathe without the weight of his actions’ impact, without the idea that there is a receiving end—oh, he cherishes these like nothing else.
Sometimes, he’d just like to be, without the reputation of his name following close behind. He’d like to curl into himself and not speak to everyone he knows at any given time, he’d like to go under the radar—or off the radar—and observe the moments of his day as an invisible bystander. It’s not fair, he knows, to ask for everything like this. To love people one minute, want them gone the next.
Mere moments of sitting alone have passed before James realises he’s crying.
There’s nothing particularly upsetting about the day, nothing that he can attribute these tears to, but they’re spilling. It feels good, like he’s unscrewing the bolts of his body and deep cleaning, every break getting fixed, every piece getting sorted. He pulls his glasses off by the nose bridge and lets the tears roll freely.
He isn’t sad—he’d know if he was sad. He is tired. So incredibly exhausted from going about his day and thinking everything through and he lets it all wash away as tears cling to his jaw, fall into his hands, roll onto his neck. He dissolves into a frenzy of tears and sobs, loving the way he can feel the weight leave his shoulders as he puts his spirit into the weeping.
The tears fall from his eyes and carry him upward—he’s floating. His limbs have no feeling, his body is raw, and the layers of protection that he’s kept himself in shed away.
And then he’s dropping, hitting the floor sharply again at the sound of shuffling footsteps.
“James?” A voice whispers, and then louder, “James are you crying?”
James slips his glasses back on, making out a head of curls through his squinted, teary eyes. Regulus.
“Oh,” James breathes, “hey, Reg.”
“Jesus,” Regulus says, standing in front of him now, staring down at the way James is curled into himself and wrapped in his blankets, “are you okay ?”
James nods, “Couldn’t be better.” He knows it doesn’t come out the way he wants it to because Regulus’ eyebrows only furrow in confusion. He knows that his appearance, teary eyed and pale, isn’t making it more convincing.
Regulus takes the seat next to him, prompting James to open his cocoon and let Regulus sit pressed against his shoulder. Regulus is hesitant as he gets comfortable, “Did you want to be alone? Because I can—”
“No,” James says quickly, “no, stay.”
He’s not sure where the words are coming from. He had wanted to be alone. But Regulus—well, he always wants to be with Regulus, too.
In some non communicable way, laced with greed and longing, he always wants everything.
“Do you come here a lot?” James asks, changing the topic.
“Kind of, yeah,” Regulus replies, “you?”
“Oh, I’m always here,” James looks over at Regulus, smiling. There isn’t much to smile about, but his lips curl upwards in the presence of anyone, he can hardly keep a feeling before switching to the next.
“Can I ask why?” Regulus’ voice trails off and his fingers start to fidget with the hem of the blanket. “You just, you know, don’t seem like the type to need—or, well, want—alone time.”
It’s more serious than James had hoped, it dampens the grin on his face. He doesn’t want to dissect his decisions in front of Regulus, or anyone, for that matter. But he’s here now, and there’s no getting out of the situation, and he’d give Regulus anything he wanted at the drop of a hat, anyway.
James sighs, “Sometimes I want to—” he stops, not even knowing how to continue without sounding like a terrible friend. “I love my friends, you know? But sometimes I—well, I just,”
He doesn’t know where to go from there. He can’t find a way to describe the way he just wants sometimes. Wants the world to twist and turn at his command to become what he wants. Filled with people. Void of human life. It’s drastically different one moment to the next and James has never been able to explain why, he doesn’t know how to know, he just knows the air around him is so tight sometimes and the only way he can fix it all is by this.
“You need to breathe?” Regulus offers.
It’s so simple, and yet it feels like it was pulled from James’ head exactly, it feels like Regulus looked into him and found the words sitting, right in front of his eyes.
“Exactly, I need to breathe.” James replies eagerly, “It sounds horrible, I know—”
Regulus cuts him off by shaking his head. He’s silent for a moment and James holds his tongue, waiting for him to continue, waiting for the blow to his character about how selfish he is, how he shouldn’t lie to his friends and—
And it doesn’t come.
“It’s not horrible,” Regulus objects, “It’s reasonable. I feel it all the time.”
“Yeah?” James asks, warmth flowing through the innermost parts of his body. Reasonable, reasonable, reasonable.
“There’s so many things happening, everywhere,” Regulus says, “I think we’d go crazy if we tried to process it all without moments to ourselves.”
“How do you…” James’ voice trails off, not sure how to fill in the ending of his questions.
“How do I process?” Regulus asks, prompting James to nod. “I don’t think I do.”
˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚
— FOURTH YEAR, APRIL .
“And that’s the Ursa Major constellation.” Regulus says, pointing up at the sky so arbitrarily that James doesn’t even bother trying to match their lines of sight. If James had to pick between watching the stars and watching Regulus watch the stars, it would be a no brainer. The latter would not only win in this comparison, but maybe in any question, ever.
They’ve been holed up in the astronomy tower for hours now. It’s become their spot over the months, the place they come to be alone, to be together. Regulus loves pointing out the stars, he loves showing James his family tree in the sky. And James loves listening. He loves the melodies in Regulus’ laugh and the soft harmony of his breathing.
He’s more than happy to just lie next to Regulus and stare. Bare silence with Regulus is more than enough. The raw, heavy sound of breathing, the reminder that they’re alive , it’s all a small infinity of perfection in itself.
James’ glasses ruin any opportunity of peripheral vision and he has no choice but to let his head fall to the side, admiring Regulus shamelessly. Not that he doesn’t do that regularly, anyway.
“And then there’s the—” Regulus stops himself, looking to the side and sighing deeply. “James, have you been listening?”
“Of course.” James replies, the hitch of his voice giving away that he hadn’t been listening. But who could ever focus on the words when the voice producing them is that of a God. It’s hardly James’ fault at all—if anything, Regulus should watch his tone. He might kill James if he keeps using the deep, low voice, that’s somewhere between a whisper and the bare, throaty voice that Regulus slips into at night.
“Fine” Regulus huffs, “why don’t you show me what you remember, then?”
James grins, eyes searching until he finds the constellation, more importantly the star, he's looking for. “There’s Regulus.” He says smugly, not ignoring the catch in Regulus’ breath when their hands graze.
“That’s the only one you know?” Regulus asks, raising his eyebrow in mock disappointment.
“That’s the only one that matters .”
˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚
— FIFTH YEAR, JANUARY .
James is worried.
He’s been worried for 12 days.
He’s been worried since Sirius showed up on his doorstep, bloody and bruised, tears flying in every direction.
Breaks from school weren’t calming for him like they were for other students. James spent them trying to be a good son, but still anxiously pacing his room at the thought of what Sirius and Regulus were going through. It wasn’t easy being so helpless, he couldn’t imagine how they felt.
And then he could. Because that Christmas, Sirius had knocked on his door and collapsed in his living room as he detailed the horrors of his night.
The rest of the break had been a whirlwind of fixing Sirius up and deciding he couldn’t go back and setting him up in the spare room which would now be his room.
And within all of this, within the flurry of preparations, Sirius let it slip that Regulus was still there, all alone. The mere thought of Regulus withstanding the wrath of his parents by himself had James at the door, putting on his shoes and demanding to go get him.
But then, on top of everything, Sirius had admitted that Regulus chose to stay. He said that he’d given Regulus the option to come with him, but Regulus had declined.
So yes, James was worried.
James was worried because Regulus spent every second he was with James talking about how much he loved school, how nice it was to be away from his family, but the moment he got the chance to do it for good, he turned his back.
˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚
The train to Hogwarts is always packed. So many people, so many bags, yet there always seems to be enough space for everyone. James and his friends always manage to get their trusty compartment.
Having their own compartment has never proved as useful as it does today. Sirius is curled up, wrapped around himself and slightly shaking. It’s been a bit of a constant state since he left home.
“James,” Sirius says finally, “you need to go find Regulus.”
This is the loudest Sirius has spoken since the night he arrived at James’ front door and it’s still hardly audible over the rustle of students walking up and down the aisles.
Still, even with the background noise and Sirius’ throat swallowing a portion of every word, James can make out Regulus .
“What about Regulus?” James asks carefully. He’s been like this since Christmas, cautious in his attempts to get Sirius to speak, usually unsuccessful in his attempts to make Sirius explain.
“Go find Regulus.” Sirius repeats, loud and firm. The voice of authority. The voice of a Black. “He’s been alone since Christmas.”
James is about to protest, not knowing if Regulus will even want to see him in a moment like this, but Sirius has started breathing quicker, heavier. Remus wraps an arm around Sirius' waist and drags him into a lopsided hug, he gives James a look. Whether he’s simply asking for privacy or telling James to go find Regulus is unclear, but it’s obvious he wants space for Sirius and keeping this in mind, James slips out of the compartment and joins the people walking up and down trying to find a seat.
There’s really nothing to do but look for Regulus. He can’t go join another compartment, he wouldn’t even know where to begin. And he can’t just stand outside on his own as Remus calms Sirius down. So he slowly patters through the aisles trying to find a head of curly hair and a boy by himself.
When he stops by Regulus, alone, curled into the corner of the window, body folded into itself, he’s taken back to a time years ago when they’d first met.
It was simpler then, or perhaps it wasn’t, but it felt like it was nevertheless.
“Regulus?” he asks, peering into the compartment. His heart is beating.
And beating and beating and beating.
Regulus looks up at him, eyes wide and tense, shoulders raised in anticipation. The weeks have not been easy on Regulus, they haven’t shown mercy to the red pockets under his eyes and the grey that covers his face. But something about Regulus pierces through the foggy layers of hurt he carries around, something about him sparks a vibrant, raw feeling in the centre of James’ chest.
“James.” Regulus breathes.
There’s a whirlwind just within seconds it takes James to process that Regulus is here. Here and alive and maybe crumpled but intact nonetheless. And there’s something in Regulus’ face that explains everything, it tells James why he didn’t follow Sirius out and it pleads for an apology.
James can’t even speak before Regulus is leaping out of his seat and throwing himself into James’ arms.
Beating and beating and beating.
James can’t be sure what’s controlling his body, it’s not his brain, it might be his heart. Is this what his heart feels like? He’s suddenly aware his heart belongs to Regulus, he knows it isn’t his own. Is this what love feels like? He can almost see Regulus’ gentle fingers squeezing his bruised and bloody heart to keep it contracting. Is this what love is ?
Whatever it is that’s in charge of his limbs manages to hug Regulus back. Stay here, James thinks, I want you like this, let me have you like this .
When he pulls away, every fibre of his body screaming to touch Regulus again, he sighs.
“Are you okay?” Are the first words that tumble from James’ lips. He practised what he’d say to Regulus last month, he’d planned it all out. But after not speaking to him for so many days, he can’t trust the words in his head, he has to stick to something he’s said time and time again. Words he knows.
“I’m okay.” Regulus says, his voice just barely above a whisper. “How is—” he pauses, the question catching in his throat, “how is Sirius?”
The name sounds thick in Regulus’ mouth, it sounds like it hurts, it sounds like he’s choking. It’s never been like this before, James isn’t quite sure what to do. It’s scary, standing in front of Regulus and not having the answer.
James has felt responsible for both Sirius and Regulus for years now, ever since he met Sirius, ever since he heard Regulus’ name. There’s a sinking feeling in his stomach that comes with this newfound unsureness.
“Sirius is…” James starts but then his voice trails off, falters and stops. There’s no right response here. “Sirius is alright.” he stutters out. It’s pathetic, but there’s nothing else for him to say. Sirius is…good? He couldn’t bring it in himself to lie to Regulus. Sirius is…bad? He doesn’t want to make it seem as though Sirius’ effort was in vain.
Regulus nods. He might just be shaking. It’s hard to tell.
“Thank you.” Regulus says after a moment.
They’re standing apart, an impossible distance between them that stretches far past the floor of the train. James thinks, for a second, that Regulus is going to collapse — maybe even disintegrate—so he takes a step forward.
And then another step.
And another.
One foot in front of the other in slow, shaky shuffles.
“You don’t have to thank me.” James whispers when there’s a breath of a space between their faces.
And then Regulus does fall, he crumbles. His body folds over, his shoulders drop, his limbs sag into James’ arms. It’s different from the hug they shared earlier. It’s slow, it’s deliberate, it’s careful. James doesn’t want to move too quickly, doesn’t want to disrupt whatever it is that Regulus is undergoing.
He can’t do anything. He can’t make it better, he can’t reach into Regulus’ body and slowly uncoil the wires of hurt that have tangled themselves in his veins. He can stay completely still, stop Regulus from hitting the ground.
He stands as Regulus falls into him, he stands and stands and stands until it’s all too much and his body caves in, wrapping naturally around Regulus’ shivering shell of a body.
“Thank you, thank you, thank...” Regulus mumbles, or maybe it’s closer to a wail. He’s chanting the words like they’re laced with honey, sweet and forgiving. “I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry.” He says these words like he’s begging, like the Devil himself is escaping his lips with every syllable, the letters are wrapped in thorns and scraping his mouth as they crawl out.
“Don’t apologise.” James murmurs. “You did nothing wrong, it’s not your fault.” The words are meaningless. James knows it takes more than generic statements, more than words peeled from his subconscious comfort to fix Regulus. “You’re here now, okay? You’re here, I’ve got you.” He repeats the same nonsensical statements into Regulus’ hair.
He doesn’t even know if he says them loud enough to be heard.
˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚
“I could live like this.” Regulus says, back pressed against James’ firm, white mattress.
The bottle of vodka that they’ve nearly emptied is sitting on the dresser and if James looks at it enough, it blurs into two. He isn’t quite sure how they got here. He knows they were at the party and then they left the party and then returned again to sneak out alcohol and then in some twist of events that got lost between the passing of time, they ended up in James' bed.
It’s a nice bed, James realises. He’d never quite thought about it before but now, when his senses seem to be functioning at double the rate they normally do, he can feel his body fitting into the small curve he’s created where he lays.
“Live like what?” He asks suddenly. He’d forgotten that Regulus had said anything at all.
What had he been thinking about? The bed? Regulus?
Regulus.
Regulus looks awfully pretty. Face flushed, eyes just as bright but missing the worried glint they normally carried. Regulus carries his worry on his back, he drags it around wherever he goes, he's always anticipating and waiting, and waiting, and waiting for something to go wrong.
But not now.
The air around him is lighter, James can feel the difference, can feel the way Regulus' shoulders have dropped with relief.
“Like this .” Regulus repeats, making a vague hand motion that doesn’t quite do anything for James except make him dizzy.
“You’re not making it better.” He replies honestly. “Just give me a word for it.”
Regulus huffs, staring intently at the ceiling as if he’ll find the perfect descriptor for his emotions if he looks up a little harder.
“ Quiet .” He says finally, eyes lighting up now that he’s found the word. “Everything is always so loud, and now everything is quiet.”
James can’t be sure what it is that Regulus means. Sure, the vodka may have slowed his brain down, maybe it even relaxed him, but James isn’t sure his brain feels quieter. If anything, the things he feels seem to be exemplified, every colour more vibrant, every emotion more grand. If anything, James feels as if someone has turned up the volume of his life and left him with no ear plugs.
“Quiet?” He asks.
He knows he’s asking too many questions. He knows Regulus might get scared, might close himself off at the thought of giving too much away. He knows that, as soon as Regulus starts talking, really talking, he pulls back just as fast. Like a flash of honesty in his facade of an appearance, a sudden clearing in his smoke and mirrors.
“It’s all so much,” Regulus admits, He says it like it’s a bitter realisation, something he’s forced himself to accept. He's lost somewhere in his own mind, his eyes are glossed over. “Ever since I was a kid, it’s all just been so much.”
“What is?”
Regulus pauses, closing his eyes, and folding his hands under his head, “My head,”
“Your head?” James feels useless, repeating words from Regulus’ sentences for clarity. But he’s buzzed, and his head isn’t quiet, it’s foggy and half-working, and he just wants to help.
“My head,” Regulus agrees, eagerly, “and the things around me, people talking and pens clicking and a conversation I overheard days ago that I still think about. And I’m in over my head in experiences and sounds and moments and I can feel everyone crawling under my skin, pressing down on my lungs,”
James can’t do anything but nod. He doesn’t want to speak and pop the thin bubble of comfortability that Regulus had placed them in.
“But this , the alcohol,” Regulus continues, “it makes it all quiet. It makes it all manageable.”
James is nodding and nodding as Regulus keeps going. Let me fix this for you, he thinks. His alcohol-fuzzy brain can’t even be sure what the problem is but that’s the only thought in his head. Let me fix this for you .
There’s a hum somewhere in the room, it screams as neither of them speak. James has nothing to say and Regulus looks like he’s forming an idea so they wait, and they wait.
And they wait some more.
“When I’m drunk,” Regulus starts again, and then he shakes his head, "when I'm high , God, I feel like I can finally breathe .”
That’s how I feel around you , James thinks.
He doesn’t say it out loud.
“You can’t breathe normally?”
“No, maybe I can.” Regulus thinks out loud. “But it’s hardly even breathing if I’m always forcing the air in, right?”
“I suppose,”
“I’m so alive like this,” Regulus smiles, “I feel so close to dying and I feel so alive. If I close my eyes, I feel like I’m blind, I forget everything.”
“Regulus—”
“I forget about all the terrible shit, too, you know.” Regulus cuts him off, the words are fervent and quick, like they’re racing to get out, toppling over the next like an escape. “I forget about them. ”
“Your parents?”
Regulus reaches over, placing a finger against James’ lips, shushing him. “Shh, I’m forgetting.”
˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚
— SIXTH YEAR, OCTOBER .
They’re close. They’re so close. And James doesn’t remember how they got here but he’s more than glad they did because there’s this warm, full pressure between Regulus’ waist and the palm of James’ hand as he pulls Regulus closer and closer and infinitely closer. The pads of James’ fingers discover the small dimples that Regulus has on the small of his back and suddenly James is aware that he’ll likely get violent if he ever has to move from this spot.
James didn’t pay quite enough attention in physics to remember if people can dissolve into each other but he can’t quite seem to care because it’s happening to him now, so it must be real. The more Regulus moves toward him, the more they blend into each other. It’s slow at first, and then James can feel it. He can feel the way his whole body reacts, the ripple that racks him from his shoulders to his knees.
Regulus’ smile is bright. It’s inviting. It glows and gleams with a richness that says he knows he’s going to ruin James if they get any closer, but he wants James to dive forward anyway.
And James does.
Kissing Regulus, he finds, is instinctive. If people react to danger by either fight, flight, or freeze; James is sure he’s fighting.
The adrenaline in his body takes over the movement of his lips, keeping his brain far, far away and focusing on the threat at hand: Regulus.
And he’s fighting. And fighting. And fighting. And if loving Regulus didn’t feel like enough of a battle, then kissing Regulus definitely does. James persists, tirelessly, letting the animal side of his body push through the human urge to be tender.
And then Regulus sighs, softly, gently. Warm air that hits James’ cheeks ever so slightly and it's like there’s life being breathed back into him.
He’s really not fighting anymore. His body is sure, so sure, that Regulus isn’t a threat, he isn’t anything close to one.
Kissing Regulus consciously , he finds, is a bit like honey on toast. There’s something sweet, and something warm, and something that brings you back to your fondest memories as a young boy on the swings who thought he’d be able to kick high enough to touch the stars.
When he pulls away, his lungs are begging his body for air. He breathes. It’s embarrassing how much concentration it takes to do something he had mastered as a child.
Regulus is looking up at him, the smile long gone and his face contorted into one of shock.
“You just—you—” he mumbles, emotions wavering through his face faster than James can label. He sounds like he can’t quite believe James kissed him, that James would ever kiss him.
James decides to clear it up once, and for all.
“I like you.” He says, clear and firm with no room for misinterpretation. “I really like you.”
Regulus’ mouth practically falls open, and James waits for a response. And waits. And waits. And waits. And after what feels like an eternity, he finally gets one.
“Oh.” Regulus breathes.
“Oh?”
“Well that’s—yeah that’s—oh, Christ—um—yeah, that’s, that’s good.” Regulus stutters through his words like he’s not even the ones creating them.
“It’s good?” James asks, he’s mildly amused but he’s mostly terrified. He needs an answer, a reassuring answer that tells him his next move.
“Oh—fuck—um, right—sorry, it’s just—” Regulus is hardly speaking, just making noises, fragments of thoughts.
“Breathe.” James tells him, “It’s okay, just breathe.”
“Right.” Regulus’ throat sounds tight, his shoulders relax as he takes James’ advice. “I like you too.”
˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚
Kissing Regulus whenever he wants is something of a dream.
Most days, James just hardly stops himself from keeping Regulus in bed all day.
“What is it that you were saying earlier?” James asks him between soft kisses against his jaw. Regulus had walked into his room with something to talk about but had quickly dropped it when he found James changing his shirt in front of the mirror.
All thought about talking had been forgotten the moment Regulus fell backward onto James’ bed looking absolutely ravishing.
“Hmm?” Regulus asks, not seeming too interested in anything other than the deliberate movement of his lips just under James’ Adam’s apple.
James pulls away gently, “You wanted to tell me something.”
Regulus’ eyes strain as he tries to remember until they fall into some semblance of recognition. “It was just something dumb about my day.”
“I want to hear it, anyway.” He urges, letting his hands rest comfortably around Regulus’ waist.
It seems to be the right thing to say, though, because Regulus lights up at the prospect of getting to share what he’s thinking, his eyes glow with the mischief of a narrator as he bends and curls through his memories and retells the best possible version.
James loves this. He loves listening to Regulus speak, he loves getting little glances around the labyrinth that is Regulus’ mind.
James loves him . He loves him every second he blinks, every moment he breathes.
When Regulus finishes his story, he smiles sheepishly, eyes closing in embarrassment. “That was really long, sorry.”
James hates this. He hates that Regulus feels the need to apologise for taking up time, taking up space. He shudders at the thought of Regulus being anything less than the centre of the universe.
“Regulus,” James starts, trying to keep his voice as kind as possible. “You might be shocked to hear this, but I actually enjoy every second we spend together.” Regulus’ eyes widen with something like awe. “You really don’t have to apologise for it.” James finishes, hoping he got across what he’s thinking.
Because he can’t quite say what he’s thinking.
He can’t say, Regulus, the only time I’m ever really sure I’m alive is when I’m next to you, please don’t apologise for making me know I’m human, you’re not doing anything wrong.
There’s silence for a few moments. Just silence. It’s bare and raw and it says a lot of things in a lot of ways.
And then Regulus is shaking his head.
“What’s wrong?” James asks, suddenly aware that he may have crossed a line. He may have said too much, he may be scaring Regulus away with every word.
“You’re always so nice to me.” Regulus breathes. Every word punches out of him in short, ragged breaths.
“I know.”
“Why am I not used to it yet?” He asks. He sounds like a child. But there’s a worn, grown sort of tire to his voice that detracts from anything that could possibly be youthful. He doesn’t sound his age, he sounds like he’s lived lives longer, and harder than anyone could endure.
“You have a lifetime with me to get used to it.”
James can feel Regulus’ smile as he leans in to kiss him.
˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚
Getting high when you’re in love isn’t a feeling James can describe, but when it comes to him, he lets the moment linger like a sweet taste in his mouth.
He’s sitting on Regulus’ bed, or maybe he isn’t. Nothing in the room is real, nothing except the way Regulus’ eyes follow him wherever he goes, nothing except the soft brush of their fingers as they pass the blunt back and forth. He’s floating, then he’s falling, then he’s laying down on the bed and using his hands to make the shadows on the wall dance.
“I love this.” Regulus breathes.
“I love you ,” James replies, solely out of habit, solely because if Regulus is here, he’s going to hear it, James will make sure.
Regulus smiles, shaking his head, blowing out smoke that curls in front of James’ face and rests warmly on his skin, “Yeah, yeah, I love you too. But don’t you love this ?”
It’s too many words at once for James to understand, but he strains his head to piece it together, “What, like, being high?”
“The quiet,” Regulus clarifies, looking straight at James.
He’s talked about it before, James can remember, but that’s about all he can remember. “Right, yeah, the way your head blurs.” He adds, not really understanding but wanting to make Regulus feel understood, anyway.
Regulus looks at him with awe, with a smile that tells James he said the right thing, “Exactly, God , I love you.”
And it’s so exhilarating, guessing and guessing right , talking to Regulus and winning —these days, James looks at Regulus and always feels like he’s winning.
˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚
It’s Regulus. There’s no way it could be anyone other than Regulus. James is sure, he’s absolutely sure, without a single doubt, that Regulus is the one for him. He can't find another explanation for their limbs fitting so perfectly together, like puzzle pieces that sigh upon contact.
Perhaps he’s always known, perhaps the last few months have just been his conscious brain catching up with its subconscious counterpart. But now he can be sure, now he can let himself feel it freely without the tug in his gut that he could be wrong.
James’ back is pressed up against the bus window and he’s sitting sideways, facing the seats across from him. Regulus is sitting next to him, or rather in front of him, with a tulip tucked in his pocket, a white one. James had got in the habit of giving him one every day ever since Regulus let it slip that they were his favourite.
Everyone else is here, a rare moment they spend altogether in the constant blur of school and homework and schedules. They’ll pull out their lighters and all reach for the pack of Marlboros in Peter’s hands. When the road gets rocky, and the bus wobbles, they’ll get up and play musical chairs.
Nobody is particularly worried about where they’re going or where they’re coming from, perfectly content in the comfort of having each other. As long as they aren’t packed away at school, or dispersed around the country at their homes, what could ever be so bad? As long as they’re together, what could go wrong?
Heaven had arranged them to be where they were, and why would they argue with the divine?
The rain from outside has dampened their pants, little droplets of water coming off their shoes. but their legs are tangled among the seats and their bodies are touching and when James leans over for a moment and runs his fingers along Regulus’ hand, it’s warm.
As long as Regulus is here, with hot, red blood pulsing through his veins, what is there to complain about?
˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚